My fingers fiddle with the clasp, on the back of my grandma’s pin. I admire the rhinestones in a perfect circle. I remember the pin on her lapel, almost magical, it glistened star flecks on her face.
Today, I pin it to my vest and wear it with fondness.
I recall her face, perfectly round. I hear her voice, although it’s grown more and more distant as the years pass. I can barely make out the way she said my name, and sometimes called me ‘Dolly’.
I reach out to remember the feel of her hands aged. I desire to lay my head upon her chest again, and hear her reassure me that ‘whatever’ it was for the moment, it would be all right.
Tears turn on easily.
I search for her ornaments on my tree. Angels once hers with sweet, serene faces, hang from branches green, playing instruments.
I remember Christmas’s past with her presence, my greatest gift.
I pull out the scrapbook album my mother made and find the picture of my grandma and me, many years ago.
Snow flakes frozen in the photo, rest on us. We huddle close, not because of the cold, but because we love.
We bake strudel. She makes me laugh. I am safe with her. She loves me for who I am.
It’s been fourteen years since she passed. Memories of her stir sweetly in my heart today.
Yes, I miss my grandma this Christmas.