I wonder what you’d make of it all now.
It has been over two years since I last saw you, spoke to you, text you, sat with you. A lot has happened in that time. I wonder what you would think.
The babies, your much longed for twin granddaughters are no longer babies. They are set to start nursery in a few weeks, to the same place where you used to drop Charlie off daily. The same teacher is there and still as lovely as ever. She always mentions you, she misses you too. They have formed their own very unique personalities and sometimes really test me. I know you would know what to do. You always did.
I wonder where Charlie would come up to you now! He’s ever so tall and doesn’t seem to stop growing. For a little titch like you I reckon he wouldn’t be far off! He’s become such a bookworm and that was definitely something you encouraged. Sadly, he’s gone off Man Utd and switched allegencies to his Dad’s team of West Ham. I know, I know, you wouldn’t be impressed!!
I wonder if you would have jumped on the Slimming World bandwagon along with me. You knew how unhappy I was with my weight but never said anything unkind – even though someone needed to tell me! I reckon you’d be impressed, but annoyed as i’d be back wanting to borrow all your clothes again!
I wonder what you’d think of our house. You never saw it. I reckon you’d be so proud. I know you felt it was the final piece of the puzzle to own our own house – we did it! And it would be just up the road from you. I’d love nothing more than just to have a stroll down daily in the holidays to see you. Have a chat and a giggle like we always used to whilst the kids played like loons in the garden. The garden where your own babies played years before.
I am just so sad this never got to happen. I am so sad that we were robbed of this. You should be here. You should be revelling in seeing my babies grow. They shouldn’t be 7 and 3 and not have their Granny. I shouldn’t be 30 without a Mom. I don’t need to wonder what you’d say to me as I sit here with large tears dripping down my cheeks; you’d tell me to get on with it. There is no other way. No. There’s not. But it’s still bloody hard. For the most I’m OK, but it sometimes creeps up on you, and the enormity gets too much.
I miss you Mom. I miss our past and I miss that you aren’t physically part of our future.