I miss my grandma and the way she would put chives on bagged salad. I miss her pink lipstick and her eyelids being blue. The constant smell of smoke and chlorine and honeydew. Grapefruit also. I miss the way she said “I Love You.”

She was my friend. She was my escape. She was my role model. She was my grandma. Her favorite movie was Saturday Night Fever.

All My Children and peanut brittle. The way she said “I Love You.”

Laundry was my grandpa’s job but she cooked the pasta and soup. Publix cooked the chicken. We ate amidst porcelain clowns and black, geisha-covered cabinets. Handheld poker games were off limits until dessert.

She burnt me with her cigarette once, but then she said “I love you.”

Huddled over her jewelry chest she walked me through her AND our past. She gave me a ring with a heart on it and the watch right off her wrist. We listened to The Golden Girls while it happened. You’re a pal AND a confidant.

She didn’t say goodbye but I see her every day. She was my grandma and she loved me.

You are my grandma and I said “I love you.”

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