I was going to call you today, but I couldn’t.

I picked up my phone today to call you, as if it was a holiday or something to celebrate… for a second, I almost forgot your number, and then remembered what the date really was.

Two years shouldn’t be long enough for that, but somehow it is.

I sat there, staring at the screen, thinking about what would happen if you answered the loud, excited “Gracie!!!” like hearing from me was the best part of your day, followed by that little chuckle because we both knew I didn’t call as often as I should have.

You never made me feel bad for that.

You just asked your questions quickly, fitting as much as you could into ten minutes, like you were afraid of taking up too much of my time…as if there was ever anything more important than talking to you.

And even when I didn’t call, you still asked Dad about me all the time. You still made sure I was okay.

I think about that now…how steady your love was, how it never needed to be returned in equal measure to still be fully there.

It’s taken me two years to say this out loud, but I missed your last birthday call.

I was in New York, it was cold, crowded,I saw your name come up on my phone, and I didn’t answer.

I told myself I’d call you back.

You left me a voicemail instead…telling me not to worry about it, that you didn’t want to bother me, that you just wanted me to have fun, to do the right thing, to do things right.

And to stay safe.

It was never a bother.Not then. Not ever.

And for two years, I’ve thought about that moment…how easy it would’ve been to pick up, how quick that conversation would’ve been, how much I would give now for just one more ten-minute call where you asked me everything and expected nothing in return.

I wish I called more.Even just to say hi.Even just to remind you that I cared as much as you did.

But the truth is,I don’t know if I ever showed it the way you did because the way you loved your grandkids was different.

It was constant. Unquestioned. Always there, whether we showed up or not.

Now, the smallest things feel louder than they used to.

Pocket t-shirts mean something different.They remind me of you,of exactly where a pack of Gold Marlboros belongs.

There’s still an unopened Miller Lite sitting in my room, wrapped in a Steelers coozie.

I don’t know why I keep it.Maybe some part of me thinks if I leave it there long enough,it might somehow bring you back.

Or maybe I just don’t want to risk ever forgetting even for a second what it feels like to miss you.

I think about the lightning bolt earrings sometimes.The ones you sent me on a random Thursday in college because I mentioned going to one hockey game.

You made fun of me for being a bandwagon fan, told me I should stay loyal, cheer for the Pittsburgh Penguins like you.

When they came to Tampa, you asked me to go with you.

You didn’t want to inconvenience me, you never did, but you still wanted to get us good seats.

I told you I couldn’t.I had a girls trip planned for spring break.

You told me to stay safe. You always told me to stay safe.And you never let me hang up without reminding me how much you loved me.

I wish I could call you today.

Just to hear your voice.Just to tell you something small.Just to not let so much time pass in silence.

But I can’t.

So I’m saying it here instead, in all the moments I didn’t say it then.

I miss you.More than I knew how to say when you were here.

And I love you. In the quiet, steady way you showed me how.

Forever.

Love, your Gracie.