You didn't like how much I put on the internet, but here I am writing you letters for the whole world to see. Funny, uh? Kinda.
Even a week after your funeral, your death doesn't seem real. I feel like I am floating and you'll pull me back to you soon. But then you don't. You are still gone and I am still here. Separated by clouds, you flew away a week and a half ago. The longest week and a half of my life thus far. The hardest one. The most emotional [that's saying a lot for me]. You gave me so much in 25 years, but I still had more to tell you. More for you to be a part of. More for you to see me do.
I say it isn't fair, but it wouldn't be fair to you if I kept you here either. You needed God's healing and that meant going to be with Him. Accepting that is the toughest thing ever. Crying because I miss you. Crying because I love you enough to know you are better in Heaven than on Earth, healthwise. Also crying because seeing our family grief you has made me feel so helpless. My cup is empty, I am not where I can help anyone, nor do I have the energy to. I know if you were here you would tell me it is okay to not help everyone and that sometimes we need to take care of ourselves first. You would say, "Take care of Emily." I'm trying.
You weren't only my Nanny [grandmother], but also my best friend, rant partner, gossip person, and someone I confided in when my day was terrible and I was lost. So much more to me than people realize, or even I did. To me that makes me want more time with you. I want to be selfish, but I can't.
Your body wasn't going to heal on Earth and understanding that the day we talked forever was so hard. Realizing you were dying was even harder. Knowing Granny wanted you with her, well that hurt and melted my heart. I had you for 25 years, she missed and watched over you for 24 years. No matter how many tears we all cried, we knew it was your time to go to her.
These letters really show just how much I rambled on and on to you, uh? Like you are sitting beside me listening and letting me go on and on about nonsense. By the end of it, I wouldn't remember where we started.
You had 25 years to figure me out and comfort me, as Dustin pointed out to me. Momma told me, before you died, that you were the only one that could calm me down when I was little. All that is adding up now. No matter how much I yell and rant to them, they aren't you. They have to work a bit harder to get through to me because the person that could get through to me is in Heaven. My true listener is in Heaven. I hate feeling like I am burdening people because we used to talk about everything and that was all I needed. If I just had you, I was set. I could ramble on and on for hours and be happy. Now? I can't seem to adjust to just writing to you or going to talk to you at the cemetery. It isn't the same. Everyone knows that I think. Adjustments are hard. Losing my rant partner is a heartache that isn't going away. I promise you I am going to keep living even if I'm just living to show you my life. I won't stop living, Nanny. I'm going to fight the good fight and ride through this grief. I am going to remember you for the rest of my life. You are that important.
Like I told you, no amount of separation could keep me from talking to you. I promised I would keep telling you things even after you go to Heaven. I will keep that promise until I can see your face again.
Until Next Time,