• Briana Holmes

I Wonder…

I wonder if we all miss her because in our own ways we have a piece of her being that runs through our veins. When I was young, I did not know who she really was. I knew some things about her like what her favorite perfume was, what she liked to eat, how she wore her hair. But I never truly knew who she was. I think of the people she left behind to carry her legacy and I wonder if her heart would be broken or if it was already broken long before she died.

As a mother myself now, I think of my children and what thoughts I have of them. Sometimes I think to myself, “When she gets older, I can’t wait to tell her how I sometimes wondered if she would ever make it.” I wonder how she felt to have children in prison and feel hopeless. I wonder how she felt to get sick and not be herself anymore. I wonder how she felt to see me go “my own way”. I used to cry because I missed her, now I cry because I didn’t get to know who she was.

As I leave a job that I’ve worked for 8 hours and go to another one, I wonder if this was the dream that she had for me. I wonder if in her heart she wanted to tell me to “do the right thing” and worry about men and babies later. I wonder when she looks down from heaven if her heart weeps for me and she watches me cry myself to sleep sometimes. I never told her I loved her. I know that she knew, but it doesn’t make it easier. I wonder if she hears me tell the Lord how tired I get and how I cling to him because he’s all that I have.

She never sat me down and had “the talk” with me about sex, men, life or anything else, but her actions showed me how to be responsible and take care of the family. The more I learn about life, the more I learn about her. I wonder if she ever cried at night. I wonder what it did to her soul to see her life fall apart before her eyes and lose sight of all that she had and all that she was.

I wonder what her dreams were. Did she have them? She grew up in a time that I could only imagine from reading and watching documentaries about. I wonder if she loved me because she knew I was chosen? I wonder if she saw “it” in me. The “it” that signified that I had been chosen by God to carry burdens and still live? I wonder if she knew what was happening when she went to work at night? I love her anyway. I miss her anyway. If that was my burden to carry for God to bring me into who I was destined to be, I’ll carry it with pride.

I wonder if her heart broke and she gave up. I wonder why she was given to me to be a reminder of what I don’t have anymore. I wonder if I am even a key factor in her story in the first place. I wonder what we would talk about if she was still alive. I wonder who I would be.I used to pray that she lived to see me graduate from high school and sometimes I wonder if I would have prayed harder and for a longer period of time if it would have helped?

She was such a huge part of my childhood and I cry when I think of the times that I hurt her and caused her grief. I find my children being the same way sometimes and I wonder if I think the same thoughts that she thought.  If she were here, I would ask her about her life? I would ask her about her strength to endure and what she did on the nights she cried herself to sleep and wanted to give up? I’d ask her about her childhood and her father and mother. I’d ask her how it felt to buy a house and raise your children through their teenage years. I’d ask her if heaven could be put into words and I’d ask her to describe it.

I’d ask her how it felt to be completely at peace with your life and how it felt to face God and recount for her life.

I miss her. Today. Yesterday. Last month. Last week. Tomorrow. Next year. Next month. I miss her.

Happy Birthday Grandma.

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