It’s been a couple of weeks since I talked to my grandma. I think it was more like sometime before Easter, which would actually mean it’s been closer to a month. When she moved back down to Florida, I don’t remember when it was, there was a part of me that felt like I lost her. It wasn’t going to be the same from then on out.

I felt myself pull away. She was too far away now and I wouldn’t be able to visit or see her like I had been able to when she was living up here. She was in a good place with my aunt who had wanted to take her back to take care of her. But their relationship was strained at times, as many relationships can be at times in this life.

But ours never was. At times I’d feel like I was hearing about a different person, a side of her I didn’t know and had never known. She wasn’t like that with me. “My Becca”, she would say to me for years over the phone. I wasn’t sure how I could go on without her. What would I do without the greatest encourager I’d ever had in my life?

The way things go here, she could very well outlive me, so I don’t suppose I should get too ahead of myself. When we moved away from her, she said it was like we all died. I can’t imagine having your grandkids living so close for those years and then having us move so far away. I hadn’t thought about her pain at all. I was oblivious.

I know she’s happy in New York. The kids are homeschooled so there are always people around. One of the grown-ups is always at home, and as she says often, “They’re so good to me, Beck.” And she will say that God has been good to her too. I do not know why I do not call more, but somehow, I know she isn’t holding it against me.