Work Text:
It’s been 503 days.
Do you remember the quilt you made for me? Out of all your grandchildren, I was the only one to receive such a gift. Finished just in time for my birth, if my parents are to be believed. When I was growing up, it was kept in the closet. I was told it was too precious to just have out all the time. I didn’t like it much, back then. Didn’t understand the patterns, groaned at the contrasting yellow and blue. Not really my style. The quilt is too small for me now. It just barely covers my legs. It’s out all the time. I keep it in a basket by my bed, with all the other blankets I’ve collected over the years. It’s not there for warmth, but for comfort.
503 days. Over a year.
Do you remember Easters? I think the farthest back I can remember was at your old house. The one with the big tree in the backyard. It had a white picket fence. You were exceptional at hiding the eggs back then. Do you remember when S - - - couldn’t find one of hers? It was green. Maybe it blended in too well with the grass. You found the next spring, half buried in the dirt. Yeah, the chocolate wasn’t good by then. Do you remember the year I was dehydrated and sick, and had to stay home? S - - - and S - - - - - - brought my basket home. They hid the eggs in our backyard instead. They weren’t nearly as good as you. I tried fruitcake for the first (and last) time at one of your Easters. And parsnips, but I’m getting better about them. But do you remember hiding our Lindt bunnies? One year I couldn’t figure out your dryer clue. Every year after that I always checked the dryer when I was stuck, even though you never repeated a hiding spot. Easter was the only time of year we dyed eggs. I can smell the vinegar even now. I keep seeing videos of new ways to create patterns.
503 days. Almost a year and a half.
Do you remember the week I spent with you? At the old house. I can’t recall most of it. I remember sitting in the living room with you, reading. I remember you telling me about the pattern of floor you wanted in the kitchen, but never got. Was that the time we saw Brave together? Maybe. I would have been 10.
What about the two weeks at your condo? I took an acting summer camp. They did 101 Dalmatians. You had to drive me into Kittery every day. I don’t think I ever properly thanked you for that. You made it happen.
503 days. Almost 72 weeks.
Ben and Jerry’s Phish Food. The best flavor, in my opinion. I know Dad is partial to Cherry Garcia. Clearly he didn’t get his taste from you. I had Phish Food a lot when I was in London. You had such control, scooping it into those tiny bowls. I just ate it straight out of the carton. Maybe I should have bought a tiny bowl, just for the ice cream. Anyway, living an ocean away it made me feel connected to you, somehow. It’s silly.
Sourdough bread. Such an interesting food to give a picky child. S - - - certainly never shied away from it. I can’t remember if S - - - - - - ever liked it. I think it was only a few years ago that I started to enjoy the taste. It never stopped you from trying to give me a piece.
503 days. Today is December 31st.
Dad has his favorite stories. Do you remember when you tried to make gluten free bread? It would have been decades ago. He asked why you put a sponge on his plate. I work in a gluten free bakery right now. I think the bread would impress you.
503 days. 503 sunsets.
I wrote you a letter. Last spring. Did you ever get it? I hope you did. It wasn’t very good, though. I hope this one makes up for it. I didn’t know what to write. Couldn’t predict your reaction. I hadn’t seen you in so long. It was vague. I couldn’t remember your stance on tattoos and piercings. I left them out in my letter. I have more now. I’m up to 8 and 7, respectively. I need some ladybugs, I think, on my left shoulder. You like ladybugs. They’d be for you.
503 days. 503 sunrises.
I’ve been to seven countries now. It would have been eight, but Paris was having a bedbug infestation. Did we ever talk about traveling? I can’t remember.
503 days. 503 days. 503 days.
I miss you. When you died, I was getting ready to leave the country for four months. I missed your funeral because I was 8 hours away by plane. Dad said we would have a memorial ice cream party when I got back. Him, Grandpa, my sisters, and Uncle B - - - - - -. We didn’t have an ice cream party when I got back.
It’s been 503 days.
I miss you so much. I think about you every day. It still doesn’t feel real. You were sick for so long. I couldn’t talk to you for most of it. In and out of hospitals. You hated the phone. You didn’t have an email anymore. They wouldn’t tell me where you were. It feels like you’re still sick, still so far away from me.
I wish I could hug you one last time.
I can see your face. Your voice is gone. It was soft and kind, but I can’t hear it anymore.
Did you believe in an afterlife? You were a Buddhist. Maybe you believed in reincarnation. What did you want to come back as? Maybe you’re a ladybug.
503 days.
I love you.