I'm not over it

Talking over with my mom about the destination of my grandmother's belongings, I want everything.  And the house. Please and thank you.  I want to keep it all intact exactly how my grandma left things, maybe cordoned off with some velvet ropes like a museum.

But not really.  

What I really want is my grandma.

I want to sit with my feet dangling from a barstool while I eat pop tarts and chat with her while she bustles around her kitchen.

I want to try to keep up with her at the mall during marathon shopping trips.

I want to pore over the newspaper, trying to decide which "show" to go see.

I want her to show me one more time how to frost a cake so it looks nice.

I want her to show me one more time how to make her Thanksgiving stuffing.

I want to sit next to her during one of my siblings' basketball games and be a little mortified by how invested she is.

I want her to micromanage me decorating the Christmas tree because it matters.

I want to hear her call me "honey" and hear her introduce me to someone as her "little namesake."

I want to play Rook with her and eat her Swiss steak.  I want to eat vegetables that taste delicious because she has drowned them in butter.

I want her to insist I have candy and ice cream and scold me for not giving Adam a bigger piece of pie.

I want to read her handwriting on a card for me.

I want to call her or have her call me.

I want to hear about "the game" and pretend I even know which game she is talking about.

I want just one more hug and kiss.

I want my grandma.