Three Months Without Nannie

…and I’m still not okay, but I pretend real good.

It’s been three whole months since my Nannie left this earth, and I still catch myself reaching for the phone to call her. Sometimes it’s about nothing—just to hear her voice and let her talk circles around me about what she just heard (spoiler alert: gossip…gossip…gossip). Sometimes I want to tell her something big, something small, or just to hear her say what she always did:

“I love you a bushel and a peck.”

And I would say,

“And a hug around the neck.”

And just like that, I’d feel seen, known, and loved all the way down to my bones.

Now? I act okay. I laugh. I smile. I take the pictures. I write the words. I make the sandwiches. I play the part. But if you could hear the soundtrack in my head some days, you’d hear her humming in the kitchen, her slippers sliding across the floor. You’d hear her laugh when she was trying not to laugh. You’d hear her say, “Thomasina,” when I got a little too spicy.

It’s weird, grieving someone so foundational. Like a chair with one leg missing. You can still sit, but you’re gonna lean, maybe wobble, maybe fall flat on your behind. And let me tell you—I’ve fallen flat more times than I care to admit. But I get back up. I sass back at life. I throw on a little smirk and a lot of prayer and I keep going.

But y’all. I just want her back.

I want to hug her.

I want to talk to her.

I want to hear her say she loves me—and I want to tell her one more time that I love her more. And I want to mean it even bigger than I did the last time.

I miss her advice (even when it was unsolicited), her stories (even when she told them six times), and her hugs (especially those). I miss how she could somehow make you feel both held accountable and held in love—all in one sentence. That was her gift.

So no, I’m not okay. Not really. But I’m trying. I’m laughing when I can. I’m crying when I need to. And I’m holding on tight to the parts of her that still live in me. And maybe that’s what she would want—me to live. Really live. Sass and all.

And if she’s up there watching, I hope she’s proud.

But also—I hope she knows I’d trade just about anything for five more minutes in her living room .

Until then, I’ll keep pretending I’m okay.

And maybe one day, I will be.

But today? I just miss my Nannie.