1/3. One over three. 0.33333. I feel annoying today.

Day 10: The deceased person you wish to talk to.

Dear deceased person I wish I could talk to,

I guess if I really did have just one chance to talk to someone dead and gone forever, and I was the world's one chance, I should use it in a more productive way. But I wouldn't. I don't really have a STRONG answer. And I feel kind of...bad for answering at all. The only two people I know who have died are my dad's mom and my mom's dad.

So. Grandpa. I'd choose you. Not because I loved either of you more or less or because either of you are better or worse. You were both amazing grandparents, and I know a grandchild probably doesn't see the whole picture and blocks out some of the bad things out of love, but I know you both genuinely loved me and you never failed to show it. I choose you because you died when I was in 4th grade. I felt old then, but I know now how young I was. I felt you'd shown me all the love you could then, but I know now how much you missed. Seeing me graduate high school, hell, even St. Barnabas. Seeing me drive. Seeing me go off to IU, your favorite, and something I never thought would happen. Every time I think of that little melty-bead IU thing I made you and think of how it all turned out, I smile. It's funny that way.

I wish you could see me now. When you saw me last, I thought I was finished, but God. I was so so far. I still am. But then I was just potential. Now....I feel like I've become something, at least a little. I wish you could've seen my report cards and seen me go in high school and seen me swim like you watched me play kickball. You would've been happy. I wish I could've visited and learned more about who you were. I wish you could see me graduate IU (you would've been the 1st one there) and maybe get married and maybe give you grandkids. Maybe on those last two.

Thank you for playing Little Mermaid with me and letting me "fix your hair" and putting up with the barrets I clipped in there and letting me sit in your massaging heat reclining chair. And for taking me to Schewan Garden when it was still good and letting me eat all the baby corn out of your food and mine. And for showing me the dollhouses and the magic forest. I took someone I loved there once, and I thought of you. It's special.

I still feel bad about that time we were driving and you said "Oh, they took that little liquor store out up there" when they replaced it with that water store or glass store, I don't remember. And I said in a mocking tone, "Oh, they took that little liquor store out up there." And it hurt your feelings and you told mom and you were sad. And it still pricks my heart when I think about how my other grandma would always say how you were the first one in the waiting room at the hospital and you were pacing and pacing and how you wanted to be the first to hold me but someone pushed in front of you. I would've chosen you.

And it still makes me smile when I think of that IU bead thing or how trac-tor was one of my first words because of how you'd give me rides on it and I know I already said the bead thing, but it's seriously one of my strongest associations.

I used to be able to still hear your voice in my head saying "Goddammit." I remember when it started to fade. I'm sad I didn't go in to the showing when they had it. But I'm also kind of not. And if I think about it, I know you'd be proud. Or are. You don't have to be present, anyway.

Thanks for leaving me with such an impression.
Love,
Lauren.