You would have been 62 today. I wish I were baking a cake for you right now. I’ll always be glad that we had that one last birthday party though. I never quite understood how much the word bittersweet could apply to a memory until after you were gone, and I thought about that evening. Nearly eight years have passed, but in my memory you still look exactly the same. The rest of us have aged of course. I imagine if you saw me today you’d say, “You’ve gone gray, Kiddo!” Then we’d end up teasing each other about getting old.

Scan0022 (2)Munchkin is the only one who really remembers you out of the three oldest kids. She still talks about Grammy Kathy from time to time. That girl is a delightful mix of her two grandmothers, with a healthy dash of her dad thrown in. I often chuckle over something she does that reminds me of you. Mr. Q and Camo don’t remember you, but they love hearing all of the stories I tell about Grammy just the same. You would smile and tell me that Mr. Q is a Welch through and through. I’ll bet your fridge would be covered with Camo’s artwork too. You never were able hold Little Guy, but you would laugh over how much he has all of us wrapped around his finger. (Of course, you’d be the worst of any of us!)

I know that you knew I loved you, because I learned from you not to leave things like that unsaid. I thanked you for a lot of things, but there are so many more that I never thought to. The longer I’m a mother, the more things are added to the list of things that I should have thanked you for, and things I wish I could apologize for. You made all of this look easy Mom, a lot easier than it is.

I found a quote on Pinterest that seems appropriate:

“It’s hard when you miss people. But, you know, if you miss them it means that you were lucky. It means you had someone special in your life, someone worth missing.” – Nathan Scott

Thank you Mom, for being someone worth missing.