Merry Christmas, Grandma

Her wrinkled smile is all it takes to penetrate my sagging heart.

“Grandma, it’s been a while…,” my voice wobbles like a guitar string, as I firmly wrap my arms around her small, frail frame.

My goodness.

It’s been four years since I’ve seen her, and her body has become small enough to drown in mines. Or, rather, I’ve grown large enough to bundle around her like a blanket.

Her twinkling eyes hold years of homemade iced cookies, buttery mashed potatoes, tangy cranberry sauce, and chocolate advent calendars.

My grandma, though not related by blood, has brought my home back to me with the presence of her gracefully aging soul.

Too soon, she waves and turns her back to the gaping frame of my door. I cannot help but hide away and crumble into a salty sea of memories, as I softly whisper, “Merry Christmas, Grandma.”