Topical Depression

The thing I hate most about the dreams about The Ex is it makes me all wistful and nostalgic. Not because of him, but because of what he represents. High School. No responsibility. Hot make out sessions with the anticipation that you can get caught at any second. OK, so those still happen on occasion, but you get my point, right? ;)

Anyway, when I get wistful and nostalgic, I usually break out my high school pictures, look them over a few dozen times and then I'm good in a couple of days. However, since I'm at my dad's house, I have an even better form of torture: Home Videos. So last night, I sat down with a box of Kleenex and hit play. I watched my brother's first kindergarten performance, a couple of Christmases Past, CB and my wedding dance, and a couple of choir concerts. But then I found a tape that had my Grandma's house after a horrible flood that destroyed it. And after the obligatory insurance video, there was my grandma. So excited about her new house and giving my aunt a virtual tour of it. That's when I lost it.

My grandma was an amazing woman. She was the absolute best woman that I have ever known. We never had to question how much she loved us and her birthday cards were the stuff memories are made of. Every year, she would write a note about how excited she was the day I was born (so excited she went through half a loaf of bread because she kept burning it. And she would tell me how proud she was of me and how much she loved me. And she did this for everyone that she held close to her heart) and every year it would make me blubber. That first birthday without her was horrible. My mom tries--and does the same thing--but it's not the same as seeing Grandma's perfectly messy conglomeration of cursive and printing.


So last night as I was watching this video, I closed my eyes and it was just like she was standing in the room with me. I miss her voice. I miss her jokes. I miss her useless trivia about all things Wizard of Oz. I hate that she didn't ever get to see Wicked. I hate that I didn't ever get to discuss the book with her. But most of all I hate that my kids don't get to know her. Because she could read a children's book like no one else I've ever met.


Here's a pic of my grandma and grandpa. I'm pretty sure it's their wedding picture. And that's not my grandma's real hair. She never really knew what her natural color was. If she wasn't wearing wigs, she was dying her hair blonde. So it's comforting for me to know that there is still part of her here with me (I'm the same way. NO IDEA what the natural color is). Because she was so very awesome.

Now, I'm over the moping. I'm laughing at all the good memories and not thinking about the bad. It just really hit me last night how much of an impact she had on my life.

So who is YOUR impactor? Who is that one person that influenced you the most to become who you are today?