Missing You

I'm putting on my Doctoral robes. The fresh scent of anticipation is wet on my nose. I can even feel the heat of the stage lights warming my brow as I cross the threshold into this next stage of my life. The crowd's loud applause serenade my confidence and yet, I look down to see no one. There are thousands of seats and, in them, are faces that are blurred to my best recollection - zigzagged spots emitting sound but not connected to souls. And then, there, to my surprise, I see her. She's been there the whole time, silent and serene. Her smile of pride letting me know that she is most proud. Proud that my living hasn't been in vain. Proud that I have upheld her teaching. Proud that I haven't lost myself or my past in the sea of degrees.

Then her clear, beautiful brown face begins to fade. She doesn't wave goodbye. She doesn't blow a kiss. I need something though. Something to keep me. Something more than her smile to let me know that I am really making her proud. I've never truly cared about anybody's approval except hers. I need... Then, she disappears. And as she leaves, the blurry images become more defined - a crowd of insignificance. I don't even notice that I have received my degree and sash.

I wake up. Tears streaming down my face. I miss her. There's no other explanation. I simply miss her. My grandmother, Agnes Enola Brimmer. So rarely do I talk about her or think about her. But she's always in my heart. It's times when I'm about to reach a milestone in my journey that I think strongly about her and how I wish she could be in the audience - showing me how proud of me she really is. I feel like parents have an obligation to do so. But grandparents come from a different place of love, care and support. Hers was so genuine and I miss it. Even as I type I'm reminded of her sweet potato pies, the days we'd sit and watch soap operas when I was sick from school, the random presents she'd buy me for my academic accomplishments. I just miss it. Man, I really miss it. And to think, as she laid in that hospital bed breathing her last breaths, I was too afraid to say 'goodbye' because I didn't want her to think I had given up on her; she'd never given up on me. But now, I wonder if she knows I miss her and that I love her. I keep working hard to show her that I want a better life. That I honor her through being the grandchild who continues to reach bigger and better goals.

A part of me knows she's proud - but the young boy inside wants his grandma back. I hope to give her a big hug one day in the future. Until then, these dreams will have to suffice.