3 Inches Tall, tan, with some Glitter Stars

She is no longer in a wheelchair, in a farmhouse, in Fenwick, MI. She is no longer digging through her junk, watching the morning news, or hoarding money for me. Now. she is on my window sill, next to a one of her favorite pictures - the one with the man and woman, praying in a field before a basket of bread. She is no longer in physical form, unless you technically consider her powdered body. I miss her. I miss her like all hell. When I woke up this morning and saw her portable urn on my window sill in Washington, I thought I heard her singing and I wished I could go back to her. It is days like today that I want to walk up to her, cover her eyes with my hands, and whisper "guess who?" I want her grab my hand and pull it close to her warm oily cheek and tell me that I am wonderful and "Oh Julia, all the places you will see and all the things you do. I love ya." There is that indescribable sense of security that I am lacking and I wonder if I will ever find, again. Sure, I have more old ladies who tell me that I am wonderful - lots, but none of them are her.