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I was off caffeine, away from wifi, and on top of mountains for most of the last few days. I caught myself whispering aloud to my very dead grandma on some of these glorious hikes. It was all so beautiful that I found myself wondering what I might try to say in a postcard or letter. While my dad would show her the photos, how would I convey what I’m feeling in this instant? In the midst of one of these moments, I realized she died without knowing I moved to Seattle. These “firsts” after a loved one dies are commonly discussed and I’m always struck but what feels worthy of noting for her and what leads to a new bout of grief as a result. For some reason, I wish I could share my enthusiasm with her about living in Seattle. I wish I could tell her about my apartment. I wish I could tell her about how I’m using her silver (which makes no sense). I wish I could tell her about books I’m reading and I wish I knew what she was reading. I wish I could tell her about my bike rides (I whisper to her then sometimes too). Sometimes I find myself turning her rings around my thumbs as if to stir or summon her. Sometimes I raise them up to the view as if she is inside the rings and I want to make sure she has a good view.

She’ll never know I moved to Seattle. Tears form at the thought.