Today is my grandmother’s birthday. I already know I’m in trouble for telling you that. It doesn’t matter that she hasn’t even read these words yet, seeing I haven’t pressed “publish” so no one has even seen this other than me. She probably just knows I wrote those words and, ZAP!, I’m in trouble.

Now I’m in even more trouble because I posted a picture. Sure, it’s the same picture I posted the last time I wrote about her, but that’s on purpose: I’m afraid to post a different one of her for fear I’ll be written out of the family will.  Mainly because, the last time I posted a picture of her, she told me that if I ever posted another picture of her on my blog, I’d be written out of the family will.

So, same picture. Still in the family will. I’d call that a win-win situation, no?

I don’t have a large family, but out of all of them, Josie knows the most about my life. We talk two or three times a week and, whenever anything good (or bad) happens in my life, it’s usually her number I’m first to dial. She listens to anything and everything I have to say and never makes me feel like it isn’t important, even if it is just silly things that probably aren’t important.

I loved her as a child because she was Josie. I was raised to call all of my grandparents by their first names, so she’s always just been Josie to me (I didn’t realize other kids didn’t call their grandparents by their first names until I was in middle school!). As a child, I was in awe of how beautiful she was — and glamorous, too. I used to play dress-up in her old dresses and, to this day, I don’t think I’ve ever worn clothes I felt were more beautiful than those old dresses. They were Josie’s dresses and, because of that, they were gorgeous.

As I’ve grown up, Josie’s role in my life has grown, too. When I think back over the last decade of my life, I can easily order the memories by phone calls made to Josie. There was the call the night before I left for college and her horrified gasp when she found out I had packed anything yet. And then the call that I was settled into my dorm, followed by a phone call two weeks later informing her that I couldn’t stand my roommate. I called her after my first final exam, the one I was sure I failed, and I called her after the last exam, too. I called her when Starlite had it’s first event and when that silly boy took me on a date to McDonald’s (she was properly horrified as any good grandmother should be).

I called her when I went to my first college formal and I called her afterward, too, mainly just because I knew she’d actually care how my dress held up on the dance floor.  I called her when I was afraid I was going to fail my college math course and I called her when I made an A in my first hardcore religion course.  I called her when I moved into my first off-campus apartment and I called her when I didn’t know how to make potatoes one night.   I called her when I applied for graduation and I called her the morning she drove in to see me walk across the stage.  I called her throughout grad school and then, when it was time to walk across that graduation stage again, I called her at the hotel she was staying at to make sure she was on her way to the auditorium.

To this day, she’s still my favorite person to call on important days and on normal days, too.  But today?  Today is a important day because it’s her birthday and, even though I can’t be there with her because of my work schedule, I’ll still call just like I always do.

Happy Birthday, Josie.  I hope that one day my granddaughter loves me half as much as I love you.