I woke up Friday morning and went to work like I normally do, unknowing that this particular Friday the thirteenth would be the most painful day of my 24 years thus far. Audrey Sinclair was my grandmother. While not of blood relation (she didn't have children), I don't believe that blood constitutes the ability to be a good grandma. From the day of my birth she gave herself that position in my life, so even in my earliest memories I remember knowing her as "Grandma." My brother and I caught the school bus at her house in the morning, so I got to see her every day. In those mornings with her she taught me how to iron, re-apolster dining room chairs, and jitterbug, among many other things. Every time she hung laundry out, I would follow her around with her clothes pin bag dragging down the weight of my 7 year old frame. I live in Newport News now, but I still came to see her every weekend. She sat listening attentively to every story I had to tell her, nodding proudly at my accomplishments and frowning sympathetically with my defeats. Losing her hasn't even hit me yet. I still feel like she is sitting across the street making mental notes on what time I leave and come home. I feel as though when I get in the door I should blink the front porch light 3 times to let her know I am safely inside. But the sad reality is going to hit when I next get a bad cold. There will be no more "grandma's jello" to make me feel better. When I go visit Pa she won't gingerly pop through the kitchen asking if I want a piece of lemon cake. Then I have to think about the big events that havn't come yet. She won't see me in my wedding dress or hold my children. It is these things that break my heart. She has barely gotten a glimpse at the adult I have become that she and her husband helped to shape. While I know she's watching me from heaven, I can't hug her and hear her hearing aid whistle into my ear or show her how long my nails have gotten. I will remember her for the rest of my life and love her forever. The things she taught me will not be forgotten.