My husband, my kids, my parents all asked me what I wanted for my birthday this year and I had a laundry list of ready responses – a bookcase for the library, chocolates, wine, flowers, a whole day of peace and quiet, thinner thighs.

And I wanted those things. But they weren’t what I wanted most of all.

I didn’t tell anyone what I wanted most of all because I knew there was no point. Why ask for the impossible?

What I wanted most of all, more than anything in the world, was to talk to my grandma. That would be a simple request but for the fact that she has been dead over two years.

She wasn’t just my grandma. She was my partner in crime. As I child, I followed her around so much that she called me her “tiggly-tiggly tag-along.” Not a week went by that we didn’t talk on the phone. She was my sounding board, my focus group, my biggest fan, my rock. We talked, we laughed, we bickered, we needled, we cried and then we started again. Hour-long phone calls were not unusual. I shudder to think of what the phone bills were. She used to call me her fifth child. She would say, “You are your father’s daughter but are MY baby.”

She always made a big deal about my birthday. Her gifts were always extravagant, despite her modest means but the best part would be the birthday call. She would always track me down, wherever I was, and sing to me on my birthday. She ended every call with a big kiss.

Her singing was atrocious. God, how I miss it.

Earlier today, I ran out to do an errand and the thought that I wouldn’t be getting a birthday call from her hit me with the force of a hurricane. I had to pull over and cry. After two years, I don’t miss her any less. If anything, I miss her more with each passing day.

A few minutes ago my grandpa called to wish me a happy birthday. He spent the first part of the conversation chastising me for not being reachable earlier in the day. Then he said my uncle wanted to wish me a happy birthday.

I have written about Uncle Bill before. He is mentally and physically handicapped, with the mind of about a 6-year old. Sometimes he enjoys talking with me, sometimes it is hard. We have a tendency to bicker like siblings and our conversations frequently go off track. I braced myself in case this was one of the hard days, given my grandfather’s terse and grouchy lead-in.

Bill sang to me and wished me a happy birthday. He told me about his sister’s recent visit. He told me what he had watched on t.v. and then thanked me for a video I had sent.

And then he gave me the best birthday present I have ever received.

“Tanya,” he said suddenly. “Do you know that sometimes Gram visits me in my dreams?”

“No, I didn’t know that. But that sounds nice.”

“She visited me recently,” he said seriously. “She wanted me to tell you something. She wanted me to tell you Happy Birthday. And she wanted me to give you a big birthday kiss.” He blew a kiss into the phone. “Did you get it?”

“Yeah,” I said, stunned.

“She wants you to know she watches you from heaven and she is proud. And she wants to have a really happy birthday. Did you get that?”

I got it. And it was EXACTLY what I wanted.

Thanks, Gram. And thanks Uncle Bill for delivering my gift. I cherish it more than you know.