The Empty Seat / Why Lipstick is more than just a Cosmetic

Saturday was a happy day. My cousin Chrissy is getting married in October and we had a big weekend of pre-wedding festivities. My mom and aunt hosted a shower at the Swan Coach House, the women in our family gathered from all around (which doesn't happen as much as it used to, now that everyone lives in different cities), and Chrissy's friends flew in. The afternoon was full of gifts, sundresses and wedding talk. Chicken salad was served in heart shaped pastries, and the swan dessert was a perfect concoction of chocolate and cream, perfect, as usual, in the legendary restaurant.

The problem was, there were 13 women at the shower, but there should have been 14. The loveliest one of all was missing - my grandmother. She passed away two years ago, but it feels like yesterday. I adored my grandmother, my Mimi, as we called her. And now, these family gatherings always seem incomplete. I find myself looking for her as soon as I walk in the door, find myself thinking of her as I get dressed for events, as she was the fashionista in our family (yes, even in her 70s), and find myself glancing around the room wondering where she went, like she just stepped out to go to use the powder room. And then, at some point, I feel the sharp twinge of reality and truth that she is no longer here.

The funny thing is, I miss her most in the mall. I know most women in their 20s would not say that they enjoyed shopping with their grandmother. But I did. It was a highlight when I was growing up. She taught me about fashion and style, beauty products and make-up. We bonded over lipsticks and purses, laughed over lunches with my mom at the Nordstrom cafe. Most grandmothers would probably want something like a subscription to Southern Living for a mother's day gift. Not Mimi...for several years I simply renewed her subscription to InStyle.

When you lose someone, you expect the big events to be hard - the engagements, weddings, births, graduations....the milestone moments. And they are hard. Incredibly hard.

But, I've been more surprised at how hard the little moments can be - when you pick up the phone to call the one you love and then suddenly remember they are not here anymore. Like the other day, I was at Sephora trying to figure out if I need a new moisturizer to help with the lines and sun spots I'm finding on my face (more on that in another post, I'm sure), and I picked up the phone to call Mimi, because I knew she would know, but I realized that I couldn't call because she wouldn't answer.

I don't mean for this post to be depressing. It's more uplifting to me, actually, because I'm reminded of the legacy of my Mimi and the impact a life can have on a family. It's also uplifting because I fully believe in heaven and that those who claim Jesus as Lord of their life spend eternity in heaven with him. It also inspires me to think that one person, while they are here, can make the world more beautiful (or maybe more fashionable, in Mimi's case).

In fact, on Friday, Mom and I went out and bought a Chanel lipstick in honor of her. Trust me when I say, nothing would make her happier. I don't know how things work in heaven (obviously), but I have a very strong feeling she was watching closely, making sure we were choosing the right color for my mother, who has a "warm skin tone" but "cool lips". The pinky color we chose was just perfect. I think she was proud.