My Grandma would have been 98 years old today. She died on Christmas Eve 2005.
During this time of year, I often think of my Grandma. It was on warm, spring days that I would go to her house and pick strawberries. My family lived next door, so it was often a strawberry-picking day right after I got home from school. I would get my pan, walk the path to her house through the woods, and pick strawberries for a couple of hours. Then I would take them home and wash them. Those strawberries can't compare with the ones you buy from the store.
My Grandma was always there to talk to me. We would sit on the porch and discuss nothing really important. It was the presence that was more important. And there was always an offer of piece of pie or cake.
Grandma's house was old, but it was full of memories. I used to help her quilt. Her quilt frame hung from the ceiling in her sitting room. Grandma gave me a thimble that had been hers when she was a girl.
I can remember the smell of the wood stove. I can feel the rocking chair rock back and forth, back and forth. I remember teaching myself to cross stitch at her house on a snowy day when my brother and I didn't have school, but my mom had to work. My brother used to break off the icicles from Grandma's tin roof and melt them on the wood stove.
I miss you, Grandma. I miss you being around, praying for me, taking an interest in my life.
But I will see you again.