My Granny died on Friday. It's something I've been trying to prepare myself for since we moved her into a rest home in February of this year. It's been hard, because aside from my mother, she was my biggest fan. Her love has always been unconditional, and freely given. I have such wonderful memories of growing up in her house and surrounded by her love.

I will remember

the way it felt to have her fingers play with my hair. And the tears in her eyes after I chopped it all off when I graduated high school.

picking blackberries at Seneca.

how to make paper dolls.

her patience when she let me play with all of her costume jewelry.

the smell of Virginia Slims on any paperback book she let me borrow.

playing in the gulley in her backyard.

the time she took me to a bulk candy store and let me pick out whatever I wanted.

Calgon in my bathwater.

how she used to catch frogs for me to play with.

how she kept every treasure I ever gave her, and put it in the black pot hanging on her book case.

Horse pills. (vitamins)

flower ballerinas - I can't wait to show Lilah how to do this.

Quilts

watching the hummingbirds on the front porch.

the guilt I felt when I picked one of her flowers...I buried it in the dirt because I couldn't bring myself to tell her I'd done it.

watching the Grand Ole Opry and Mandrell Sisters when I stayed the night.

Her banana bread.

The way she said shit - like it had two syllables instead of one.

How anything purple caught her eye.

How even when I outgrew her lap, she still let me sit next to her, with my head in her lap. I think I did this until I was 16.

But most of all, I'll remember how she loved me. Her eyes lit up when I came in the room, and maybe she was like that with all of her family, but it made me feel special.

After she passed, I had a moment alone with her and I told her I wasn't going to be sad because I knew she was happy and with her sister and Poppa.....and as hard as I'm trying to keep that promise, I'm finding out that I'm a big fat liar.