My grandma passed away early this morning. She was 90 and lived a full life. But it still sucks to think that she’s not around anymore, even though I haven’t seen her or talked to her in years.
But who I am is inextricably intertwined with who she was: the best grandmother a boy could ever have. I remember spending summers at her house. They were picture perfect. I still smell the aroma of coffee and cakes she’d prepare, still feel the afternoon breeze filter through the leaves of the avocado tree in her backyard, still recall the sound of water pouring from the faucet as she cleaned my hands of the day’s dirt and gristle.
The memories rush back in.
In an instant, this almost-33 year old man is 7 again, wanting nothing else than to hang out with grandma once more.
Rest in peace, Lola Miling. I will see you on the flipside.