writing

Grandma

The green growth surrounded her. She happily plucked out the weeds and trimmed back the growth with her bent fingers snipping with the shears.

She lifted her short forearm to her forehead, wiping away a few beads of sweat. She scooted sideways in her wheeled chair and focused on the next section.

Her short body no longer moved with ease, but gardening brought her pleasure. As we walked up, she looked up and smiled. Her white hair tucked neatly into a net to keep it fresh after her visit to the salon.

She scooted over to her walker and stood up. She moved slow, her 90-plus years showed. But her humor was good. She waved us in the house, denying any offers of help.

Moments later, she joined us at the kitchen table, cluttered with various vegetables and treats. As usual, she offered up a piece of her famous chocolate cake. This was a chocolate cake that could not be denied.

She regaled us with a recent story, which she restarted several times over the next hour. Patiently, we smiled and laughed. No reason to make it awkward for her.

Soon, my aunt joined us and made sure grandma didn’t have too much in the way of sweets. We caught up a little more before departing.

These are the final moments I shared with my grandma. She’s always here, in my heart.

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