Gramma

Gramma is my last living grandparent. She has always seemed younger than her years. She has always worn smart tailored suits, discussed current world events with enthusiasm and intellect and loved southern writers. When I was little and we would travel to Columbia, Missouri to visit her, my parents would stay at my aunt's house and Jamie and I would stay with her. Her house was impeccably clean and smelled like cosmetics. Every morning she would lay out a feast for us of stewed prunes or canned figs and cereal and orange juice and sometimes a coffee cake. She surrounded herself with characters like her neighbor who tamed wild animals and had a congregation of squirrels and raccoons that came to her house at mealtime, or the two sisters who were famous in the community for the tiny, costumed mice they sewed by hand and sold at the church bazaar. When She came to visit us, she and I would play Mrs. Kelly in my playhouse that was basically a cloth-covered cardtable. I don't remember whether she or I was Mrs. Kelly, but I loved that my grandmother would get down on her hands and knees and have tea under a card table with me. It was not easy for her to have us live so far away. I was not a very good correspondent and she pined for news of me. It made me feel guilty not to be able to give her her simple wish.
I visited her on my way west and I am so grateful that I did. A couple of weeks ago she fell and has been back and forth between the hospital and the health care center at her retirement community. Yesterday when the doctor asked her what he could do for her she said "Take care of King and Anne". In our far corners of the country, we are holding her tight in our hearts.