I remember days of bologna and cheese sandwiches. I remember sitting on her porch swing, listening to the bugs. I remember playing her made up sort of charades game where my brother and I had to figure out what her occupation was. I remember lazy days of playing outside. I remember helping her do chores. I remember telling her I was a tomgirl, not a tomboy.
I remember her walking us to the end of the dirt road to the bus stop everyday. I remember the excitement we would get when the "UPS" man would show up, or the time when the school bus actually drove up the dirt road. I remember waking up to the mouse on my head and the frantic search for it, all the while my brother slept.
I remember the pancakes she would make my brother and I for breakfast, the ones that were so huge they were almost never cooked all the way through. I remember eating spaghetti and coleslaw, biscuits and gravy, fried apple pies.
I remember listening to blue grass music and standing in front of the window air conditioning unit in the heat of the summer. I remember tall glasses of sweet tea, with more sugar than was probably healthy for a little girl.
I remember when she would make homemade jam and keep it in the building next to her trailer. I remember the chicken coop, the huge sandbox my brother would spend hours in, the tree swing. I remember her goldfish that lived for what seemed like 20 years. I remember the stacks and stacks of Harlequin romance books.
I remember the day my Mom was in a car accident and broke her neck. I was sitting at my Grandma's house, doing homework. After that, my Mom was set up in a hospital bed at my Grandma's house since she had to spent the next few months in a halo. I remember washing her hair on the front porch.
On Monday, my maternal Grandmother passed away. I am choosing to keep in my mind the memories I have of her from my childhood, the ones where I spent every summer day with her. I choose not to keep in my memory the visit from last December, where she didn't know who I was and didn't know where she was.
Rest in peace, Grandma.