It's good to remember

Last night when I was laying in bed I got to thinking about my grandmother. My father's mom. I was thinking how when we used to say goodbye to her at her back door after spending the day at her house she used to hug us for so long. Longer than one would consider comfortable, but we didn't complain or squirm away, because we knew that she was just loving us and was going to miss us and her skin was so soft and she smelled so clean that it just didn't matter that she held on longer than was standard.

And I thought about how I can remember the half door that lead to her basement and how if I think hard I can remember exactly what all her door knobs looked like and the sounds the doors made when they shut in their frames. I can remember the little metal sculptures above her sink of the Nina, the Pinta and the Santa Maria and exactly what her juice glasses looked like. I remember what it smelled like in her basement and what it sounded like to walk on the rocks that lined her and my grandfathers patio. I remember picking strawberries in their garden and how when you touched the siding of her house it would leave a chalky residue on your fingers. I remember the blue and black tiles in her bathroom that had flecks of gold that I loved. I remember her three wheeled bike with the basket on the back. I remember what it sounded like when the lid of the ceramic cookie jar found it's place on the base and what the rice crispies sounded like, snap, crackle and popping when I poured myself a bowl at her table. I remember all the cross word puzzle books she kept next to her chair and how if I read some of the clues out loud she always knew the answer. And I remember all the pictures of her family that she kept in her bedroom, when you have six children and they have families that makes for a lot of frames. In my memory I walked through her whole house and remembered all the details I could.

I remember the day I went to visit her by myself in the hospice shortly before she died and that I rubbed scented lotion into her hands and how in one of her periods of lucidity she said "I sure do love you." And I told her I loved her too. And I thought about how when I got in my car after that I cried and called Nina and she took me out for chinese to cheer me up and it helped.

And I thought about how it would have been nice if she got to meet Louis.

In the dark in my bed last night I was missing my grandmother very much.