Picture taken with Grandma Sara, one week before I gave birth to Baby Sara

Dear Grandma,

Jenny and I drove out to the farm to visit with you yesterday.  Your strength and resiliency amaze me.  In your mid-90’s, almost a decade after surviving a cancer that literally blew a hole in your intestines, your wit remains the same.  YOU are still in there, even though your health is diminishing.

Life and children have consumed me so entirely that I missed the moment I slipped from your mind.  You know that Lori exists, but you can no longer link my presence to your memory of me. For some odd reason, this didn’t make me sad, because you remember the things that matter the most.

You remember that you love apple cherry pie, and that you invented the concept.  Why should anyone have to choose when you have can have BOTH in ONE PIE?! You were so surprised to hear you taught me to make it.  You remember that you taught your grandchildren how to make drop donuts, and were tickled that I also know how.  You know that you made your own jam, and seemed terribly pleased that the stranger feeding you also makes her own jam as well.  You, Cousin Dana, Jenny and I all nodded vigorously in agreement that waffles should never be served without hot cherries on top.  You couldn’t believe we eat our waffles just how you served them to us on Saturday mornings around the farmhouse table.  How long had it been you asked?  I told you I refer to myself as “Darn Near 40”.  You never miss a joke, even now.  You laughed and laughed. Do you remember 11 small faces, all clamoring for the next waffle off the iron? How much food did it take to feed all of us?  It must have been astounding.

Sleep seems to be your favorite companion now.  You look tired beyond measure.  We took you back to your room for a nap. You apologized for not remembering the button game we used to play in the living room.  It’s OK Grandma.  You remember songs you sang, and that Avery liked your toys.  So many, many wonderful things.  You know that you have a large and loving family, and I could see a deep expression of pride on your face while people in the dining room complimented you on your clan. Your son Paul is the center of your universe, the man who has rarely left your side since Grandpa died 20 years ago.  He tracks every last ounce of food and drink you take in, cheering you on, begging you to return to us.  There aren’t medals large enough to reward him for the dedication he has shown to this family.

You let me adjust you in the bed without complaint, which Cousin Dana says you’d never do unless you felt you knew me.  We talked about how I’m a nurse, and you remember starting nursing school and then switching to elementary education.  You seemed to know we went to the same university.  You were such a great teacher.  So very great.

And then, as you drifted off to sleep and I sat in your favorite armchair facing you, you opened your eyes and said, “Well now.  Look who took the lounge chair.”  And then you gave me the smile you have always given the one you call, “The Clown”.  It’s kind of a knowing look, one that says, “Don’t try to pull one over on me Lori, after all, I invented smart ass.”

I kissed you goodbye, and I told you I loved you.  I told you next time, I’ll bring pie.  With your eyes closed, you smiled wide and said, “Now that would be delicious. I love you.”

To my pie-making, apple orchard growing, jam-preserving, child-loving, sharp-witted, waffle-topping Grandma Sara, thank you for everything.  I love you too.

P.S. Your grandchildren don’t play war in your apple orchard anymore.  Now I know why that made you mad.  Apples on trees aren’t missiles…you were right.  My grown up apologies for the hundreds of pies that were never made due to offensive battle strategies launched out of your trees.  I promise to make it up to you by baking hundreds of pies.  And those grapes that were plucked off the vine before they were ready to be turned into jelly?  Brian and Jenny did it.  OK, that’s not exactly accurate.  Cousin Jayme did it, and I might have helped (I was COERCED), but I can’t turn down the opportunity to get those two in trouble just one more time.