remembering my grandmother

A year ago on Thanksgiving I saw my grandmother for the last time. I came to visit with my father, who was in the country for a few weeks, and we went to stay with my sister and brother-in-law, where my grandmother resided in her final days.

I remember her being so extremely weak and tired during this last visit. It took her even longer to eat her meals and to move around with her walker. She had lost so much weight. Her eyes, which usually shone with a spark of light, looked tired and worn out. She only seemed to really smile when she saw my niece, then only 3 months old. She would look at her and chuckle and clap for her. And my niece would just stare and smile - like we used to do when we were younger.

This Thanksgiving I went to visit my grandmothers resting place. I remembered our last time together, but I also remembered all the times before that. When she was healthy and laughing and taking such good care of me. I remember the tiny Persian sandwiches of feta cheese and pita bread she'd make for me and the stories she would sit by my bed at night and tell. I remembered the food she made and the hugs she gave. And how every time I left home for a trip she asked that God take care of me and make me happy and healthy (then she'd slip me a $20). She was full of love, full of kindness, and full of faith. I love everything about her and miss her every single day. It was nice to spend some time remembering her on Sunday. With the sun shining down and the desert landscape stretching on for miles.

It was so nice to have just those few moments of quiet with her.