Just like the one Grandma had
This piece properly belongs with the Thanksgiving season; but I had a desire to pay a little tribute to my grandma, my mother’s mother.
I was only eleven when she died. Hers was the first funeral I ever went to. She went to bed one night and quietly passed away: no doctors, no hospital, no fuss. She’d raised six daughters in her time, plucked innumerable chickens (they had a chicken coop in the back yard: no one in this town has chickens today), and canned everything that Grandpa grew.
One of my earliest memories is sitting on her lap, fascinated, while she showed me how her sewing machine worked.
Yes, I still miss her.