Verna

Images flash before my eyes: 

Grandma’s teaching hands, guiding mine as she shows us how to use the wringer-washer. Standing on my tiptoes, I feed shirts and pants through the rollers while Hannah catches it on the other side.  She lets her chores become our game.

Grandma’s watching eyes, as she hangs up the laundry while we pin our doll’s clothes to the fence – our imitation, the sincerest of flatteries.

Grandma’s smile, as I stand next to my bunny-rabbit birthday cake. Food is her gift: pies, ginger snaps, mashed potatoes – all made in a way only she can master. This is her way of loving people.

Grandma’s neat cursive, gliding across the page of a letter. These perfectly formed letters, so flat on the bottom that you’d think she’d used a ruler, a reminder that a few thousand miles was not nearly enough to keep us from her thoughts.

Grandma’s touch on my shoulder, an affirming pat as I wash the dishes. “You’re a hard worker,” she says “your parents taught you well.” I smile at the high praise from this hard-working woman.

Grandma’s soft voice, rising to glide across the room in a hymn. Even when other things became foggy, she still knew all the words to those songs – proof of the deep faith and commitment she had for her God.

Grandma's photo albums, baked goods, quilts: an attempt to show the fullness of her life to the line of people who stream by.

Grandma's children, my dad and aunts and uncles, lined up on the other side of the room, greeting the same stream of people. They smile and nod and shed some tears as they listen to condolences and stories of this woman who touched so many.

Grandma's worn hands, folded neatly across the familiar pattern of her simple dress. Her covering is pinned in place and her glasses perched on her nose, things that I haven't seen for years now. She looks like Grandma, when she was really herself, before her mind let her down. It seems as though she's just dozed off, drifted into a nap - and for a moment, my eyes fool me into seeing her chest rise and fall. Then I squeeze my cousin's hand, not minding the tears that threaten to run down my cheeks, and finish my goodbye.