She was the best at loving me. She loved my brother and I more than anyone or anything else. And don't think I'm just saying that...she would tell anyone.
Not many people get to say they had the honor of growing up living in the same house as their grandma. However, I am.
Some of my best childhood memories revolve around her:
I loved waking up and smelling the wonderful smell of her homemade bread. I would toddle downstairs and she would be kneaded the dough and she would even give me my very own dough ball to play with.
She never missed a dance recital....even if they were painfully long.
Playing Yahtzee and Don't Wake Daddy. Somehow...I always won.
Getting me ready for school in the morning was always eventful. She didn't really know how to work a curling iron and she never seemed to get my pigtails even.
She let me watch Days of Our Lives or Golden Girls instead of taking naps.
Whenever I had sleepovers, she always made sure my friends and I had enough to eat and she would offer hugs and kisses to them as if they were her own granddaughters.
She hugged and kissed me every chance she could get and she always told me how much she loved me.
I always had in her my corner. Even if I was wrong, she was on my side.
I try to honor her life by loving people, inviting people in, even when I don't want to, trying to bake like her, and practicing patience regardless of the circumstance.
I will always remember spending her last days with her. Even though she couldn't talk, she somehow managed to get out one more, "I love you."
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