Today marks 20 years since my grandmother – the only grandparent who lived long enough for me to know them – passed away.
This morning at breakfast the little Ks and I were looking at some pictures and talking about Grandmama, and I was telling them (again, because I come from storytelling stock; stories are meant to be shared) some Grandmama stories.
Grandmama would have gotten a kick out of them.
Last year on Mother’s Day, I posted the above picture with the below caption:
I would never be able to reflect on my mom and her impact on my life without thinking about what I know about her mom’s impact on her life, but the two are all the more intertwined at Mother’s Day. My grandmama died the day before Mother’s Day 19 years ago – I can’t believe it’s been almost 20 years.
My grandmother taught my mother how to sew, who taught me how to sew (even if once that included sewing over my own fingers). My grandmother taught my mother how to cook, who taught me how to cook (although it was Grandmama herself that taught me molasses cookies). My grandmother grew a beautiful snowball bush from clippings and…my mom got a black thumb from somewhere and passed that on to me. Hey, not all skills can be legacied.
The top picture is one of the only ones I had with my dad’s mom, who died when I was a few months old. I never really got to know her, but I’m glad I got to meet her.