Will you Remember Me?

What happens that makes a true mother, friend, grandmother, not be her self?


I can still remember the smell of those scallop potatoes as I’d walk into her house, trying to sniff the air for what meat was being cooked in the oven that Sunday. Pink apple sauce, of course, was already on the table, along with the sliced carrots, trees (broccoli), and cucumbers, accompanied with Grandmas homemade veggie dip. The grape jam would be placed on the table for me and Strawberry Jam for the rest of the family. Round white bread slices would be placed on a small silver platter by the jams. Salt of course was on the table, but placed closer to my grandma’s plate. Everyone drank milk except for Mom and Katie who had water, and for grandma who had her cup of coffee. Apple pie would be sitting on the countertop ready for when we were finished with the meal, and beside the apple pie would be a small chocolate moose pie that my grandma made just for me.

I always told her that when I grew up I wanted her to make me a wedding cake out of that chocolate moose pie. She always laughed at me, but little did she know how serious I was.

Sometimes after dinner we would play a family game like yatzee or dominoes, and then sneak some jelly beans from her glass green candy jar on the top of her counter. It made a clicking sound every time I opened it so everyone would know if you took more then one. But grandma never cared.


Now when I open the green glass jar there is a silence at the bottom for no longer is it filled with jelly beans or red hot cinnamon gummy bears. Now there is an awkward motion when opening grandma’s candy jar, it’s empty inside.

Now there are only awkward talks and tearful looks when I’m with my grandma. I just want her to still be able to pick me up and take me to dairy queen, and get our chicken wing ding dinners, she always ate the tops of my wing dings because I was too picky to eat them. Then I started to drive her, weird at first, but nothing changed to drastic; Until now, even more so, I may not get the chance to drive her anymore, because she might not remember that I can drive, Or worst… remember me.