Reading Susan Kennedy’s post, In the Garden, a few days ago caught me off guard. When I read the line, “Whenever I think of you, I smell roses,” I was back in my Grandma’s garden on another tour of the tomato plants, the beans, the pear tree, and the eggplant. She liked to show me the random plants that grew among the flowers, “she just came up here all by herself!” she would explain. When the roses were in bloom, she never thought anything of snapping a bursting flower from the bush, careful to remove any thorns, before handing the flower to me. Everything she grew was a gift for someone else. As I write this now, the scent of those roses overwhelms me, just as it did when I read Susan’s words.
It’s been almost seven months since we lost her and these moments still stop me in my tracks. Just a week before she passed away, she was coaching my mom and I on how to make and jar tomato sauce. From the couch, she told us how to fill the jars, boil the water, and tighten the lids. My strong mom did her best to keep up with the abundance of vegetables that the garden produced after my grandma passed away. I remember one day when my daughter Wren came back from my mom’s house with a plate of freshly baked eggplant. She was so proud. They had done it just like Grandma. I bit into the eggplant, my favorite dish my grandma made, and I wept. It wasn’t the same and I knew I’d never taste eggplant like my Grandma’s ever again.
When I realized, or maybe accepted, that my Grandma wouldn’t live forever, I knew my life wouldn’t ever be the same. There is no love like that of a grandparent, so pure and unconditional. To make someone so happy just by being you…
Where There Is Joy 
Thank you for sharing those precious moments. People whom we love are always with us.
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Grandparents… Some tastes, some smells, some actions, will forever remind us of them. My grandmom taught me how to roll round flatbread – the Indian roti. Each time I do that, which is everyday, I remember her.
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You write so beautifully about your grandmother, including the deep sadness her passing away created. You have been most fortunate to have been with her as an adult. I lost one of my grandmothers when I was seven and another when I was a teenager. I often wonder what my relationship with them would have been and what I could have learned from them if I had known them longer. I also wonder whether the loss would have been harder to accept.
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It’s interesting. It’s been more than 20 years for me. The memories are so strong.
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What a beautiful tribute to your grandma. It’s been 7 years since my grandma passed away, and the ache dulls but never goes away. Grandmas
are so special.
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Beautifully written. I can picture. Wren and your mom making the eggplant. They Made that eggplant with their love and as you captured in the last paragraph, there’s nothing like a grandmas love.
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Loss does stop you in your tracks – it is often the small things – smell, taste that spark a memory. I the juxtaposition of you remembering your grandma and Wren being with hers …beautiful.
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So sweet and beautifully captured. You are so fortunate that you got to grow up with such a special person and that the girls got to experience time with her.
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This is exactly how you keep your grandmother with you (and share her with the world). Keep writing about these memories. They are just beautiful. Everyone should have a grandmother who cuts roses and bakes eggplant for them. You are lucky.
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Thank you for sharing this beautiful piece about your grandmother. The memories and your writing are steeped in love. I agree that a grandmother’s love can be so incredibly special.
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So much love in this slice.
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There are so many that show their love to their family through cooking and my family is no different. My mom is an excellent cook and anytime I make something my daughter will tell me it’s not the same as Yiayia’s (Greek for grandmother). Luckily, she just calls her and she will make it for her, but I think about the day you wrote about . . . the day you realized you will never have your grandmother’s eggplant again. Hold onto the memories, the smells, the tastes, the love. Thank you for sharing your grandmother with us through your writing.
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I am always amazed how our senses can take us back to one moment, one person, and bring happiness and grief at the same time. This is when we must hang to those special memories.
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Written with all your heart. Grandparents are a gift of god. I lost my grandmother too about 10months ago. I remember her gestures, actions, and what a wonderful human being she was. Thank you for sharing your thoughts.
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The power of this story came for me in these lines: ” I bit into the eggplant, my favorite dish my grandma made, and I wept. It wasn’t the same and I knew I’d never taste eggplant like my Grandma’s ever again.” I was caught off guard by the sudden awakening to the connection between the food one prepares and the love that can only live on in memory. We carry memory in our mouths. Wow. Such a moving story.
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You are fortunate to have had such a close and cherished relationship with your grandmother. So many fond memories to relive.
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I love the way you write about your grandmother. Over the years I almost feel as though I’ve come to know her – and, honestly, some of that has happened in the months since her death. I love the metaphor of the garden for her – abundance and giving – though I know it is also literally true. Hugs to you, always.
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