It’s crazy how memories can stay so vivid for so long.

I can still picture her sitting at the kitchen table, her fingers sliding down one side of her cigarette pack from top to bottom, then flipping the pack to another edge and doing the same. Sliding her fingers down the edge and flipping it, again and again.

She naturally exuded warmth and love the way a Gramma should, she didn’t have to try.

When I was still a child, one evening in a fit of feeling like I was being treated unfairly by my parents, I packed a little bag that really only contained my doll Pam, and decided to run away. It was Gramma’s house where I longed to be, knowing I’d be treated with the utmost fairness and generosity.

When I was finished at the dentist’s office as a kid and had an abscessed tooth removed and felt just yuck, it was Gramma’s house where I went. To be soothed, comforted, maybe a tad bit spoiled. But she was my sanctuary.

I remember everything so well. I was glued to her side and she was patient with my never-ending questions. Why the warm milk before bed. Why the metamucil powder that never seemed to really mix well in the glass of water.

I’m pretty sure she let me have a taste.

I was fascinated by her false teeth and so of course she let me try to put them in my mouth.

I even followed her into the bathroom every single time she used the toilet.

She grew up in a time where women often sat on the sidelines but she refused to do so. She not only drove but always insisted on having her own car. Of course she took care of most things in the home but she also insisted on making her own money.

I’d watch her gather up her little briefcase bag of wares and some fresh eggs to sell and we’d go to town where she turned into a saleswoman.

She was the coolest. This was the 80’s. My friends would be in shock and awe and say “your gramma wears acid washed jeans??!!”

Yep, that’s my Gramma.

She also had to have a three wheeled Yamaha ATV when they first came out. Not my Grampa, Gramma. She bought it, she rode it and she took us for rides on it and later let us borrow it.

This morning, I can’t wrap my head around the fact that she left us 26 years ago today. On this day, I got that phone call from Dad. I was in my early 20’s, had just moved up north, to Thompson and was doing my 6 week practicum at the hospital, which would conclude my nursing program.

I didn’t want to believe him. I denied what he was saying. I refused to believe it. Finally he said, Carla, why would I be making this up? Only then it actually sunk in.

She was at home in her little apartment, standing at the kitchen table, according to her home care worker. She just dropped to the floor and was gone. The EMS came but there was nothing to be done.

I’m happy to know that I have some of her in me. At least I’m pretty sure.

Women need to be strong and independent. She never actually said those words but that’s the way she lived and I too, live by this. I’m sometimes too blunt with what I say, just like her.