But my beautiful grandmother died in December of last year, after breaking her hip in a fall and a gradual decline due to severe dementia.
I wonder, how much time must pass before I don’t think of her everyday? I’m glad that I can talk about her without dissolving into sobs, and that I remember all the happy times, the times she made me laugh, even when she was sick.
When she was in a Chicago nursing home after her fall, she wasn’t eating the food there, so we brought her some Jamaican food. I tried to feed her some rice and peas, assuring her that it was real Jamaican food, just as good as the food in the country she was born in.
I got a forkful of rice and peas (really, red beans, for the uninitiated) into her mouth, and she chewed it, and made a face. It’s rice and peas, I told her again.
Far from it! she replied, and we just laughed. Her body was weak, but her personality was intact.
Rest in peace, Grandma. I bet the rice and peas is more to your liking in heaven.