Maybe in my book, someday

This was written after my Nana's death in December.

Tonight after an evening bucket bath Lamra happened to notice her emerald green aloe Vera plants across from her latrine, which she had successfully harvested from the abandoned Peace Corp hostel in her ville only a few months ago.

She thinks to herself, “ Wow, they are really beginning to grow.”

Because of these spiky, but squeezable plants Lamra is instantly brought back to an old but familiar place in her childhood. Immediately after she closers her eyes the smells and sounds coming flashing back. The stale odor of her grandfather’s cigarettes leaking from the basement, his once private dwelling and next, its what may possibly be some kind of vegetable or produce item being boiled to the point of becoming unrecognizable in her Nana's kitchen.

She soon begins to picture the landscape: the bumpy shared driveway great for biking, next the rose bush cared for by Papa Benny, the not so ‘safe’ looking metal swing adorned with a Ernie rubber topper (of 'Bert & Ernie'), and of course the tulips and daffodils, that arrived each spring which led you to the overly painted white door.

After making her way up the yellow stairs lined in metal that had once caused a large bump on her forehead either due to a trip up or down, does she soon recall her many afternoons on 76 Vista Ave.

In the small rooms on the main floor, she recalls each one being decorated with plants of the leafy variety both hanging or housed on the windowsills. Most important of course were the pots in the kitchen full of aloe Vera.

Next, Lamra begins to recognize the faces in the frames adorning the walls. That’s Elizabeth and Kristen at Easter with their white tights. Oh, and that’s Danny with his big plastic bat and classic 90’s shorts, so trendy. Of course it’s Erin and me, at Christmas in front of the fireplace with our ‘oh so long’ hair. I can’t forget those pictures from Patrick’s modeling years either. And lastly, Alexandra’s baby pictures at her welcome home party.

Lamra begins to feel her eyes swelling up and soon a tear falls from her face. She can't stop herself from thinking about her Nana. It was only a month ago that she died.

Her mind pauses, then quickly returns her back to reality. Never will she eat an omelet “microwave style” or get to dry pasta on a broom stick. Better yet, taste Nana’s “oh I substituted the baking powder for soda” cookies. She lost her chance to feel those amazingly soft hands that squeezed her face as a child. And the worst of it, she'll never get the opportunity to get a kiss on the cheek by those forever red lined lips, ever again.

Softly she whispers to herself, looking up at the darkening sky, “I love you Nana Ann, my only Nana, and the only one I ever wanted.”