Paw Paw, you joined Honey several years ago, but I ache with missing you. The weeks I spent visiting with you every summer are cherished memories. I remember sitting on your lap while you yelled at the Longhorns and the Cowboys on TV, and yelling along with you. I remember how you used to always pretend that the brakes had failed in your truck when we went down the big hill by your house, and how I pretended to fall for it every time, and we screamed together while we rolled down the hill. I remember the joy you took in caring for your yard and working at your business, and your despair when your health kept you from it at the end. I will always love you.
Granny, it’s been years since you recognized me, and some time since you could even speak to me, but I remember you as you were, not as you are now. I remember your tiny little house out in the country, sitting on the front porch and waving at the occasional truck that drove by. I still remember the names for the wildflowers and the birds that you taught me, and think of you whenever I work in my garden - how you loved to be surrounded by pretty growing things. I remember your jokes as you would pick the ticks off me after an afternoon of running around in the woods behind the house, and your patience with me when I was afraid of the outhouse. I remember picking dewberries together, eating more than I saved, the wonderful cobbler you made with the leftovers and the calamine lotion you put on the scratches from the thorns. I remember your incomparable chocolate pie, and the “pie crust cookies” you made with the extra dough - just for me! I remember being rocked to sleep on your lap as you sang lullabyes to me. I remember your unconditional love. It breaks my heart to see you as you are now, but I remember the woman you were. And I love you.