Day 3 - Dear Carmel - I remember the grandma...

Day 3 and my draw card is remembering 'the grandma.' The grandma is appropriate in this case as I grew up only ever knowing one grandma.  Read on to find out what an amazing woman she was and,her influences on me as both a child and adult.  It was great  re-visiting some of the most happiest and sad times of my life and how it conjures memories that had escaped me temporarily.

Dear Carmel

  I remember the grandma who took me to toy shops, who introduced me to my first ever hobby - collecting swap cards.  My favourite destination for swap cards was Tim the Toyman.  You couldn't find another store like it in Melbourne.  With ten-dollars tightly tucked away within my small fist - a luxury my grandmother became famous for - sent me into the toy store anxiously searching for the only thing I had desperately waited to invest in.
  Grandma wasn't big on conversations, instead she would take me on imaginary journey's through her garden filled with prize winning Dalia's, she would feed me her much anticipated coconut jam slice, rich golden mountains of coconut topping cascading over the river of strawberry jam, and if you were lucky enough to get a fresh slice straight from the tin, you would be treated to the warm buttery texture that licked your palette like nothing else. 
  I remember grandma was the first person to teach me how to cook fresh peas, how to split their pods, carefully, accurately cutting their lengths, straight down the seams, bursting, popping every hidden seed within, exposing them; sending them straight into the pot.  
  After dinner grandma treated me like a queen, serving rockmelon and ice-cream for supper.  I didn't have the heart to tell her I hated rockmelon, instead I tried to disguise that bitter taste that enveloped my tongue by carefully proportioning spoonful's of equal quantities directly into my gullet and swallowing before it bit my tongue. 
  I loved and hated night time with grandma.  I loved the high double-bed I needed to launch into, I loved the warmth as I climbed under the covers onto the awaiting flannelette sheets, a luxury unknown at home.  I loved the way I could spread across from one side of the bed to the next, making snow angels under the covers, finally allowing the heaviness of the days activities drift my tired mind into dream-time.  Some nights my dream-time would be suspended, throwing me into a world I didn't know or understand.  My  grandmothers sobs of loneliness crept through the walls, they hovered over my bed rendering me incapable of moving, talking, and the only thing I could do was silently shed tears awaiting the morning.  
  I remember a grandma being so caring, loving, accepting.  She left me her wedding ring, it was my inheritance, a non-replaceable piece of the past I wear on my wedding finger proudly, a piece of my grandmother always with me.  I say goodnight to her most nights as I pass a photograph of her that sits smiling at me from on top of the bookcase.  I hope she hears my prayers,  knows of a love that never fades until we meet again.