She knitted socks, coat hangers and jerseys to make me comfortable.
She taught me home remedies for illnesses.
She gave me sweeties to cheer me up.
She taught me discipline.
Her hands were soft, and her veins on her hands were squishy and I liked playing with them, to see them pop back up.
She played hide-and-seek with me all the time.
Her chickens scared me to death.
She gave me ornaments to remember her by.
We never talked much, but she looked after me.
I wish I knew her better so I could understand her better, but all hope of that is gone now.
"One's past is what one is. It is the only way by which people should be judged." Oscar Wilde
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