Omi

The weather is wet and windy, but we managed a little visit to the cemetary my grandma is buried on. She died a year and a half ago, when I had just left here and gone back to Scotland after a visit. It broke my heart not to be able to go to her funeral, but the expense and stress of the trip just seemed too much at the time. It seemed far more important anyway that she got to see her daughter, her grandchildren and great-grandchildren the week before she died and went out to eat ice-cream with them.

So many happy memories lie in the past. Country walks accompanied with loud singing near the farm she lived on, cutting the freshly cut vegetables from the garden with her and my grandfather in the ancient kitchen (the smell of green beans still brings those back), feeding the cows (she gave them all funny names such as "Mathilda", "Agathe" etc) or watching the snowdrops grow by the pond in spring. It seems unthinkable that such a loveable, utterly kind-hearted old lady should ever be forgotten.