I think about my grandma a lot
Her name was Ludmila. She was a wonderful woman. An amazing grandma. And an amazing human. I only wished that she live longer. She was gone too soon. Too sudden. There was so much still that I wanted to show her. My last memories of her are quite vivid. Her body was already weakened. We walked slowly to the grocery store in the mornings. She would hug my arm, and even though she was putting her weight on me, I could barely feel it - that's how light she was. Not being able to speak a word of English, she still managed to have body language conversations with the Latina workers at the store. They always smiled. I remember too much sadness in the last days as well. Stupid arguments with grandpa, that have been going on for at least a decade. Fuck alcohol. Me hugging her on a couch, her quietly crying. "It's okay grandma." My hugs communicated love and care I had for her. But the pain, it was too much, and too deep. And yet, at the end, she always smiled. I don't regret. At least that's what I always thought. But now, I think I do. I regret the time she couldn't spend with us. I would have loved nothing more than to share it with her. She deserved it more than anyone. I often remember how appreciative she was of the world. Niagara falls. California. Me solving a sudoku when I was 8. She always had that look of amazement. "Oh wow!" Genuine curiosity like the one I've never seen. You wanted to show her the world. Share stories with her. You knew she would always respond in the best way, most rewarding way. She was so proud. Never gave up. She cared. And I hope to care as much as she did.