My fondest memories of Great Grammy's home is her garden. She had a strawberry and blackberry patch and we would pick them together and put them in baskets. I cherish that sweet memory because that is the only memory I have of her. She did not speak any English----only Hungarian, but she loved me, I remember, because I could just feel it. I also remember her cooking cabbage rolls in a pot.
The only heirloom I have from her is a Bible. I keep that Bible in my drawer and when I see it I think of her. Every now and then I will look through it and wonder what her thoughts were as she read through it. Was she saved? Did she pray for me? What were her struggles?
I don't really remember her home, but I do remember her scent. Isn't it amazing how we can conjure up childhood memories with an aroma or fragrance and suddenly, in a speed of light, have flashed back in time when things were simpler?
How sometimes I wish I could go back in that garden and spend time with her. How I wish I could just hug her and thank her for my grandfather. I would hug her and give her a kiss on the cheek. I would hold her hand and smile in her eyes. Did she ever know that there would be a generation that would love and follow the Lord? Was that her prayer when she was alone in her room?
Great Grammy's memory will forever rest in my heart and even when I am old and gray my desire will be to walk through that special strawberry patch again---where time stood still-- and pick berries with her.