My Grandma

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I still remember my grandma’s hand touched my head at night. Her hand is rough, when her skin touched mine. I felt like someone was using sandpaper to scrub my skin. It hurts little. The thick calluses on her hand are hard like rock. The calluses to me are more expansive than a diamond made of love and kindness.

The apron has aged and smells like peanut oil and burning wood. The fabric abrasion at the edge. Two small holes on right side of it. Probably caused by a rat. It’s a gift from my grandpa. The apron contains too much of her love and memories.

It’s been a while I have not spoken to her, so I call her. The same high pitch voice with countryside accents shouted,” Who is that?”

“It’s me, grandma. Your grandson！“I reply.

“Who is that? Why are you speaking so low!” Another shout came across the Pacific Ocean. After so many years her hearing ability has decreased. I shout out loud, like the thunder. Suddenly She lower her voice try to make it as soft as possible, but her voice is still harsh. She used to walk on the mountain road during the night. She told me that the high pitch voice will scare wolf and tiger away. Also, this is a way to communicate with other people in the forest.

I miss grandma, she just like my second mother give me love and comfort. Guide me through fear and anxiety. All those years she spent with me. I want to thank you grandma and I want to tell you I love you!