I remember the only name we called my grandmother was "granmama."

I remember my grandmother baking cookies for us when we visited. She kept them in the freezer in anticipation of our arrival.

I remember she hated being restrained to a wheelchair. When my younger cousins visited she always took great pleasure when they rode in the chair with her.

I remember going through my grandmother's closet with my brother. We would take her bedroom slippers and wear them around the house. She would always laugh and encourage us.

I remember the great anticipation for the trips to her house in Alabama.

I remember asking my younger cousin Claire if she remembered granmama. Claire was only 3 or 4 when our grandmother died. Claire remembered.

I remember watching TV at my grandmother's house. The shows were always better lying on her living room floor.

I remember my brother and I playing with GI Joes in her garden. She never got angry when we broke her plants' branches.

I remember running around in my grandmother's backyard and hiding in the bushes.

I remember crying at her funeral and then again at her memorial service. I have never cried as much as I did then.

I remember granmama took a walk every morning with her friends. She wore a light purple or blue sweat suit. She always believed in exercise.

I remember every night we closed the curtains over the big glass doors at the back of her house. I always wanted to pull the string that drew them shut.

I remember gazing in her mirrors that were placed across from each other. They would reflect your image infinitely and it always amazed me.

I remember how tired my grandmother was after her chemotherapy treatments. She was always brave and she always smiled.

I remember bringing our dog to granmama's house. Our dog loved it; she could run around unrestrained in the fenced backyard.

I remember filling in the holes that my dog would dig in the fenced backyard.

I remembering being more comfortable at my grandmother's house that I was anywhere, even more so than at my house.

I remember writing a letter to her after she died. I put it in a plastic bag and buried it. I would like to think that she received it.

I remember granmama's laugh and her wonderfully undyed gray hair.

I remember she let my brother and me play with her figurines, even the fragile ones.

I remember the times my mother has said, "I wish your grandmother was here to see you. She would be so proud of you." I believe she has always been there.