My maternal grandmother was a devout Episcopalian. She used to dress me, my sister and cousins up in dresses to attend church. This was in South Dakota so it wasn’t quite warm enough to wear dresses so we usually ended up having wear a heavy winter coat over the dress. The thin white stockings and white patent leather shoes weren’t quite enough to keep the cold away.
The Easter before she passed, we dressed up and we went to church but this time, my sister and cousins decided after church we would go for a walk while the adults sat and drank coffee. Our walk took us up a very steep hill where we subsequently got stuck. Leather patent shoes are not good for hiking. My oldest cousin had to hike up the hill to retrieve us.
Despite getting stuck on a hill in a frilly white dress and white patent shoes, that Easter is the one I remember most vividly. I remember eating sweet breads bought from the store and boiled eggs for breakfast. I remember the feel of my aunts fingers on my scalp and in my hair as she braided my hair. I remember my grandma singing hyms in Lakota. I remember her in green, the color of spring. Her curly hair done up with streams of silver dotting here and there.
My grandma was not very old when she passed. She was in her mid-50’s. Quite young I can say now. She loved her grandchildren, we were the most important. I can’t at-will recall the sound of her voice, it takes context. I remember her that morning. The happy laughter and the look of contentment. She loved Easter lilies. They weren’t as prevalent as they are today but I remember how she used to stare at them in church. A look of open adoration for the flower. She’s the reason I love lilies. They remind me of her.
It’s been 38 years since she left and I still miss her. Especially on Easter.