I was always incredibly close to my grandmother, Betty. The story goes that from when I was a baby, she and I were immediately and strongly bonded. I certainly felt that deep bond and love through my growing up years and into young adulthood.

I went to college in upstate New York, about 45 minutes from where she and my grandfather lived, and I’d often visit or send my grandmother flowers or cards.

She died when I was 22, a few months after my college graduation (which she attended), and though that’s now almost 18 years ago, I miss her like she died yesterday.

She was a fantastic cook and though I’m not much of a cook, she taught me about baking and I’ve done it (pretty well!) ever since.

In my recipe book, I have a handful of her handwritten recipes. I keep them in plastic because they’re fading and more than 30 years old, but I love to take them out and look at them. Her handwriting goes right to my heart; seeing it makes her vivid.

This evening, I was teaching my boys how to bake banana bread. My littlest, who is 4, seems to love baking like I do. As I was teaching him how to mash bananas tonight, he initiated, spontaneously, this beautiful conversation:

G: Mom, who told you about making banana bread?

K: My grandmother, Nanie, did. She taught me alllll about baking.

G: Where is she?

K: She died when I was 22.

G: So she’s in heaven?

K: Yes she is!

G: When will she be alive again?

K: Hmmm..I’m not sure…

G: Well, I hope she’s alive again soon because I really want to meet her!

K: *sob* *swoon*

I love how honestly and naturally kids know deep soul truths. It’s so comforting. ❤️