Honey, Cigarettes and Burnt Onions

I approach the stairs to head down for my morning hello, There you are in the kitchen with your grapefruit. You always were so delighted to see me, even if you had 5 minutes ago. "Oh Tara" you would say "would you like me to make you some toast"
Then you would proceed to make me toast with butter, cut up bananas and honey drizzled over it. To this day it is still my comfort food and makes me remember you.
Is it really 14 years since I last saw your sweet face. How is it that time has passed by and it still feels like yesterday when you left this place. The one comfort I had after you passed Nana, was watching that dear man I call Grandad. Oh he seemed so lost after you left. I still remember the tenderness he had on the evening you passed away. How it touched my heart to watch him holding your hand, and broke it when I saw the tear pass down his cheek as he kissed your forehead. I never understood the love you had for each other til that moment. This strong and hard Irish man watching his angel drift away. The months after I learned how to love Grandad in a new way. I found his sarcasm only challenged mine. I still hear him say "when are you going to settle down and get married". He had a way about him, he would catch your eye and make a face. He always seemed to be taking things apart only to never put them back together. Also if you needed a penny, he had more then enough change to go around. What I mostly remember is the smell of cigarettes and the burnt onions in the frying pan, the sound of the kettle going off because you could not hear it. How he used to have this full belly laugh that just made me laugh even harder. He had a sweetness about him, even though he liked to hide it under that tough Carpenter from Ireland demeanor it was there. Oh he could be infuriating, and yet at the end of the day I just wanted to wrap my arms around him in a big hug. Oh how I would give anything to have you make my toast again Nana, to write with you in the living room and share my dreams like we used to, and Grandad to hear you laugh, and harass me again would make my day. I hear that your causing alot of trouble up there in heaven. I hope there that you can play the fiddle again, and Nana, you have your badminton racket out again. I can still smell your sweet perfume and will never forget how soft your cheek felt against mine when we hugged. I am blessed to have had amazing grandparents that were characters to no end, but taught me love and made me realize that the one thing that matters at the end of the day is loving each other. That simple joys can be found in honey, and a pen and piece of paper.

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Honey, Cigarettes and Burn onions
Some of my best memories.