For Lili, with love.

While I stare at our picture together, trying to find a way to start this text, I take a deep breath. The smell of lilies takes over the living room. I try to remember your smell, but the memory that comes first is the touch of your skin. Always cold. It was delicious to hug you in the summer. I remember the dish rag hanging from your shoulder every now and then. You waking up early to start cooking the potatoes. No matter how tough the times were, the table was always full. I remember you handling the plants and how good you were with them. Everything blossomed, and you were so proud of it. I keep trying to remember your scent, and now what comes to my mind is the ointment you prepared – it smelled of alcohol and arnica (I loved it) and you stored it in a mason jar. It looked ugly, with an earthy red color, but this is the smell that immediately reminds me of you. I remember you telling jokes and repeating the same stories, I remember you crying from laughing too hard and how delicious your laughter was. I remember you telling me that my blue hair was your favorite, and I think that is the reason I subconsciously return to it all the time. I remember our last conversation, carefree on the porch, talking about chairs and future beers. But I don’t remember your smell. I pause, and I take another deep breath. For now everything is okay. The smell of lilies is taking over the living room and I feel you a little bit closer.

                                                                                                                                                                                                                  with love, from your granddaughter, Daiane.