UNDERNEATH THE APPLE TREE

My grandmother visited me in a dream once.

It had been the first time seeing her since she parted ways from this world. The only time, in fact. Like I had always remembered her, she had a warm smile on her face. She stood right before me, with reassurance that she was okay. She told me that there was no need to worry about her anymore. It was at that time, after several years, that I was able to feel the comfort of her presence again.

I still reminisce of the small moments that encapsulated my early childhood with my grandmother. Each calm morning would begin with warm milk inside an old fashioned mug in her hand, accompanied with a traditional sweet rusk. We would sit beside one other and watch her favorite series on the television, helping me grow closer with her as the language barrier faded. At the end of the day, she would sing a lullaby in our mother tongue while rubbing my back until I fell asleep.

Even as a child, I knew that my grandmother was not only my grandmother. She was also a mother, whose arms embraced my sibling and I as if we were her own. 

When my grandmother passed away, a part of me felt guilty for not being able to say a proper goodbye. The memory of her lingering by the door at her nursing home still clung to me. In spite of the thousands of miles that separated us, one phone call every Sunday morning would bring such value that it helped close the distance just enough to feel as though she was there right beside me again. It was simply enough to hear her voice from the other side of the world, knowing that she was still holding onto this precious life.

Despite the fear that my grandmother had felt, I hope she remembered the person that she persevered to be. That she felt pride for serving as the roots to a family legacy that remains alive today. At the very palm of her hands, she instilled strength to us throughout all of the weathering storms that each season brought to our tree. I hope that my grandmother knew that she was a force of nature and her existence prevails among the memories that are still shared to this day.

My grandmother may not have lived long to witness the milestones that I always dreamed of achieving as I grew up, but I know that she will always still be here. I will see her in the vibrant orange hues of the sky in the calm, summer evenings. When I see a young girl holding the hand of her grandmother as they walk together down the street, I will remember how life felt when it had been just us against the world. And with each step I take to dance, I will be soothed with the memory that it was the one aspect of my being that she still remembered me for.

I hope that if my grandmother visits me in my dreams again, that we are in Michigan. Only this time, I would hold her fragile hands underneath the apple tree. My hand would reach above to pluck two apples from the branch, so that we can both taste the sweetness of the fruit that we always craved.

I hope it will remind us of our roots and what it feels like to be at home again.