When I was younger I would visit my Memé and Pepé quite often. Not as often as my mother would like but we saw them near or on every holiday. The kitchen smelt like comfort because food was always being cooked by my Memé, food that I miss. In the middle of the kitchen there was a big round table, it was “reserved” for adults but I was allowed to sit with them. It always made me feel big. I would add onto their conversations with my childish input and feel important.

In the backyard of their house there was a waterfall that never seemed to stop. When I envision this part of their house, a smile appears on my face and butterflies inhabit my stomach. So many memories were created there, from jumping across the top of it, to the feeling of the stream running over my bare feet. Next to the stream was a pond that felt bigger than the world compared to my small body. My love for frogs came from this pond; they were abundant and always easy to catch. I remember the frogs always jumping out of my childlike hands, running through their yard after frogs became a common occurrence for me.

The house had paint chipping, wood decaying and moss growing. But it seemed lived in not abandoned. The sound of my Pepé playing his organ after me begging him fills me up with joy. This organ is in my house now, but no one knows how to play it. It has become a decoration or a toy in my little sisters eyes.

All these memories are bittersweet when I think about them. My Memé is now dead and my Pepé lives in a retirement home. The house has been sold off to some other family. I wish I was able to cherish these memories more when I was there. When I was a kid I would always moan and groan about the long car rides there and back, but now I would do anything to take that car ride again. I would do anything to run through their yard again and avoid all the flowers (when I was younger I thought plants had feelings to and I didn’t want to step on them). I miss the Christmas sweaters my Memé would knit because the tag would always say “made with love -Memé”. But those sweaters have long since been outgrown and I will never wear a sweater that was made with her love again.