Telling Tales (true or tall)

Photo courtesy Nest In The Attic My eyes are wet with tears as I stand over her frail body. Her face is peaceful and free of the pain that has been so noticeable of late.  I feel my throat constricting with the effort of keeping my emotions in check.  Is this tiny, thin creature the same woman I remember from childhood as a tower of strength? Mum had phoned me earlier this morning and asked me to stop in on my way to the city to check on her mother, my "Grammy".  I had grudgingly agreed because she was insistent although it would mean I’d be late for my hair appointment.  It was terribly difficult to get a suitable spot at  Ramon’s. “Honestly Mum, you worry too much,” I had said.  “She’s as tough as old leather and will probably outlast me!” I look through the door to the kitchen where long ago Grandma had taught me to cook the dishes my own family now loved.  So strong are the many happy memories of that room, I feel I can almost touch th...