As I show my wee girl how to make plum jam, I hear my mother's voice and feel her hand guiding me.
I miss her voice, I miss her dimply, twinkling smile.... but as we (as a family) brace ourselves for the worst, I'm trying to focus on the rich harvest of her life. She nourished with love, thoughtfulness and humility, and she lives on in her children, grandchildren and community in countless ways.
When my daughter grows up, she may not have any memory of her grandmother - but there's something comforting in the knowledge that she'll know how to make plum jam. She may even have a daughter of her own one day, and will teach her to make it.