My very first memory is of my mother's back. I remember the way that her short auburn hair brushed her collar; the way that her floral print dress hugged the slant of her shoulders and the small curve of her hip. I can recall perfectly the scratch mark on the heel of her black flats; it was from Granny's dog that had jumped on her. I remember the smell of her perfume a cheap brand from a corner drug store that she got on sale. I also distinctly remember the sound of her closing the door separating the two of us forever. The memory that I always recall next was when I was seven. I sat on my grandmother's potting table out in the old greenhouse. My skirt covered in soil and the smell of sunshine and herbs filling my senses. Her wrinkled hand covered by old soft leather gloves as she mussed my long hair when I recited the name and uses of the various plants. But most of all I recall a small painted portrait of a man that she had on her desk that had a small golden locket draped over the small wooden frame. She never let me touch it and would say "You'll understand when you're older" eventually I stopped asking. All of that seems so very long ago now.

I stood leaning against the greenhouse doors now a nineteen year old woman in the 21st century. My eyes closed as the gentle breeze played with my hair and knee length skirt. It's been fifteen years since my mother left me to the care of my grandmother and now I was the one caring for her. Catherine Bates was now sixty nine years old and far too ill to even sit in her much loved green house or flower garden and it pained me. My grandmother who raised me in our little patch of rural Maine, who taught me the healing properties of herbs, and regaled me with tales from my Grandfather's history books, was old. With a sigh I gently pushed off from the door of the now dead greenhouse and began to walk up the small path to our house. I looked up at what had at one point been a grand colonial home had fallen to some disrepair but it was my home; the only home that I could ever recall having. I walked up the steps that led to the back door and allowed my hand to brush over the notches that had marked my growth as a child.

Opening the screen door and stepping inside I heard my Grandma's record player spilling its music down the stairs from the second floor. I smiled slightly, today was a good day she wasn't in pain if she managed to make it to her sewing room from her bed. I opened the large china cabinet that stood beside the door and pulled out her hand painted rose tea set and busied myself preparing us a small lunch. I carefully picked up the tray with its contents and began to walk up the wide staircase that led to the second floor.

"Granma are you in your sewing room?" I called down the hall as I reached the top of the stairs.

"I'm in here Charlotte!" She responded cheerfully from down the hall. I giggled softly and walked carefully balancing the tray into her sewing room. I walked in and I saw my grandmother sat in her large embroidered chair that faced out the large window which gave a view of the small woodland we that had out back. I smiled and walked to the table and chair beside her noticing her eyes were closed with her thick leather journal clasped in her wrinkled hands that once braided my hair. I set down the tray and turned off the record player stopping Mozart's Concerto half way through a swell of stringed instruments. I sat in the chair across from her and smoothed my green skirt carefully. I watched as Grandma breathed in deeply and opened her eyes setting down her journal beside the tea tray.

"Charlotte you are such a dear." She cooed reaching out and picking up her cup and saucer taking a sip before fixing the shoulder of her sweater. I took a sip of my tea and looked at the open drawer of her desk and saw several old looking letters poking out from a wooden box on top of the desk. Grandma noticed what I was looking at and coughed slightly. My eyes turned immediately to her.

"I saw you out and about the greenhouse today. Were you tending to the herbs?" she seemed so hopeful at the prospect of me fixing up the plants. I shook my head gently and set down my cup and saucer.

"No I just needed to clear my head after getting back from Pammie's house. You know all the plants are dead anyway Grandma." I replied our identical blue-green eyes meeting. With a quiet sigh and a smile Grandma shook her head.

"It's such a shame some of those herbs started from cuttings of plants that were over a hundred and fifty years old. Did Pammie Coulson upset you my dear?" She asked me sipping at her tea. I shrugged looking at her with a sad little smile.

"Pammie was just trying to set me up with one of her work friends. I told her I wasn't interested in meeting Henry and then she began questioning why I won't go on dates." Granma looked at me with an understanding twinkle in her eye as she fiddled slightly with her wedding band after setting her cup on the arm of her chair.

"Remember what I said Charlotte good things and people come to those who are patient." She patted my knee in what I assume was an attempt at comfort but I stood suddenly.

"You've always said that Gran but the way you say it makes it sound as if you know something more than you are telling me!" I burst out in slight irritation. "You homeschooled me my entire childhood, I know more about the 17 and 1800s than most historians." I cried pointing at the numerous history books scattered along the rooms five tall bookshelves.

"For Christ sake I've never even kissed a boy! Do you have any idea what that's like as a nineteen year old?" She just smiled at me and I sunk back into my chair feeling slightly ashamed about my outburst.

"Charlotte you will understand why soon enough child. You've always been so patient even as a small child. I just ask you for a little more patience love. Can you do that for me?" she asked squeezing my hand gently. I carefully grasped her hand between mine and looked her in the eye.

"Of course Gran, always. I don't know why I did that." She pat my cheek then gave a toothy smile.

"Well I can! Pammie Coulson is a right bitch!" She howled with laughter as I blushed giggling slightly.

"Gran!" I gasped out between fits of giggles. I watched as my grandmother's smile took on a gentler look and she mussed my long hair slightly.

"You remind me so much of your Grandfather Charlotte. Charles was so much like you at your age. Towards the end though he wrote as if he knew his time was short and would spend hours poring over the books in his downstairs study. He died six months before your mother brought you here. I think that study has been closed off sense then." As I watched her her eyes seemed like she was in another time as if I wasn't even in the room let alone holding her hand. I sighed and stood placing my hands on her shoulders helping her stand from her chair.

"Come one Gran let's get you to bed you're tired." She stood shakily as I grasped her arm to steady her.

"I do believe you are right dear." I helped her to her room two doors down and helped her into bed. I pulled the quilt up around her shoulders and kissed her forehead pushing her soft white hair back.

"Charlotte never forget how much I love you." I looked at her with my brow furrowed and nodded running my hand down her hair.

"Of course Gran and I love you, so much. Now rest. I'll go make us some dinner and if you're feeling up to it I will help you downstairs to eat at the dining table." I watched as she closed her eyes her wrinkled face relaxing and breathing deeply.

"That sounds lovely my dear." I smiled and stood closing her door soundlessly behind me.

If I knew that would be the last time I would see her I would have said more. Told her I loved her anything so I could hear her voice once more. But, that's not how death works.