“coffee and oatmeal,” I mutter to myself as I prepare breakfast in the kitchen.

It is what my grandmother likes to have every day. I love to prepare it but I hate the smell of coffee. We are so close I actually call her Mum-mum. Here she comes now,  wearing a long white night gown. The night-gown matches her perfectly white hair.  She walks past me to sit down at the kitchen table. I can’t help but feel short as my Mum-mum is way taller than my 4ft 10-inch frame.After breakfast we usually go play bingo and a game of cards. But today mum-mum wants to do something different. Mum-mum wants to have a talk with me.

“Flaca I love you and  I care about you. I hope you know that. I know I can be very hard on you but it’s because  I just want the best for you.” She says pausing on eating her oatmeal

I see an uncomfortable look in her face as she quickly changes the subject to say “You know Flaca that cigarettes used to cost five cents. I didn’t have a television so what we would do when I was your age is listen to the radio and make babies.”

“Make babies?!” I exclaim while scrunching my nose at the strong aroma of coffee

“Yes make babies Flaca. I had sixteen children and of the sixteen only six survived. During those days the medicine was not what it is today so my babies passed. But God let some survive and that’s how you are here today. But I didn’t let that get me down I still went on to do some fun things during that time.”

She then keeps on going on and on about the good old days of when she was a teen. She  quickly changed the subject but I’ll always remember her saying she cared about me while in that kitchen eating her oatmeal. Weeks later when I tried to bring it up she would just hush me and tell me to make her oatmeal and coffee with a smile.