I remember raspberry bushes in her garden. Sitting at the side of a long row of bushes picking them one by one and swallowing them without abandon.
Did I wash them? Fuck no. They were organic, minus pesticides, and attached to a bush that belonged to my Oma's garden.
I chowed the fuck down.
I don't know why I put that part in. It was just a fond memory I had of being in Germany and at my Oma's house.
She IS a savage. In the best representation of the term. She lived through a war, Hitler, interracial relationships for her daughter in the 70's, an alcoholic brother and his subsequent alzheimers.
Yet she always kissed me. Every night.
Family is ridiculosly important she would say. I took that feeling from her and still hold onto it this day.
Who cares that her idea of family time is boring as fuck. 2hrs every night just talking about your day after a meal was important to her. Her thought of family and friends is an interpration that I adapted to how I treat mine to this day.
Do NOT get me started on her recipes and her personality.
Her recipes. Her snide comments. Her need to gossip about other people in the family. The year I didnt speak with my mother and her bringing my mum and I together.
My Oma.
She hasn't been my only Oma. But as far as I am concerned.
She is the only one who, to me, counts more than my breath.
Ich habe dich so lieb, meine Oma
