Things

My grandma died this morning.

I didn't know what to do, and I couldn't really do anything anyway.

So like a true Ballert, I made food. I made chive spelt biscuits, mushroom gravy, and red flannel hash. The hash had potatoes and beets from my grandma's garden in it. Between that and the smell of the gas stove and the foggy Sunday morning, I felt like I was back in her kitchen.

I'm still hanging out in the kitchen, seasoning the cast iron skillet that she gave to me. Apparently it was her mother-in-law's. I closed all the doors so the heat stays in, and now between that and my redleaf tea it's quite toasty in here.

I feel indescribable loss, but at least I'm home.

I feel like of all the parts of me, as much as I constantly struggle to define who I am and come up with no answers, the parts of my life that have Grandma in them make sense, and those parts are solid and reassuring, and make the rest of the puzzle pieces fall into place around them.