Sweetness runs in families. Or so I was told by my grandmother. She said I was sweet as honey and tough as tar. I never understood what that meant until I stepped on a tar patch fixing dad's driveway, and I could not separate my new Prada heel from the iron-fisted goo. I cannot, cannot talk about how hard and long I persevered trying to get that goo off my investment. Needless to say, the goop one. I still wear the shoes.

Gran always said I was sweet. Sweet as nothings said in the ear of a young hearted lover. I would blush when she said that. I could not imagine at a tender age of 10 what that meant, but I knew it was grown-up stuff, and I was not old enough to hear it or process it. Gran loved flustering me. Making my cheeks pink with heat and sweet embracing embarrassment. She was what my mum liked to call fun. Fun for adults maybe, but I did not see it that way when I was just a kid. Now I would give anything for 10 minutes with her. I have so many questions and so many intentions that never got met. I never got to say goodbye. I never got to give her one last kiss. I just was not ready for her to go. No one asked me. I know I am an adult now, but driving to her house makes me feel ten all over again.

What happened to Gran? Why didn't she tell me she was sick? Was she sick? My God, I have no idea. I am such a bad granddaughter. When was the last time we spoke? Last April? Last August? I cannot remember. What was the last thing she told me? Life is not the path or the destination but the anticipation of both. What the hell did she mean? I mean, what does that mean anyway? What the heck. She could be so cryptic and I just about had enough when we spoke last. I mean who says that kind of thing? I'll tell you who she did, all of the time. Gran was the greatest until she wasn't. I mean, no one could upset mum as fast or as callously as Gran. It was like a ritual between them, and I just got a little tired of being in the audience. I was always in the audience when those two were in the same room. Oil and water are what people said. Gas and flame are what I thought. It was always combustible, and no one knew whose head was going to get blown off, but you knew if you were in the blast radius, it was going to be uncomfortable at the very least.