She had a hard time walking. Her ankles hurt. They were always swollen. One of them was deformed. She was a big lady. Very big. Which can't have helped.
She didn't take very good care of herself. Her hair wasn't styled in any particular way. But it was always clean. She wore elastic hairbands. I stole them. She wore hairnets. I thought they were funny.
She was a wonderful cook. Her chicken noodle soup was legendary. I've never tasted the like. Especially the noodles. She would cut them and place them on clean sheets on top of ironing boards to dry. She would shout at me, "Quit mooching the noodles!" I don't know how she knew. It was probably obvious- I'm sure it was the only time I was quiet.
She loved The Dating Game. At night they would watch tv in the darkness, while nursing monstrous huge drinks. One each. Hers was cherry vodka and 7Up. His was Old Grandad and 7Up. I would get a sip of hers if I asked. It was yummy. His wasn't.
On Sunday, we would watch Wonderful World of Disney together. I would follow her around when she cleaned the motel units. She convinced me that I was helping.
I loved her beyond compare. Her disappearance was sudden, unprepared, and ultimately devastating. Not only to me. But to many of us left behind. No one stepped forward and took her place. I kept expecting it, and it never happened. I kept looking, and found no one. It's hard to tell a 6 year old not to have hope.