In Memory of My Grandmother

My grandmother, my Baka Pavica in Croatia, passed away Wednesday morning. This is one of the last pictures I have of us together:

I have so many wonderful memories of my baka. She would make us palacinke (Croatian crepes) and feed us until we thought we would explode. She'd say: "But you only had five!" And we'd say: "Yes, but they were all stuffed with Nutella! We're full, Baka! We couldn't possibly eat another!" Then we'd eat two more.

My baka was selfless and loving and kind. She would give you her scarf, if you so much as suggested it was pretty or looked nice with her shoes. (She'd also try to give you her shoes.) She loved gnocchi. She loved soap operas. She loved the Adriatic Sea.

When I think of my baka, I think of her at the seaside, making dinner or serving dessert in her bathing suit. I have beautiful memories of her there. Beautiful memories of her sunbathing. Beautiful memories of her sewing, of her talking, of her laughing.

But my favorite memory is more recent. I remember when she saw my Samuel for the first time. I remember how sweetly she smiled. And I remember how Samuel still kisses her picture and asks about his Nona:

We miss you already, Nona.