The sound of my feet gently hit the floor as I ran down the stairs. My eight-year-old mind is racing with new ideas as I flip through the pages of my brand new American Girl Cookbook. There was one recipe in particular that I found particularly fascinating; it was called Toad in the Hole, and I simply needed to know more about it. I felt it would be best to ask my grandmother to settle my confusion. When I entered the living room, I glanced over into her room. While listening to Whoopi Goldberg talk on The View, she sat and knit in her favorite rocking chair. She had her trundle bed prepared for me since I planned on sleeping in her room that night. I plopped down on the bed, scaring her in the process. She was so focused on knitting that she didn’t even see me enter her room. Whenever I saw her, I always asked how she was doing before we dove into conversation. She would always give a bright and cheery response, just to make her only granddaughter happy.

I miss the profound discussions we used to have. It’s been ten years since my grandmother’s passing, and some of the things we used to do still bring tears to my eyes. When I was five years old, I jumped off the school bus and ran down my driveway. I was so excited to see my grandma and eat my favorite snack: cucumber slices, grape tomatoes, and a tiny block of Colby Jack cheese. However, the first thing I had to do was greet my two dogs, Daisy and Gus, and my cat, Toby.

“Molly, come inside and eat your snack, it’s gonna get warm and soggy,” said my grandmother as she called my name from the door leading into the garage.

“Coming!” I yelled as I ran inside to meet her. I always hoped Arthur would be on first. It was my favorite show when I was five years old. My grandmother and I loved commentating throughout the episode.

“Now I hope you don’t act like that D.W.,” stated grandma as she continued knitting the washcloths she was making for my mother.

“Of course not, Grandma.”

I still think about her. At least once a week, her hearty laugh crosses my mind. However, I wanted to stay close to my grandma, even though she was gone, so I took up the hobby of knitting. I found some peace in knitting, just like my grandmother did. Every stitch I make feels one step closer to her. When I was younger, she tried to teach me, but I was too impatient, the same trait my mother possessed when grandma tried to teach her.

I decided to do something that would change the course of events for my mother and me. Since I had taken up knitting, I thought it would be best to knit something for my mom. When I found out we still had some of my grandmother’s yarn, I knew I had hit the jackpot. I worked endlessly on this little scarf. Even though there were mistakes galore, I thought it was absolutely perfect. Once I finished it, I had to prepare it for the Christmas holiday. I wrapped it with tissue paper and the generic Christmas box found at any craft store. Finally, the day had come to give it to her.

“Merry Christmas, momma,” I exclaimed as she slowly unwrapped the gift.

She sat there in shock as she stared at the stitchings I had made. I could see tears well up in her eyes.

“Molly…did you make this?”

“What do you think?”

I have never seen anyone get so emotional over something so small. She quickly embraced, whispering words of thanks as she stroked my hair. My mother had a more challenging time than I did when grandma died. Still, I knew my grandmother was watching down from heaven, smiling at the both of us, knowing her girls were doing just fine.

I never learned how to make Toad in the Hole since my grandma never gave me the recipe before she died, but I did develop a newfangled love for cooking. The very thought of me serving food for others brings me a flood of joy when I see people’s happy faces, enjoying what I made. Maybe one day, when the pain doesn’t hurt as bad, I’ll finally make Toad in the Hole, just like she always wanted.