Dolli

My grandma Dolli is my namesake.
She was a tiny spitfire with naturally jet-black hair. When I picture her in my mind she is wearing pink lipstick and waving her cane. She was filled to the brim with hot Spanish blood; her quick temper and impassioned actions have become legend in the Thompson family.
She grew up devoutly Catholic. Her prayers were long, studious, and heartfelt. Every day she visited our house her footsteps on my pink carpet led to three secret Kit-Kats on my nightstand: one for Koseli, one for Shirsti, and one for me. It was this simple spirit of giving that set Dolli apart from everyone else.
I have saved every letter I have received from Grandma. The envelopes are colorfully ornamented with Suzie's Zoo stickers. Inside the paper is line upon line of perfect, dark, cursive. I know her best through this mail correspondence. Indeed, she kept friends from the first or second grade this way. She was an expert in that category.
She spoke her mind. Sometimes this was uncomfortable for us, but we always brushed it off. She was too kind and good to take offense. After all, Grandma Dolli was the most spontaneous and the wisest woman I have ever known.
A few weeks before she passed away she took to drinking coffee. It spruced her up, she said. When my mother went to visit her, my dear grandma tried to hide the evidence.
"Bring it in quietly," she'd tell the nurses, "I don't want Carol to know."
Dolli was the woman who took the unfortunate under wings. She spoiled, and pinched, and pampered all of us.
It was an honor to know her.