My Lost Paradise

I'm sure you've heard the expression, "There's no place like home." I have heard it, and even used the expression myself but I think now that I have to disagree. There is one place I can think of that's better than home: Grandma's house. Back before I had a job or things to worry about I would love to spend my time at grandma's house.
Whether we just sat and played cards or watched day time TV, to me there was no better place to be.
Now some time has passed and I have grown into an adult with responsibilities and a full schedule. I no longer have time to sit and play cards or watch TV. Every day I wake up for work at 5:30 am. I go through my morning routine as I put on my makeup, do my hair, brush my teeth, have a cup of coffee, and I begin my day by driving down Sheridan to 6th. On my way to work I pass by a building for assisted living and every time I drive by this building my eyes flicker to the corner window on the fifth floor.
When my Great Grandmother inhabited that room you could see butterfly prisims hanging in the window in front of lacy white curtains from the street. If you were to go inside the building and take the elevator all the way to the top, turn left, left again then right you'd find yourself in front of Florence Will's apartment. Her door was always covered in cards that loved ones had sent her according to the time of year. She had a lot of loved ones because the brown door could never be seen. A collection of Christmas, Thanksgiving, Easter, or birthday cards masked the boring brown door year round. She also had plants outside her apartment I think just to further separate herself from the rest.
When you open the door and walk inside you see what ninety three years of life looks like in a single bedroom apartment. Crowded. You can see all parts of the apartment from anywhere in the apartment, because there were only two major walls that separated the bathroom and the bedroom. To the immediate right was the tiny kitchen. There was probably deviled eggs to be found in the refrigerator and there was always pancake mix. The coffee cups hung on the wall shoved onto the wooden hooks inches away from falling. Most of the time you'd find something rotten somewhere that she had forgotten about and left to be covered in mold. I learned to just throw things away when she wasn't looking.
It wasn't much but Grandma made it her own. She covered the walls with pictures of the love of her life, Bert. In the remaining spots you'd find butterflies, crosses and pictures of family that left little white wall to see. She had a tiny couch for guests to sit on that was squeezed between a bookcase full of photo albums and a tiny end table with a lamp set on top. You could find magnifying glasses in multiple locations. Only one magnifying glass would not be able to do the job. Grandma had to have things in groups of two or three. That's probably what added to the clutter. Grandma's chair was set up almost directly in front of the TV. She had to sit very close in order to be able to see her daily lineup of soaps and The Price is Right.
If you entered her tiny room you would find a closet overflowing with a plethora of church dresses and clothes. Her twin bed was in the middle of the room and was always made if she was not sleeping in it. On her dresser laid her earrings and her jewelry. That woman had so much jewelry that you could wear a different necklace of hers everyday for ninety years.
There are three major things I think of when I think of Grandma's apartment: pictures, jewelry and most important of all, the smell. The one thing that identified my grandmother the most was her smell. Youth Dew by Estee Lauder was her daily juice. Anything that you got from grandma would have that smell on it simply just from her touching it. As soon as you're even standing outside her apartment you could distinguish her smell. It wasn't a bad smell though, it was sweet, comforting and loving.
Grandma's battle with cancer began in 2005 and it would end in July 2006. Her decision to live out the rest of her days without treatment marked that it was time to separate all her possessions among her grandchildren. As she sorted through a lifetime of saved treasures she picked out one stuffed animal from her room for each of us. She took her last bottle of Youth Dew and sprayed the stuffed toys and then sealed them in a zip lock bag. She told us this way we could always sneak smells of her even after she was gone. It was the best way she could preserve her aroma.
If you were to go now to that building and take that same elevator to the same floor and walk to that same apartment I'm sure you wouldn't find cards on the door. After we had cleaned out her apartment someone else moved into her space and made it their own. The sweet smell that once drifted under the crack of the door is no longer emitted from that room. I didn't fully understand that Grandma was gone until I gazed into her empty apartment one last time after we had finally moved all her things out of it. The blank white walls and empty rooms revealed that this paradise that I once loved and found so much comfort in had vanished.
However, thanks to Grandma's consideration, comfort is only a zip lock baggie away if life ever gets old and I need some Youth Dew.