No more almonds for Easter

Every Easter I remember her. My grandma. It pains me to talk about how I miss her because, truth be told, I never really paid her much attention when she was living. Granted, there were reasons for it. But still. It sounds a little fake when I say I miss her. But it's the honest truth. I do. And I always miss her the most around Easter. As she got older my grandma had trouble moving about, her joints and bones ached constantly and she got tired after a few steps. She had a heart condition. And yet every year she found the strength to drag herself downtown to Chiado to Manuel Tavares, Lda (one of the oldest cafes in Chiado, opened 152 years ago), just to buy a few packs of Easter almonds. One for me, one for my brother and another for L. Year after year she never failed. And it saddens me that this year there'll be no Easter almonds. Not for the almonds, mind you. I miss her. I miss seeing her sitting by the lift talking to L. waiting for me and my brother. I don't know how different things could've been between us, but one thing is true. I never guessed I'd miss her this much.