My maternal grandmother died this morning. She was my last living grandparent. She and I were not particularly close, not for any specific reason other that distance. We've always lived very far a part. Growing up my family had no money to travel, so I rarely saw my mother's family in the east. I saw Granny, as she liked to be referred to, only three, maybe four times ever. The last time was when I was in high school.

The second time I saw her, I was in junior high. My mother and I took the bus across country to visit her family. After picking us up from the bus station, we stopped at a restaurant to eat. After dinner, the waiter brought the dessert cart over and my grandmother said I could have anything I wanted. I picked a slice of carrot cake. I'd never had carrot cake before and it looked interesting. After I devoured it, Granny asked me if I liked it and I told her it was delicious.

Two years later, my mother and I took another bus trip to visit her family again. At my grandmother's house, she was busy preparing a big meal in our honor. She took my hand and said she wanted to show me something. We walked into the kitchen and she revealed a freshly frosted carrot cake. She told me she made my favorite... just for me. I looked a little confused — my favorite was chocolate cake with cinnamon — but said thanks and told her I was looking forward to having a piece.

Later, I pulled my mother aside and asked about the cake. She reminded me about the carrot cake two years prior. Even though that was the only time I'd ever had carrot cake, in my grandmother's eyes, it was my favorite. Since I was her only grandchild that didn't live near to her, therefore not knowing well, she clung to whatever she could from those few and far between moments we had together.

After that and to this day, carrot cake is one of my favorite desserts.