Every year we used to decorate the tree together. It was important for my Grandma to make the tree look aesthetically pleasing: she taught me to hang the balls by size, big ones at the bottom and small ones higher up so that the decorations would be in proportion.

My Grandma didn’t have the means to give my mother and me expensive gifts. She always gave me something useful — a package of soap, socks. These gifts made my heart squeeze every time. I understood that she wanted to give us everything we wished for, but could only give us this.

My most anticipated gifts were the cards my Grandma would draw me for the holiday. She always woke up before I did, so she did it while I slept. She drew with whatever she found on my desk — pencils, pens, sometimes dried-up felt tip pens. Grandma drew nature — green fir trees covered with snow, rivers, and flowering fields. She never learned to draw, but, in my opinion, was perfectly able to do it. The colorful landscapes drawn by her hand still impress me.

When I go through these postcards, I feel both warm and sad at the same time. Warm because I realize how much she loved me, and sad because she is no longer with me.