I sat in my grandmother's house in Sussex, WI, gulping down the mouth quenching traditional limeade. Which was perfect to wash down the Subway she got us for lunch.

She hands me her gloves and says, “Are you ready?”

Of course, being the nine year old I am, I say with a snarky attitude, “Are you ready?”

She laughed as she slid her gloves on while grabbing the box of trash bags. She held the door for me as we walked into the garage where she had handed me a hedge trimmer. As I picked up the hedge trimmer, I remember that I've seen my father use it before and it made my soul shake. I am so scared of it.

But I knew I had to be there for my grandma. With the passing of my grandpa, I knew I had to help her, especially since no one else in my family would. 

I sucked it up and continued to the backyard. My grandma pointed at bushes and told me what parts had to be trimmed. As I used the hedge trimmer, she held the garbage bag and I would give her the sticks and leaves to put in the bag. It was like clock work.

After around three hours of straight sweating, we had finished. I don’t think my arms have ever been more tired than they were at that moment. I walked over to her glass table in her backyard under an umbrella providing the most cooling shade ever. 

I wondered where my grandma had gone because she just disappeared. But I felt a cold hand on my shoulder and a glass came past my face. A glass of limeade. Anytime I went to her house, it’s always been limeade.