To grandma's house I go

Every time I go to my grandma's house I am overwhelmed by the smell of cigarette smoke.  It is horrible to most but I find it sweetly comforting.  She smokes Kents which not being a smoker I couldn't tell you how they taste but I could tell you their smell is mild and only slightly smells of tobacco.  Mostly its just smoke that you smell.  Its a smell the lulls me into security like a big hug.  Not that I learned what a big hug feels like from my family.  We aren't really affectionate people but I learned at a young age that its the little things that are signs of affection.  Like my misguided grandmother sitting downwind from me so that her cigarette smoke wouldn't infect my air space even though it obviously did.  During my childhood my grandmother changed her hair color as the seasons changed.  Mostly it was frosted blond with gray highlights because it was so hard to hide her gray.  Now she is covered in gray and doesn't bother to cover it up.  She is thinner than she used to be and diabetic now to boot.  I have always worried about her smoking and about her health even when I was in elementary school but now even more so.  There will always be a part of me though that will cherish the smell of those cigarettes.  Every time I smell them I will think of her and the wonderful memories that I have of her.  Of every trip we took to and from Sacramento so that I could spend time with her.  Of every summer I spent staying up late in her house and eating junk food for months.  Of working late at the bakery and sitting on the cold bus bench outside with the only warmth coming from that damn cigarette.  Even when she's gone certainly from her smoking abuse I will still crave that smell and breathe in deeply to remember her. Its funny that I don't associate a smell with my own mother but I certainly do with my grandma.  I hope she has a long life and proves every statistic wrong.  Grandma I love you.