Grandma, I can bake the bundt cake from your recipe now too — though yours was always taller. We miss you at the Sunday table. We love you.
Her roses are still in bloom. Thank you for every kind word and every cutting passed over the fence. Honour to her memory.
We remember Mrs Anka with respect. Every bouquet from her hands held a piece of her heart — even the wedding one she tied for our Katka. Honour to her memory.
Mrs Anka once told me: flowers never rush, and yet they get everything done in time. I have repeated it ever since. Thank you for all the cuttings and for every kind word over the fence.
Anka taught us to tie bouquets and to listen to people. She knew half of Trnava by name and could choose just the right flower for everyone. We remember her with love and respect.
Our dear mother, thank you for all your love, your patience, and for teaching us to see the beauty in ordinary days. Your peonies bloomed this year as never before. Forever in our hearts.