Idgie knew from the moment she first met Ruth that she loved her. As a kid, it was a generous love. As a rebellious 15 year old, it was a curious love, with a hint of despise and jealousy. Jealousy of her happiness. As a woman of her twenties, it was a fierce love. A love she wasn't going to let go. A longing love. A love she wasn't going to let get beaten away.

Then Buddy j.r came along. This was a new kind of love. A motherly love. A love a mother bear had for her cub. A new kind of love for Ruth, now a new mother feeling the exact same thing. It was a changing love when Buddy j.r nearly died. And it was a knowing love by being the first to call him "Stump" before anyone else could.

Idgie loved Ruth with a pressing knowledge of having to let go eventually when Ruth was diagnosed with cancer. Of having to love Stump alone, in a way.

Idgie had to learn to love, to let go.

Idgie would often lie down next to Ruth's grave. She wouldn't say much. She just remembered the old times as her grey wispy curls covered her face in a breeze. She'd leave honey and a note. Ruth would've liked that. Ruth would've loved her loving Bee Charmer.