Before my grandma passed away, she asked me to clean the photo on her headstone a year after she died. And finally, I did it, and I was completely shocked by what I found.
She whispered her dying wish, “One year after I’m gone, clean my photo on my headstone. Just you. Promise me.” A year after burying her, I went to her grave with some tools to keep my promise. What I saw behind her old photo frame took my breath away.
My grandma Patricia, who was called “Patty” by those who knew her, was my whole world. The silence in her house now feels strange, like a song without its melody.
Sometimes I find myself reaching for the phone to call her, and then I remember that she’s gone. But even after she passed away, grandma had one last surprise to share with me… one that would change my life forever.
“Rise and shine, sweet pea!” Her voice still echoes in my mind, warm like summer sunshine. Every morning of my childhood started like this – grandma Patty would gently brush my hair and hum old songs that she said her mother taught her.
“My wild child,” she would laugh as she untangled my hair. “Just like I was at your age.”
“Tell me about when you were little, grandma,” I would beg as I sat cross-legged on her faded bathroom rug.
“Well,” she would start, her eyes shining in the mirror. “I once put frogs in my teacher’s desk drawer. Can you believe it?”
“You didn’t!”
“Oh, I did! And do you know what my mother said when she found out?”
“What?”
“Patricia, even the toughest hearts can be softened by the smallest act of kindness.”
“And?”
“I stopped catching those poor frogs after that!”
Those morning routines shaped me. Her wisdom was wrapped up in stories and gentle touches. One morning, as she was braiding my hair, I noticed tears in her eyes in the mirror.
