After my grandpa passed away, my grandma didn’t shed a single tear. Not even at his funeral. She stood tall with a grin on her face. Confused, I whispered to her, ‘Grandma, are you not sad at all?’ She leaned in, winked, and said, ‘Your grandpa told me not to cry. He said when he goes, I should wear the smile he fell in love with. So that’s what I’m doing.’
That moment stuck with me for a long time. I was only 19, still in college, and trying to make sense of life and death. Everyone around me was either crying or trying hard not to. But Grandma? She was greeting people, telling little stories about Grandpa, and even laughing at times. Not in a disrespectful way, but in the way you laugh when you remember something too good to forget.
After the service, I sat next to her on the front porch swing. The sky was that pale shade of gold you only get in the early evening. Grandma took off her heels and kicked them into the grass.
“You know,” she said, “people think love is about grand gestures. Roses. Dates. Matching shirts on vacation. But your grandpa showed me love every morning when he brought me coffee in that chipped green mug.”
I didn’t say anything. I just listened. Grandma wasn’t the type to get sentimental unless she meant every word.
“He once told me,” she continued, “that if he ever died first, he’d leave signs. Little things. To remind me he’s around. He promised I wouldn’t be alone.”
I smiled politely but didn’t say what I was thinking. That sounded like wishful thinking to me. But Grandma’s eyes twinkled like she knew something I didn’t.
The days after the funeral were quiet. Most of the family went back to their homes, and I decided to stay with Grandma for a bit. I had online classes anyway, and besides, I figured she could use the company.
What I didn’t expect was how peaceful the house felt. It wasn’t haunted by sadness. It was full of old records playing softly, the smell of cinnamon toast, and Grandma humming as she dusted the shelves.
One morning, I woke up to find a Post-it note on my bedroom door. It read: “She always liked daffodils more than roses – M.”
I held it for a minute. Grandpa’s name was Martin. My first thought was that Grandma left it there to be cute. But when I asked her, she blinked.
The story doesn’t end here –
it continues on the next page.
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