“Tell me about when you were little, Grandma,” I’d beg, sitting cross-legged on her faded bathroom rug.
She’d smile, her hands skillfully braiding my hair. “Once, I put frogs in my teacher’s desk. Can you imagine?”
“You didn’t!” I’d laugh, wide-eyed.
“Oh, but I did. And my mother said, ‘Even the toughest hearts can be softened by kindness.’”
Her stories shaped me, woven with love and wisdom. As I grew, our bond deepened. Even during my rebellious teenage years, she knew how to comfort me. After my first breakup, she offered hot chocolate and cookies, reminding me, “Hearts, like cookies, may crack but always come back stronger.”
When I introduced her to my fiancé, Ronaldo, she pulled him aside. After their talk, he simply said, “I made her a sacred promise.”
Her illness came suddenly—aggressive cancer. During her final days, she made me promise to clean her headstone photo exactly a year after her passing.
On that day, I found a note hidden behind the photo, leading to a treasure in the woods. There, beneath a survey post, lay a copper box with a letter revealing her deepest secret: my mother was adopted.
Grandma wrote, “Love isn’t in blood, but in choosing each other every day.”
Mom and I, overwhelmed by this revelation, felt her love transcend even death. Grandma Patty had chosen us every day, and her lessons of love, courage, and family continue to guide me.
Now, I see her in everyday moments—in the songs I hum, the cookies I bake, and the stories I tell my children. Her love changed shape, but it never left. It’s in every choice, every memory, and every heartbeat.