WHAT MY GRANDMA BOUGHT BEFORE SHE PASSED AWAY!

That night, she died in her sleep.

When my mom called the next morning, her voice was already breaking. I didn’t cry right away. I just sat there, numb, scrolling through our chat, staring at that last unanswered message.

Later, I drove to her apartment to help sort through her things. She’d always lived simply—a one-bedroom place on the edge of town, filled with crocheted blankets, faded photos, and the soft scent of lavender.

On the kitchen table sat a small box, neatly wrapped with a thin blue ribbon. Beside it was a folded note with my name on it.

“Thank you for remembering me.”

I froze.

It took me a moment to breathe. Then I sat down and opened the box. Inside were two leather-bound sketchbooks and a set of graphite pencils—the exact ones I’d admired in a craft shop months ago but never bought.

Her note, written in her careful, looping handwriting, read:

“You always believed in my stories. I wanted you to have the tools to tell your own.”

That’s when I broke.Continue reading…