Granny,
I cannot believe you are no longer with us. It’s hard to fathom a world without your physical presence. Some days, the world feels so lonely without you. I still find myself randomly weeping in grief, but what can I say? I’m a crier, just like my Granny.

The morning you passed, I knew you had made your ascent when the lights in the house flickered three times. It was your way of telling my mom and me that you were moving on—saying your final farewell. You had been in hospice for a few days before I could make it home. To think I was the very last one to arrive and see you… and the following morning, you were gone. In my heart, I believe you waited for me to come home so I could see you off. I knew the moment I whispered in your ear that I was home and you could take your rest, that you would take your last breath shortly after. Still, I wasn’t prepared to truly say goodbye.

You loved your family unconditionally, without fail, until the very end. You were so strong, Granny.

The devoted love you had for your family shined through the ugliness of dementia to the very end. It is because of your unconditional love and support that I was able to finish college. I will never forget the day I was walking around campus, stressed because I didn’t know how I was going to pay for school. I told you about my dilemma, and you didn’t hesitate to co-sign my student loans. I wouldn’t be where I am today if it weren’t for your belief in me and your trust that I could succeed. Whenever I needed help or a listening ear, you were always there, and for that, I thank you.

I will forever cherish our daily phone calls throughout my life, which turned into weekly check-ins once your dementia worsened.

I spent countless hours either enjoying quality time with you or talking to you on the phone about anything and everything that came to mind. From childhood to adulthood, you were a pillar of love, light, and laughter. I can’t remember a time when you and I weren’t laughing, dancing, or whispering jokes to each other. You provided me with words of wisdom, advice, and encouragement through both the best and the worst of times. You continuously encouraged me to strive for greatness, no matter the adversity or challenges I faced. You believed in me, and that belief you so gracefully held for me still extends to my life today.

I know dementia is not supposed to be beautiful, but it provided some unforgettable moments that allowed me to know you from all facets of your life.

I am thankful for the moments during sundowning, when you would stand in the hallway and talk to me about your childhood. I learned so much about you just by listening to your stories. It was hard to watch you battle dementia—slowly seeing the woman I had known my entire life change under the weight of such an unkind disease. However, through it all, you remained yourself at your core.

There was a sweet side to your dementia, where you would cry immediately after seeing me, even if you had spoken to me just five minutes before. Each time you saw me, it was a joyous moment for you to look into my face and tell me you missed me. Your very frequent forgetfulness, yet genuine love, led you to express your affection repeatedly in one sitting. You were never short of continuous statements like, “It is so good to see you, Stef,” and “I missed you.” Each time you repeated those words, I felt your love and was sure to greet you in return as if it were the first time you had told me.

There was never a moment when you weren’t carrying a Black purse or telling me, “Be good to yourself, you hear?” or “I love you, Stef,” before ending a phone call.

I am thankful for the countless memories I have with you. A fond memory I have is being a child in the backseat of your red two-door car—the one with the seatbelts that automatically slid across your body when the car started. You would take me, and sometimes my cousins, through car washes to give me the smallest bit of excitement as a child. We would walk around your neighborhood and collect walnuts from the walnut tree, then go back to eat them on your front porch with a cold Pepsi.

I will never forget the countless times we came to your house on Halloween before heading out to trick-or-treat, and you would bake the most delicious pumpkin seeds to enjoy as a snack.

From the countless hours you babysat me or got me off the school bus, to you cooking the most delicious meals, there are endless memories of you that will forever live in my heart. After you passed, I found out that you retired to babysit me. To think I was born on May 29, and you retired on May 31. You wasted no time, Granny, but that was who you were. Now, you share a death anniversary with my dad—May 5th. My life with you started in May, and you left the physical plane in May. What are the odds, Granny?

Granny, to know you is to know love.

From your Southern twang in your dialect, to your boisterous laugh that filled a room, and the sway that led you in dance, I got to experience the impact of your brightly shining light in this world. Now, I can say I am an extension of your lift, and I will continue to spread that light to the world around me, just like you did. You were a safe place for me to lay my burdens, and you carried my loads gracefully, knowing I was covered in prayer by a grandmother who prayed. You always had a grace that allowed you to love me and my cousins in a way we each needed to receive it. When we asked you who your favorite grandchild was, you would always respond, “I don’t have a favorite.” The beauty of this dynamic is that you made every single one of us feel like your favorite, which is a testament to the love we all felt from you.

Through my grandmother’s hands, I received love in every touch—like the feeling of soul food nourishing the depths of my soul; there was love in every bite. Thank you for not only being the world’s best grandmother but also the helping hand that paved the way for me to stand in my greatness today. I was birthed by your legacy, and oh, how sweet it is to be a descendant of you. I will always love you, my sweet girl, Granny.