I still remember her phone number by heart, though it’s been years since I could dial and hear her voice. My grandma wasn’t just sharp and witty—she was gentle, endlessly kind, the sort of woman who could make you laugh and teach you something meaningful all in the same breath.

When I stayed with her during college, she’d sometimes grin and ask, “Shall we go to Cutler’s?”—her funny way of saying Culver’s, her favorite spot for a patty melt. She’d watch American Idol just because I loved it, play Solitaire at the kitchen table until midnight, and never once turned down a cookie from Hy-Vee.

It’s the small things that linger most: her soft gray robe, those red leather driving gloves, the way she wound the old clock on the mantle with steady hands.

Years may pass, but the ache of missing her never does. I’d give anything to hear her laugh again, to feel her wisdom wrap around me like a blanket.

Maybe today, I’ll stop by “Cutler’s.” Order a patty melt. Smile at the memory. Because love like hers doesn’t fade—it stays stitched into every ordinary, extraordinary detail. 💖