They say grief comes in waves, but for me, it strikes like missing stairs in the dark.
My grandmother Catherine wasn’t just family; she was my best friend, my universe.
She made me feel like the most precious thing in the world, enveloping me in hugs
that felt like coming home. Standing beside her coffin
last week, I felt untethered, like learning to breathe with only half a lung.
The funeral home’s soft lighting cast gentle shadows across Grandma’s peaceful face.
Her silver hair was arranged just the way she always
wore it, and someone had put her favorite pearl necklace around her neck.
My fingers traced the smooth wood of the casket as memories flooded back.
Just last month, we’d been sitting in her kitchen, sharing tea and laughter while she taught me her secret sugar cookie recipe.
