A year had passed since my grandmother, Patricia—”Grandma Patty” to everyone who loved her—whispered her final wish: “Promise me, sweet pea. A year after I’m gone, clean my photo on the headstone. Just you.” Those words stayed with me as I stood at her grave, cleaning supplies in hand, ready to honor her last request. Little did I know, she had one final gift for me.
Grandma Patty was my heart. Her laughter filled my life like a song, and even now, her house feels eerily silent, like a melody left unfinished. I still reach for the phone sometimes, forgetting, even if just for a moment, that she’s no longer here. But even in death, she managed to send me one last message of love—a surprise that changed everything.
I arrived at her grave with a screwdriver in hand, carefully removing the weathered brass frame around her photo. The glass was fogged and worn by time. As I unscrewed the frame, something unexpected fell out—a folded piece of paper, its edges yellowed, hidden behind her picture.
My heart raced as I unfolded it, recognizing her familiar handwriting:
Continue reading on next page…