After my grandpa passed away, my grandma didn’t shed a single tear.
Not even at his funeral.
She stood tall with a calm, almost peaceful grin on her face.
Confused, I leaned toward her and whispered,
“Grandma, are you… not sad at all?”
She turned to me, her eyes soft but steady. Then she leaned in, winked, and said quietly,
“Your grandpa told me not to cry when he left — because he’d find a way to make me smile again.”
I remember those words sitting heavy in my chest that day.
I didn’t understand them.
How could she smile when the man she’d spent sixty-two years beside — her best friend, her partner in everything — was gone?
