In loving memory of my grandma on her birthday
Fourteen years.
It’s been fourteen years since I last saw her smile, but somehow, it still shows up in my mind like it was yesterday. A beam of warmth. A glimpse of heaven. The kind of smile that made you believe, for a moment, that everything would be okay.
Tomorrow is her birthday. And though she’s not here to celebrate with us, I can’t let the day go by without honoring her memory. Because while the world may have moved on, I haven’t. And I won’t let the world forget her either.
You see, my grandma wasn’t just a grandma. She was my second parent.
When my dad died before I was even born, she stepped in—not because anyone told her to, but because love told her to. That’s who she was. The kind of love that shows up without a script. The kind of love that doesn’t flinch at grief or inconvenience. The kind of love that just… stays.
And stay she did.
Through my grumpy mornings and hurried goodbyes.
Through every scraped knee and every school project.
Through every celebration I didn’t feel worthy of.
She sang “Oh Johnny Boy” like it was the anthem of heaven. And when she smiled at me, I felt special in a way I didn’t know how to receive. It almost felt too good to be true. But she meant it. And deep down, I knew it.
She taught me more than any textbook or sermon ever could.
She taught me that love doesn’t come with limits.
That even when boundaries were needed but missing, purpose could still carry you.
That peace doesn’t always come from a well-balanced life—it comes from a well-loved one.
I look back now and I realize—I was watching someone fulfill their calling. Not on a stage. Not in front of crowds. But in the quiet kitchen light of 6 a.m.
Packing my breakfast.Humming old hymns.
Choosing faithfulness over fame.
She never preached a message, but her life was the message.
She never wrote a blog or recorded a podcast, but her love is the most unforgettable story I’ve ever known.
She never changed the world.
But she changed mine.
And I think, in the end, that’s the kind of legacy that matters most.
So tomorrow, on her birthday, I’ll celebrate the life of a woman who taught me what the unending love of God could look like in skin and bones.
A woman who showed up when the world fell apart.
Who loved a little boy who didn’t feel lovable.
Who gave everything she had, even when it wasn’t much, and somehow made it more than enough.
I miss you, Grandma.
And I won’t let the world forget you.
Not today. Not ever.
Because the love you gave me still lives on.
In the way I parent.
In the way I try to show up for others.
In the way I believe that grace really can change a life.
Yours did.
Mine.
And I’ll carry your legacy forward, one act of love at a time.
Happy birthday, Grandma.
You are still so loved.
If you’ve ever had someone love you like this—quietly, faithfully, without applause—take a moment today to remember them. Tell their story. Keep their love alive.