Grandma Leah cried when I told her. Real tears, the kind she didn’t even try to hide. She held my hands tightly and said, “I’ve been waiting for this since the day I first held you.”
At the time, I thought she meant it the way any grandmother might. I didn’t realize how much deeper those words ran.
We started planning the wedding soon after. Grandma became unexpectedly invested in every detail. She called me constantly with ideas, suggestions, and opinions. I welcomed every single call.
Four months later, she was gone.
It happened quickly. A heart attack in her sleep. The doctor said she likely didn’t feel any pain. I tried to take comfort in that, but grief doesn’t really negotiate with logic. It simply arrives and takes up space.
After the funeral, I went back to her house to sort through her things. The silence inside felt heavy, as if something essential had been removed from the structure itself. I moved slowly, working through each room. I held onto objects longer than necessary, as though they might somehow anchor her presence.
In the back of her closet, tucked behind winter coats and a box of decorations, I found the garment bag.
I unzipped it carefully.
