A few weeks before she died, my grandmother—frail in body but clear as morning light in mind—called me into her room. Her hands trembled as she held mine, and in a voice softer than I’d ever heard, she asked,
“Can you lend me a little money? I need to buy something important.”
I didn’t pause. I handed her $200—more than I could easily spare—but she was my grandma. How could I say no?
She smiled, tucked the cash into the pocket of her sweater, and whispered,
“You’ll understand one day.”
I had no idea that small exchange would become one of the most tender, heart-opening moments of my life.
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