My Grandma.

Later on this month, on the 23rd, my late grandmother Marguerite would be celebrating her 102nd birthday. This year—like every year—I will be thinking of her and of the unbreakable bond we share. I say “share” and not “shared,” because, to me, in a way she is still alive. She lives on through our precious memories of her, through a tasteful birthday card she once gave me which is on my end table, and the through the framed photograph of my wall of just her and I.

 For the purposes of the rest of this post, however, I have ultimately decided to switch to the past tense, just to make things a bit easier to portray.

 Each and every day, and in a myriad of different ways, I am reminded of how much my grandmother meant to me. Her support for me was unconditional, whether that meant telling me she had read about my alma mater, Occidental College, in the paper, or letting me know how much she had enjoyed watching my favorite musical artist, Lady Gaga, perform on live television.

 She was always there for me, and I was always there for her. Almost every time I visited her and my grandfather at their home in Costa Mesa, California, we had two traditions: Firstly I would drive over to the local In-N-Out Burger and purchase a #2 for myself and fries for her, and secondly, we would enthusiastically play either cards or Monopoly, or both. Ever since I was a little kid, we had always played Monopoly together, and I always won, partially because she always wanted me to.

 Family was incredibly important to Marguerite, as it is to me. We just had so much in common. She was a famously selfless person, who always made sacrifices for others. She lived to love her grandchildren, and we lived to love her. She was also always so fun-loving, and such a joy to be around.

 I love writing about my grandma, as you can probably tell by perusing this website. She loved my writing in every way. I know that, if my novel Parapenda ever gets published someday, she would be so proud, like she always was of me. She was one of my biggest cheerleaders in life, and I will always remember that simple fact.

 This year, like every year in March, and like in fact every day, I will be thinking of her, looking down from heaven at me and smiling, like she is in the precious framed photograph of us, which is hanging on my wall, which I was fortunate enough to mention at the very beginning of this treatise to me, and to her.

Me with my Grandma.