The church was packed for my grandmother’s funeral.
Rows of relatives filled the pews, dressed in black, exchanging quiet condolences and carefully rehearsed memories. At the front sat my older sister, Vanessa, dabbing at dry eyes with a designer handkerchief.
sat three rows behind her.
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For five years, I had visited Grandma every Saturday.
very single week.I drove across town after work. I fixed broken cabinet doors, carried groceries inside, changed lightbulbs, and listened to the same stories about Grandpa’s fishing trips. We watched old movies together. Sometimes I simply sat beside her while she napped.Meanwhile, Vanessa showed up twice a year.