A Love Letter to the Birthday Girl

Today would have been my grandma’s birthday. She died just a few months before COVID began—three months before the whole world shifted. She was also the last patient I cared for as an end-of-life nurse. Of course, she was so much more than that to me—she was one of my most treasured relationships.

Caring for her in those final weeks was different. I knew what was happening medically, but I also knew something much deeper: my soul was asking for a shift. I didn’t know yet what that shift would look like, but I knew I couldn’t keep living in a way that made me constantly earn love, respect, and worthiness. I needed to start living from the inside out, from a place of alignment.

As a little girl, I believed she would live forever. That the world would end if she wasn’t in it. And in some ways, it did end when she died. Just months later, the world outside crumbled, too. COVID pulled me into uncertainty and fear, but it also gave me the gift of a cocoon. Like a caterpillar wrapped up and still, I had time to grieve, to pause, and to realign myself with what mattered most.

My favorite memories with her were in the basement of her quiet, tranquil home—sewing, making, and creating. She was a seamstress, a crafter, a maker. She always had ideas, and she always brought them to life. Near the end, when I looked at her, I saw myself reflected back. And oh, what an honor that was.

During my own cocoon season, I picked up brushes and began to paint. I took a few classes, I experimented, I played. Slowly, I realized that maybe, just maybe, her creativity had passed down to me. The world did not end with her death. Instead, my world shifted so that I could feel more alive.

This painting is my love letter to her—a reminder of the legacy she left me. Simple words, baked into a pie: Love One Another. The recipe for a life well-lived.