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I looked into her eyes and I could still remember my dear Grandma and all the years of pure bliss that she and Grandpa worked hard to create in their grandkids’ lives. The love she and Grandpa had for everyone and anyone—even those who appeared to be unlovable—was powerful.

I suppose I knew the day would come when we would be without them, but I had always pushed it out of my thoughts. As we each gave Grandma a kiss goodbye, I had a sinking feeling in my stomach.

A week later, I was lying awake in bed in the middle of the night; I kept feeling guilty about not going back right away to visit Grandma again. My sister had told me I needed to visit her soon since she wasn’t doing well. I had so many logistical reasons for not going back over to the retirement home after she was discharged from the hospital, but the excuses didn’t seem to matter anymore. I had a distinct feeling that I had lost my chance.

When I woke up the next morning, I brushed that feeling off and headed to work. As I was finishing putting my first patient on the dialysis machine and getting ready for the second, the phone rang—which is not an uncommon occurrence, but everyone was too busy to pick it up. About a minute later, the phone started ringing again. I had a feeling it was Jon, so I watched my co-worker Cindy closely as she answered it. As she turned to me, I knew it wasn’t good. When I took the phone, Jon told me Grandma had died, and I sobbed, wishing I had been able to hug her goodbye one last time. She had just turned eighty-nine.

After our family’s first special aired on TV, when we would visit Grandma in the retirement home, her friends would ask, “Oh, Ruth, are these your grandkids?” She was always so proud. She was a great Great-Grandma!

While Grandma and Grandpa got to meet all their great-grandkids, I’m sad they didn’t get to know them better. I’m grateful for the memories I have of Grandma singing with our one-year-olds at our six-seater table, captivating them with her Girl Scout songs and the accompanying motions.

“Mom, tell us the story about Grandma and Grandpa,” Alexis loves to ask. “Show us the letter from Grandpa!” I’m always glad she asks, because I’m trying to share with my kids stories of my grandparents’ legacy.

Grandma and Grandpa taught me empathy, care, concern, and love. They were busy people, but they always stopped to pay attention to the small things. They loved watching birds, and I can picture my grandma saying, “Art, did you see that cardinal? Wasn’t it exquisite?”

Grandma and Grandpa were my examples of unconditional love. They loved people—all people. And everyone was welcome at their house anytime for any length of time. They gave everything they had. Whoever met them, never forgot them. That’s just the kind of people they were. They would receive hundreds of Christmas cards every year, and Grandma had baskets and baskets full: forget displaying them, there were way too many.

My best childhood memories were the times we spent at their house. We would have New Year’s Eve parties and stay up all night long. We also had tea parties, using Grandma’s fine china for tea, and pretending raisins were caviar. We’d put on all of Grandma’s costume jewelry and bright red lipstick—and then, of course, we’d kiss the duke (aka Grandpa). We’d cook up a storm and destroy Grandma’s kitchen for the millionth time, while she’d cheerfully say, “I’ll get it,” as she cleaned it up. Even the hour ride to their house was memorable.

Grandma and Grandpa picked us up in their pickup truck, and we would ride in the back on the wood storage boxes Grandpa had made. We’d tumble around in the back and then open the sliding window in the back of the cab. Grandma would talk to us or tell us to get drinks out of the cooler or sing the whole way to keep us busy.

Grandma was a fabulous cook, but when she asked us what we wanted for dinner, we would always choose “plastic turkey and plastic mashed potatoes,” which is what Grandma called TV dinners. She didn’t mind—she would let us have them anyway.

While they had a whole