Let me kiss your cheek one more time before you go, Grandma C.

I know some things about her. I know that she had a hard life and that she thought her grandchildren and greatgrandchildren were angels. I know she didn't finish middle school, that she was married twice, and that she liked to write letters before her first stroke several years ago. I know that she kept a spoon rest my mother made her in a pottery class for over 20 years before she finally sent it back when she moved into the nursing home. I know she liked to wear sweatshirts—and to give them as gifts. I know that she took a particular delight in the letters I infrequently sent her, though they were hastily written and said nothing of import. I know she liked us to kiss her on the cheek when we came and when we went. I know that even though she was always far away from us, we were frequently on her mind.

I know my grandma passed away yesterday. I know that she's gone. And I know that we'll miss her.