I remember my grandmother by the smell of chocolate chip cookies fresh from the oven, the sound of her laughter during backyard ping pong games, and the way her garden always seemed to bloom just a little brighter under her care. She was kind, funny, and wonderfully stubborn—with a nightly ritual of one cigarette and a shot of bourbon that she insisted kept her balanced. Even after Alzheimer’s began to steal pieces of her memory, those moments of joy and defiance still flickered through. I’ll always treasure the quiet rebellions we shared, when a smuggled sip and smoke brought back her spark—if only for a little while.
Submitted by Jen T.