If my grandmother was here, she’d gently tease me for crying, and I could hear her raspy voice as if she were standing in front of me. “I know my grand baby ain’t sitting up here with tears in her eyes.” Then her rough hands, weathered from years of gardening and factory work, would wipe away the tears while she smiled at me. “See? You a’ight. Just as pretty as you wanna be.” A kiss against my forehead. A squeeze against my shoulder. “You still my sunshine. I don’t care how old you get.”
