After my grandpa passed away, my grandma didn’t shed a single tear. Not even at his funeral. She stood tall, calm, and strangely peaceful.
Confused, I whispered, “Grandma, aren’t you sad?” She smiled gently. “Your grandpa told me not to cry when he left. He said he’d always find a way to make me smile again.”
They had been married for sixty-two years, and I couldn’t understand how she could stay so composed. A week later, I visited her. The house still smelled like lavender and old books. She was knitting by the window when I asked how she was really doing.
“Oh, I’m alright, sweetheart,” she said. “He’s been sending me signs.”
She told me about a note Grandpa had written decades earlier before leaving for the Navy: If you ever miss me, look for my signs. I’ll always find a way to make you smile.
She said she saw him in their song on the radio, a daisy blooming out of season, even heart-shaped clouds.
After his death, she waited for one more sign. One morning, she found his old pocket watch ticking for the first time in years. The time read 6:17 — their wedding date.
“See?” she whispered. “He kept his promise.”
Months later, Grandma passed peacefully. On her nightstand sat the watch, still ticking at 6:17, beside a note: He found me again. Don’t cry for us. Love never dies.
