On March 13, Grandma celebrated her birthday in heaven for the sixteenth year. In the short eight years I had with her, Grandma had solidified herself as my favorite person to walk this earth – which is saying a lot because we’ve had some pretty illustrious and important people walk among us. But Grandma was mine. Growing up a stone’s throw away from my grandparents’ single-story wood paneled home in humid Charleston meant I got to see Grandma nearly every day. That is, until Daddy got a job in Georgia. At four years old I had to say goodbye to seeing Grandma every day. And boy, did I cry. Like a cartoon cat with its claws digging into the bathroom doorway refusing its bath, I clung with all my might to her entry door as my parents tugged me away until I lost my grip. For a tiny human I sure did have some strength that day.