When Teresa’s grandmother dies, she crosses continents desperate to say goodbye . . . but she arrives too late. Haunted by guilt, she visits the grave, only to discover a mysterious package left just for her. As Teresa navigates between grief and love, she learns that some bonds transcend time and offer comfort in the most unexpected ways.
When my uncle called that morning, I knew something was wrong before he said a word. His voice was high-pitched and sharp, but I could still hear the tension.
“Grandma’s gone, Teresa,“ he said. ‘She died last night.’
For a moment, the world went silent. It was as if my mind refused to process the words.
“The funeral is tomorrow,” he added. “If you’re not here, we’ll have to bury her without you.”
“What? Tomorrow?” my voice cracked. ”I can’t… there’s no way it can happen that fast!”
“Then don’t bother,” she said curtly. ‘She’s gone, Teresa. We won’t wait for you… we can’t.’
I stood frozen, phone in hand, and the sharp beep at the end of the call snapped me out of my stupor. My Uncle Craig, always practical and unyielding, had spoken as if my grandmother’s passing was just another event on a busy calendar.
But it wasn’t just my grandmother. She meant everything to me.
She had raised me after my mother’s death, when I was too young to understand what death meant. Grandma became my world. She took on the role of mother, confidant and teacher with ease.
Life with her was a constant rhythm of love and laughter, and her warmth filled the void left by my mother’s death.
The idea of not being there for her, of not saying goodbye, tore me apart.
I booked the first flight out and stuffed my clothes into a suitcase without even checking if it would fit. I wasn’t even sure I had suitable clothes for the funeral. Every second felt like a betrayal.
I couldn’t bear the thought of her being lowered into the ground while I was thousands of miles away, trapped in some airport terminal.
The plane journey was unbearable. I couldn’t eat, my meal tray just sat there, the food getting cold and frozen. I couldn’t sleep. I couldn’t watch any movies or listen to music.
I was numb.
Memories of my grandmother flooded my mind. Her stories, her hugs, her quiet wisdom… I told myself I would be on time, but by the time I landed and called my uncle, the funeral was already over.
“We couldn’t wait, Teresa. Don’t act surprised. I already told you,” he said bluntly.
When I arrived at her house, it was empty, stripped of the life it once had. My cousins had left, leaving behind the traces of their hasty farewells. There was a half-empty bottle of water on the counter, a crumpled tissue on the sofa, someone’s forgotten lipstick on the floor.
I stood in the doorway, letting the silence envelop me.
Grandma’s favorite chair was still by the window, the blanket she always had on her lap neatly folded over the back. On the table, an unfinished knitted sock lay abandoned, the lavender-colored yarn still threaded through the needles.
I reached out, my fingers brushing the soft fabric, and tears streamed down my face.
She had been working on it. Only a few days ago, I had been sitting here, humming softly as I knitted, probably thinking about old family recipes.
I sank into my chair, clutching the sock as if it were a lifeline. Memories of her voice, her laughter, her love flooded back. The pain in my chest was unbearable, but I didn’t want it to stop.
This pain was all I had left of her.
When the sunlight started to stream through the window, I wiped my face and got up. I still had one thing left to do.
I stopped at a florist and bought a bunch of daisies, her favorite. The drive to the cemetery was a blur, my mind racing with all the things I wished I’d said, the moments I wished I could relive.
The grave was easy to find.
The mound of fresh earth stood out clearly against the older, more worn headstones. My breath caught as I approached, and reality hit me again.
It was here. His final resting place.
But something caught my attention. At the base of the grave, embedded in the earth, was a small package. My name, Teresa, was scribbled on the paper in his unmistakable handwriting.
My hands trembled as I picked it up, my heart was pounding.
The package felt almost warm, as if his love had left a mark on it. I tore open the wrapping and discovered a folded note inside.
My dear Teresa, it began.
I know that your uncle probably won’t let us see each other for the last time. I don’t know what I did wrong with him… but he’s always been jealous of the bond we share. I need you to know this: Teresa, you are my love, my joy and the light in the darkest days.
I’ve asked Rina to leave this package on my grave when I’m gone. This is so you’ll never be late again.
I took a deep breath.
Had Grandma planned this? Had she known exactly how things would turn out?
And it made sense to me. Craig probably thought Grandma was going to leave me a lot of money, even her house. Not that I wanted any of that…
“Oh, Grandma,” I murmured.
Tears blurred my vision when I opened the smallest package inside. A gold wristwatch gleamed in the sunlight, its face encircled by tiny diamonds. I turned it over and there, engraved on the back, were the words:
Grandma and Teresa. Always and forever.
I fell to my knees, clutching the watch to my chest. The pain in my heart reached unbearable proportions. She had thought of me, even in her last days, leaving behind this symbol of her love for me.
As I sat there, the pieces of her note remained in my mind.
My uncle. His jealousy.
Now it all made sense, the way he had rushed the funeral, his abrupt phone calls, the coldness of his voice. He had never hidden his resentment, but to think he had taken it this far… refusing to wait even a few hours.
Even so, as much as his actions pained me, I couldn’t let them overshadow what I held in my hands. The watch wasn’t just a relic, it was a promise.
It was the promise of a connection with my grandmother that time could never erase.
The cemetery was silent as I stood by her grave, sharing memories, apologizing for being late and thanking her for all she had given me.
When I finally got up to leave, I put the watch on my wrist. I felt as if a part of her were with me, tangible and eternal.
When I returned, the house was still empty, but it no longer felt so suffocating. I stood in the living room, looking at the remains of her life, her unfinished sock, the framed photo of the two of them by the fireplace.
A few moments later, the door opened.
“Teresa,“ he said. ‘What are you doing here? Why do you bother to come when it’s all over?”
“How can you ask me such a question?’ I exclaimed.
“She was old, Teresa,” he said. “What did you expect? That the old woman would live forever?”
“When did you become so cruel, Uncle Craig?” I asked him.
“When did you become so self-righteous?“ he snapped.
Before I knew it, two men from a removal company had entered the house.
“I’m taking the furniture. And those expensive plates and vases. I’m going to sell them.”
“Grandma will never forgive you for this,” I said simply, sitting down on the sofa.
“Grandma’s gone, Teresa. It’s time to move on. And don’t try to contest the will,” she said. ”Grandma would have given everything to me. I can’t wait to give Rose her watch. My mother would want her eldest granddaughter to have it.”
I rolled down my sleeve, hoping Craig wouldn’t see the watch. I wasn’t going to give it to him. No way. But at the same time, I didn’t want to keep Craig waiting. He could have everything else.
It had been a few months since I left my grandmother’s house for the last time. Life had resumed its usual rhythm, or so it seemed from the outside.
The watch remained on my wrist, its weight a constant reminder of her. Some days I would catch myself holding it, my thumb brushing the inscription, as if I could summon her voice.
One night I made myself a cup of tea, Grandma’s favorite chamomile blend, and curled up on the sofa with a blanket. The unfinished sock from her house was now on my coffee table, carefully placed in a small knitted basket.
I picked up the knitting needles, my fingers still clumsy and awkward with the movements. She had tried to teach me once, years ago, but I had been too impatient to sit still.
“One day you’ll see,” she said with a knowing smile. ”That knitting is like life. You just have to keep going, stitch by stitch.”
Stitch by stitch.