Last May, I visited my grandmother for the last time. It was the most perfect day out! The warm sun and blooming spring flowers symbolized her biggest passions in life, spreading positivity and gardening. This was something she had taught me from a young age. Her huge garden served as our form of connection. We would spend hours talking while planting the most beautiful flowers we could find in the shop. She had every plant possible. From apple trees, to rhubarb, to lamb ears, to mint, whatever you could think of, she grew. However, things progressively got worse. Excruciating headaches and paralyzation took over her body. I still remember Mother’s Day where we tried to make the best of the situation. My mother, sister, and I surprised her with hundreds of her favorite flowers, brought her chair outside, and let her guide us through planting them. She was always so happy and positive, even till the very end, and made sure to point out that it was the best Mother’s Day yet. Though the brain tumor slurred and prevented her speech, her expressions served as a translator. On our last day together, her wide smile and tearful eyes met mine as we cried and held each other. I will forever hold onto those last two words, “Hey Sadie.” As simple as they may seem, remembering people became one of her biggest obstacles, but she remembered me. She remembered the girl who she had spent 16 years teaching to love herself, garden, pick the ripest rhubarb, bake the best oatmeal raisin cookies ever, and make the most out of every situation. When I look back on the day, I realize my grandmother didn’t want me to see her death as depressing and mournful, but rather a reflection of our many happy memories. The bright sun highlighted her garden, serving as her final message to me. So, Hey Grandma Fran, how are the flowers in heaven?