In Loving Memory of

I'll always remember our Sunday afternoons in her garden. She taught me how to tell a weed from a flower, and her patience was endless. Her garden was a reflection of her soul - vibrant, beautiful, and full of life.

Grandma Nora made the best apple pie. The whole house would fill with the smell of cinnamon and love. It wasn't just a recipe; it was a tradition, a hug in the form of dessert. I will miss that.

She had a story for everything. I remember listening to her tales of growing up, each one a little glimpse into a world I never knew. She was a living library, and I was her most avid reader.