After Grandma Rose passed, something broke inside Grandpa Bill that never quite healed. I’d visit him at his little cottage, and every single night, I’d watch him clutch her framed photograph to his chest as he drifted off to sleep. The sight of it made my heart ache every time.

So I did something about it. I took her favorite photo (the one where she’s laughing at some joke Dad told at a barbecue, her eyes crinkled with pure joy) and had it printed on a soft, cream-colored pillow. The kind you could actually hold.

When I mailed it to Grandpa, he called me within an hour of receiving it.

“Sharon? Oh, sweetheart.” His voice was thick with tears. “This is the most beautiful thing anyone’s ever done for me. When I hold this, it’s like having Rose back in my arms again.”

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