For My Grandmother

In memory of the woman who taught me how to live, care, and believe.

I lost my grandmother last Thursday. And I’m one ocean apart.

It’s breaking my heart that I couldn’t be there to say goodbye. I’m trying to process it from afar—alone, in silence. Writing has helped me through many difficult moments, so I’ve been thinking about everything she taught me over these almost 32 years together. From the simplest, silliest things to the most powerful and meaningful lessons.

This is my way of honoring her, of making her legacy feel a little more permanent, and of trying to navigate everything I’m feeling.

My grandma was a real main character. In her own life—and in our family’s. She was the one who always caught everyone’s attention. Starting with her strong, loud voice. I remember when I was a child, at my parents’ house, I could hear her arriving from my bedroom. I’d jump up, get ready, and run downstairs.

This is one of the most powerful things she taught me: don’t waste your life. Live it to the fullest. Be aware, be present, be alive—and honor that.

She also taught me to never leave the house with dirty hair—it’ll make you feel like you’re not taking care of yourself. And never wear old underwear—you never know if you’ll faint on the street and someone will see it! Always wear good clothes, put on earrings, present yourself at your best. Important note: you are allowed to mix patterns, colors, and wear anything that makes you feel good.

She taught me to be careful on stairs. To love flowers. To love dogs and all animals. She taught me to believe in my dreams and go after them. One thing that gives me peace, being far away now, is remembering how I once told her I wished I could come back more often. And she said, “You need to stay where you’re happy. We’re happy knowing you’re chasing your dreams.”

I'm so grateful for all the beautiful memories

She was always so supportive. She showed up for every boring school presentation, every birthday, every special occasion. She celebrated with me when I got into college, my internship, my graduation, my first job, every time I moved, and when I started my business—even though she once told me I hadn’t drawn a very good banana tree.

My grandma was funny. She was the most caring—but not in a sweet, emotional way. She was practical. High energy. One of the most independent women of her time. She was smart—loved math—curious, always eager to learn. She’d ask the most interesting questions about topics she didn’t know. You’d never hear her say, “this isn’t from my time.” She wanted to understand what was happening now.

I had so many inspiring conversations with her—ones that helped me clarify my own thoughts. I loved sharing Valsa with her. She was so passionate about the plates. I’m so glad I created a “Grandma Collection” and named one of the plates after her. I’m so glad I did a photoshoot at her house, with her by my side. I can’t put into words how much I’ll miss our conversations.

She was always celebrating life. I can still hear her clapping, laughing, cracking a joke about someone, dancing. Her house was always full. She had uncountable friends. She adopted so many extra children over the years. On paper, it was three daughters, eight grandchildren, and five great-grandchildren—but in real life, it was so many more. She was truly loved by everyone.

She taught me that love is caring. And caring is showing up. She was always the first to help anyone in need. She wouldn’t ask if you wanted help—she’d just be there, no matter what.

Caring is paying attention to details. Caring is cooking and sharing. Anyone who arrived at her house would never leave without a coffee, a piece of cake, a cookie, or pão de queijo. Or doce de leite—especially if it was me. I could always count on finding a jar of her homemade doce de leite on top of the fridge, made just because she knew I was coming. That doce de leite even made its way to the U.S. when I was living there, and then to Portugal when my mom visited. Thank you, grandma—you really made my life sweeter.

Love is also saying it. The good and the bad. My grandma was tough. She never missed the chance to tell you the truth you needed to hear. But she also never missed a chance to say "I love you" out loud.

My grandpa—the love of her life—was the luckiest one. He always got the first slice of cake, a kiss, and a passionate “I love you.” They were about to celebrate 69 years of marriage—the most beautiful one I’ve ever seen. True partners in every moment, even the smallest ones, like a walk to the bakery. Never apart.

Grandma, you made me believe in lifelong love. You made me incredibly happy when you said I had found “the grandpa of my life.” I’m so glad you were there to bless my marriage.

I’m sorry I didn’t say “I love you” out loud as often as you did. But I do love you. With all my heart.

Last but not least, you taught me the power of faith. The power of God. I saw you achieve real miracles in your life. You never gave up. You never stopped believing. That comforts me now. I know you had a deep, special connection with God—and if you left us now, it was truly your time. I can feel you’re in a good place.

Just like I felt that our hug in February might be our last. I tried to push that thought away, but now I’m grateful I felt it. I held on tighter. I gave it everything I had.

Grandma, rest in peace.
Thank you for everything you did for us.
Thank you for being you.
Thank you for all the beautiful memories that will never, ever fade.

You were the best.

With all my love,