I see the updates. I see the newly posted pictures of a growing belly. I see the pictures of a nursery that was tirelessly decorated. I have the same pictures. But you'll never see them. It's not because I'm ashamed of my belly or because I'm an awful painter or decorator. It's because I didn't get the happy ending.
You loved them immensely and were only just beginning to fall into your groove as "Grandma" when you left us. Like an artist who passed away before completing a painting, your role in my life and my children's lives feels unfinished, yet revered for its ultimate intent. That ultimate intent was always the purest of intents -- love.