For 57 years, my grandpa never missed a Saturday—always coming home with fresh flowers for my grandma. When he passed, the empty vase felt louder than words.
A week later, a stranger arrived with a bouquet and a sealed note from Grandpa. His love was never loud, just steady and faithful. Even as cancer weakened him, he kept his promise. “Love isn’t just something you feel,” he used to say. “It’s something you do.”
