I love this photo of me and my grandma. The lush verdant plants of Southern California. The hummingbird feeder above us. The effortless elegance of my grandma as she wrangled two kiddos (me and my cool older cousin Christine).

My grandma died this past February. Her memorial service was the same week as Ro’s due date, so I wasn’t able to go. I heard some good stories from it though. And the local pipes and drums band skipped their weekly practice session so they could play the bagpipes at the service. I cry a little every time I think about that.

Wilma was a fierce woman. Small in stature, outsized in her force of personality. She was proud. Complicated. Too much was asked of her at too young of an age. She had an epic 60+ year romance with my grandpa. She was born in Wick, Scotland. Clan MacKenzie. She made the BEST Scottish shortbread. She never quite lost her Scottish lilt. She made my wedding dress. She loved California, then Texas. She was brave in her own way. Broken. Stubborn as hell.

There is a small part of her in me.

She believed in and supported my writing. I wish she could have seen me published. I wish she could have met Ro.