My great great grandma died last night.

My Mommy told me and then asked if I had any questions. I had a lot of questions, but she looked so serious that I just shook my head.

Mommy is sad. I can tell because, even though she isn’t crying on the outside, I think she may be crying on the inside. She lost track of time brushing her teeth. She burned my bagel. She even totally zoned out while I was telling her an awesome story about the zombie apocalypse.

She keeps staring at things, but it’s like she doesn’t see them. I try to imagine what Mommy might be seeing when she stands in front of the refrigerator and doesn’t move for a few minutes. Is it an alien invasion? An attack of fridge monsters?

I tug on her shirt sleeve and call, “Mommy?” She turns her head, sees me and gives me a sad smile. Then she hugs me.

I have been getting lots of hugs today. Abuelita hugged me and I was surrounded by an herb scented cloud. Aunt Ginger hugged me and I sank into her pillowy softness. But Mommy’s hugs are best of all.

When Mommy pulls me onto her lap and hugs me tightly, I wiggle ‘til we fit like puzzle pieces, she squeezes just enough, and we both hold on like we’ll never let go.

I ask, “Are you sad because your great grandma died?” She nods slightly and I see tears shining in her eyes. “Are you scared that you will forget her?” I press.

Mommy shakes her head slowly and I see her face change as an idea comes to her. “No, Baba. I’m afraid that you might, though. You knew her for such a short time. But we’re going to make something that will help you to remember.”