Five days ago marked ten years since my grandmother’s passing. Ten years. It feels like they flew by in an instant. Every time February comes around, it brings bittersweet memories—of love, loss, and the passing of time.

It’s always hard to write about my grandmother. My heart shatters when I think about all the things I wanted to do for her but never got the chance to. Time was a thief. I thought I had more of it. That is my biggest regret—losing time because I believed I had more. I think about it often. The choices I made, the moments I let slip away. I wish I hadn’t waited for the perfect time. I wish I had made different choices. I hope she forgives me for not being there when I should have been. Saying goodbye to her was the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do. I didn’t want to. I wanted her to stay—to keep laughing, making jokes, and telling stories of her youth.

She used to ask me, “When are you going to have a child?” How I wish she could have met my daughter. I know she would have adored her. But I’m grateful she met my husband. I still remember the first time—true to her playful nature, she cracked a joke and asked me where I found him, then followed it with that silly laugh of hers. That was her way of saying she liked him. One moment that always makes us smile is when my mom was trying to give her medicine, and she refused. Instead, she spit it out—and somehow, in perfect slow motion, my husband caught it. It was hilarious then, and it’s still one of our favorite stories to tell about her.

Mamang was truly one of a kind—the best grandmother anyone could ever ask for. I am beyond blessed to have been raised by her. I carry her love and memory in my heart every single day. Not a day goes by that I don’t miss her, that I don’t think about her.

I love you, Mamang. Please continue to watch over me and my family. I can never thank you enough for giving me a home, for making sure I knew I was loved and that I mattered. Thank you for making me whole.