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The person I miss most is my grandmother. She passed away three years ago, yet her memory remains the warmest corner of my heart — a gentle light that still guides me through stressful days.
Grandma lived in a small countryside house surrounded by a yard full of marigolds. Every summer, I would stay with her, escaping the city's bustle. Mornings began with the aroma of her cooking — fluffy steamed buns and sweet corn porridge. After breakfast, she would sit under the old locust tree, mending clothes or sharing stories from her childhood. I remember leaning against her knee, watching her hands move skillfully with the needle as sunlight filtered through the leaves, dancing on her silver hair.
She possessed a patience that feels rare today. When I struggled with math homework, she never scolded me. Instead, she would fetch a basket of chestnuts and say, "Let's count these first." We'd sort them by size, and somehow, numbers became less intimidating. On rainy days, she taught me to fold paper cranes, her fingers guiding mine. "Each crane carries a wish," she'd whisper, tucking one into my pocket.
Beyond these small moments, I miss her quiet wisdom. She often told me, "A kind heart is better than a clever mind." She taught me to respect everyone, from the mailman to the farmer, and to find joy in simple things — a blooming flower, a sweet melody, or a warm meal. What I miss most is her quiet presence. When I was sad, she wouldn't ask questions — just hold my hand and hum an old folk song. Her hands were rough from years of farm work, yet they felt like the safest place in the world. After she passed, I found a box under her bed: inside were all the paper cranes I'd ever made, each carefully pressed flat, with tiny notes in her shaky handwriting: "For my little one's happy days."
Now, whenever I face difficulties at school or feel overwhelmed by life's fast pace, I think of her. I wish I could tell her about my new school or show her the cranes I still fold. Missing her isn't just sadness — it's a reminder of how deeply love can take root within a person. Grandma may be gone, but the warmth she gave me will endure forever, like sunlight that never fades.
