100 Words on Love by Gena Raymond
I hated when people called her my nanny. She was my grandmother.
There are things about her I’ll never know or understand, but I know she loved me and she was wise.
She never read to me, but she would tell me her stories.
As she rubbed my aching ankles at night, she told me they were just growing pains and they wouldn’t hurt so much as I got older. She was right.
She told me I’d get A’s on my spelling tests if I slept with the words under my pillow. I always did.
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