When I was growing up, I thought all families had the same weekend lunches as mine: a giant cauldron of yellow noodles, simmered. When my grandmother died, I thought about that simple dish often. How she conjured love out of a few basic ingredients.
In all of my 29 years, my grandparents had been such a big part of my life that I could have never conceived of a life without them. Losing them was a shock to the system.