Cancer stole my grandmother Daisy’s time — six months, maybe more if she was stubborn. I was just 13 when she first taught me that stars could hold stories. Night after night, we sat on her porch, tracing constellations as she wove together myths, family history, and dreams for my future.
When the illness came, she gave me a journal filled with maps and stories, asking me to keep adding to it when she no longer could. Her final words were, “Look for me in Cassiopeia.”
Years later, I still sit on that same porch with my own daughter, sharing the same stories under the same sky. What began as my grandmother’s gift has become our family’s legacy — proof that love, like the stars, never fades.
