We named our daughter after my maternal grandmother. We told her this very young, and then, of course, we had to explain that Grandma Rose died. Not a concept I'm sure I grasp let alone can explain to a two year old. I told her what I believe: when people die, they are gone, but they live on in our memories and stories we tell about them.

Rose would call Grandma Rose on the phone: Hello, Grandma Rose? You're dead? Ok! Bye!

I guess no one explained that the phone wasn't plugged in.

Then she started asking for the stories. If Grandma Rose was going to live on in the stories, she wanted to hear them. I gave her the pillow Grandma Rose made me, the one with a smile on one side and a frown on the other, because it's ok to feel both ways. I told her about pink leg warmers Grandma Rose knit for me, the ones that sparkled and made me feel like a fashion goddess. When we went to the beach, I told her about digging in the sand for clams with my grandma.

For Valentine's Day, my mother made Grandma Rose albums for all the grandchildren. She told the stories. She put in the pictures. She put in the songs her mother used to sing to her. It's a beautiful album, and I'm so happy I have it.