My name is Martha, and I am 72 years old. Throughout my life, I have come to understand one simple but important truth: love is not only a feeling, but also actions. Sometimes it is through our actions that we show people how much we love them and how much we value their presence in our lives.
I devoted my entire life to my daughter Angela and later to my granddaughter Riley. I raised Angela on my own after her father, my husband Bill, died at work. I worked at the city library, lived modestly, but with warmth in my heart and a love of books. Money was always tight, but I tried to do everything I could to ensure that neither I nor my loved ones wanted for anything.
When Riley was born, my love only grew. I took her to nursery school, sewed costumes for matinees, baked cakes in the shape of castles and dinosaurs, and was always there when my daughter was tired. I was the kind of grandmother who always had a plaster, chewing gum or some other little thing in her bag to make her granddaughter’s day easier and happier.
But life sometimes presents us with difficult challenges. Angela died suddenly of an illness — she was only 42 years old. I was left alone with fifteen-year-old Riley and had to become her mother, friend and support all at once. Together we went through grief, learned to move on and found the strength to enjoy the little things.
Riley grew up to be an independent and determined young woman. She became fascinated with wedding planning — she made albums with magazine clippings, studied the details, and drew inspiration from various ideas. One day, she shared her dream with me — her ‘dream wedding’ — but admitted that she was afraid it would be too expensive.
I remembered our old house, my daughter’s laughter, little Riley’s footsteps on the creaky floor, family holidays… and I made a decision: to sell the house that had been part of my life and use the money for my granddaughter’s wedding.
Riley cried with happiness and thanked me. It was important for me to see her joy because her happiness became the meaning of my life.
But as the wedding day approached, I didn’t hear any news. No bachelorette party, no dress fittings, no invitations. I decided to visit my granddaughter myself and heard words that hurt me:
‘Grandma, we didn’t invite you. It’s important to us that all the guests are younger and more energetic.’
It hurt. Everything I had done for her dream turned out to be ‘not enough.’ But I took a deep breath, calmed down, and decided to let her organise the wedding herself and return the money to the bank.
A few days later, Riley came to me with tears in her eyes. She said she had become so caught up in the details of the wedding, advice and pictures from the internet that she had forgotten about the person who had always been there for her. We hugged and decided to prepare for the wedding together.
The wedding took place in a public garden next to the library where I had worked for many years. The dress was simple but beautiful. Live jazz music played, everyone laughed and danced, and both children and adults attended. The joy was genuine, without any ostentatious glamour. As I led my granddaughter to the altar, she said aloud:
‘This woman has always been there for me. She has saved me more than once.’
At that moment, I realised that true love is caring, supporting and being willing to sacrifice yourself for others. Good deeds come back to you, and sincere care for your loved ones always matters.
Today I know that happiness cannot be measured by money or external attributes. It is found in those moments when we are close, when we can support and bring joy to others. And this is the most valuable legacy we can leave to our children and grandchildren.
