08/05/2026
Jeanette Marie Rogers
October 17,1949 â April 28, 2026
77 years 06 months 11 days
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There are two parts of me standing here today.
The woman in me rejoices.
She knows my grandmother is no longer in pain.
She is healed, whole, and finally at peace.
The body that once struggled now rests, and the heart that carried so much has been made new.
There is comfort in that.
There is even joy in that.
But the little girl in meâŠ
still reaches for her grandma.
Because when I was little,
she held me so carefully⊠so intentionally.
She didnât just care for meâshe watched over me.
I remember how she would hold me close
and count my heartbeats,
as if every single one mattered.
As if every breath I took was something to be protected.
That was her loveâ
diligent, quiet, and unwavering.
She made me feel safe in a way that is hard to put into words.
Like as long as I was in her arms, nothing in the world could reach me.
And in her final daysâŠ
I had the honor of holding her.
As she once held me,
I held her.
And in the quiet moments,
I found myself doing the same thing she once did for meâ
listening closely,
feeling each breath,
aware of every heartbeat.
The same care.
The same attention.
The same love⊠returned.
And it struck me in a way I will never forgetâ
that love had come full circle.
The hands that once protected my life
were now being held as hers gently came to an end.
There is something sacred in that.
Something that feels like both an ending⊠and a completion.
And then, last night, I saw that love continue.
After we told the girls that she had passed,
we also shared her final wordsâhow much she loved them.
They cried⊠deeply, honestly.
The kind of tears that only come from real love.
But later, after dinner, we stepped outside together.
It was drizzling.
The ground was wet, little puddles forming on the concrete,
the grass soft beneath our feet.
And Brealynnâ
the one Grandma always said was most like herâ
my wild, barefoot, outside-loving girlâŠ
She stepped into a puddle.
Gently. Thoughtfully.
And she looked at me and asked,
âIs this being wild like Grandma?â
And I said,
âYes, honey⊠this is just like what Grandma would do.â
And without hesitation,
the girls began jumping in the puddlesâ
tears still on their facesâ
calling out, âGrandma⊠Grandma⊠GrandmaâŠâ
And then Chloe took off running across the wet grass,
and they all chased after herâ
laughing and crying all at once,
running freely in the rain.
And I just stood there⊠watching.
Watching my children hold grief and joy in the same moment.
Not taught. Not coached. Not filtered.
Just⊠true.
And in that moment, I saw something so clearâ
that love doesnât disappear.
It moves.
It lives on.
It shows up in the most unexpected, beautiful ways.
In laughter mixed with tears.
In puddles and bare feet.
In the wild, free hearts of children.
So today, I donât stand here only in sorrow.
I stand here in gratitude.
Grateful for the way she loved me.
Grateful for the way she cared for me so intentionally.
Grateful that I was given the chance to care for her in return.
Grateful that I was hersâŠ
and she was mine.
And maybe this is what love looks like nowâ
not choosing between grief and peace,
but holding both.
Rejoicing that she is freeâŠ
while still missing her deeply.
Because love doesnât end when a life does.
It simply changes form.
And I knowâŠ
that if she could see usâ
her girls, her great-granddaughters,
laughing and crying and calling her name in the rainâŠ
her heart would have been full.
I will ALWAYS love youâŠ
