The floorboards in Nanny’s hallway creaked like they were trying to rat me out.

I’d tiptoe barefoot through the dark, heart pounding, convinced she could hear every step. The fridge light would flood the kitchen like a stage spotlight, and there it was…magic in a white carton: cold lo mein.

At my house, takeout was a rare luxury. At Nanny’s, leftovers felt like treasure. I’d grab a fork, perch on the counter, and eat noodles straight from the carton while the world slept. I should have been in bed, but I couldn’t resist the quiet thrill of midnight noodles.

That was her house: freedom. Magic. Safety.

Some nights, we’d fish together, just the two of us, then share a Happy Meal with sweet-and-sour sauce. Other nights, I’d stay up too late watching Nick at Nite while she hummed around the house, always in motion, never bitter, never slowing down.

Now I’m watching that unstoppable woman fade. Cancer is stealing her from us, and it feels like the earth has shifted beneath my feet.

But even in heartbreak, she’s still teaching me. She’s teaching me that time is short, that memories are built in small moments, and that legacies aren’t spoken they are lived.

So I look at my children and ask myself:

What lessons am I leaving them?

Which memories will they carry?

Will they remember my words, or my life?

I don’t want to be the mom who says, “Do as I say, not as I do.”

I want to be the mom who shows them how to live, how to love fiercely, forgive quickly, laugh loudly, and fight for joy even when life feels impossible.

Because someday, I’ll be the memory they sneak into their own kitchens with. And I want them to remember me the way I’ll always remember her

as a light in every dark room,

a woman who made the simplest things feel magical,

and someone who left more love than pain behind.

So call your grandma. Hug your kids tighter. Order the takeout and let them stay up late.

Because those are the moments that matter, the ones they’ll remember when your hallway creaks and your fridge light flickers in the middle of the night.