My senior year should have been about exams and friends, but instead, I watched my grandmother, Gretchen, slip into dementia. She often mistook me for her late husband, George, which was frustrating until everything changed one day.

Grandma moved in with us after her diagnosis, and her condition worsened. She would rearrange the kitchen, convinced things were misplaced, and always called me George. Mom explained that I looked just like him when he was young.

One day, overwhelmed by frustration, I stormed out and ended up at Grandpa’s grave, feeling lost. But a memory of wearing his clothes as a kid reminded me of the bond we shared. I decided I had to do something for Grandma.

The next day, I dressed in Grandpa’s old suit and took Grandma to the sea for a “date,” just like she’d wanted. We had dinner by candlelight, and I followed Grandpa’s pasta recipe exactly. As we swayed to their favorite song, she smiled like she was truly happy again.

Two days later, Grandma passed away peacefully. Though it was heartbreaking, I knew she was finally with her George, where she had always longed to be.