After a very long battle with dementia, my grandmother passed this Easter Sunday. Everyone likes to say their grandmother was the sweetest woman who lived, but in her case it was probably true. A trove of stories have circulated among family members that attest to her gentle nature for many years. This one will always be my favorite:

My parents had a rocky marriage. When I was seven, they decided to tackle the issues they had as a couple. Knowing  they needed space away from the routine to work through their situation together, they asked my grandparents to watch me for a month.

As planned, my parents returned for me in four weeks, refreshed and ready for a new beginning. However, after weeks with a steady supply of cookies and access to a BB gun, I was pretty set in my new digs. When my parents came to the door for me, I stayed on the couch. I didn’t budge.

My dad thought I was joking, so he started the car. My mom, more familiar with my stubborn nature, realized this was a matter of some consequence. She spent more than then fifteen minutes pleading and bargaining with me to come home.

But I didn’t budge. I staked my claim to a patch of couch next to my grandfather as he worked a New York Times crossword puzzle. A long cigarette burned in the astray next to him.

When it became clear I wasn’t going, my grandmother conferred with my Mom in private. Then my Mom went outside and waited in the car.

Grandma sat next to me on a divan. “Your parents are pretty upset about this. Maybe you could  go with them? They miss you an awful lot.”

“I like living with you and Grandpa,” I said. “I’m staying here.”

“Well,” Grandma said, “If you go with your parents now, I promise that we’ll come and visit you very soon.”

“Really?”

“I’ll call your Mom tomorrow and set it up.”

I hugged Grandma goodbye, and shook my grandfathers hand. Grandma sent me off with a few cookies for the road. My parents said nothing about the incident.

My grandparents came to visit me, just like Grandma promised. When we moved to California, I returned to Kansas for a summer visit. And I kept coming back. Part of every summer between the age of 8 and 22, I stayed with them. Grandma always had the cookies ready. And even though Grandpa swore to my parents he had sold the BB gun, Grandma let me know which closet he had “hidden” it from me.

When I think back to the great couch standoff now, I realize the depth of Grandma’s love. She respected my parents enough not to undermine their authority, yet recognized how much I liked being around her and Grandpa. And she came up with a way for everyone to win.

My grandparents are both gone now. But like in life, Lawrence and Barbara are together again.

And I remember the sort of unconditional love only a grandparent can give, only a child can receive, and only an adult can understand how unfortunately rare it really is.