The Light That Raised Me: A Letter to My Matriarch

Dear Grandma,

I still remember the way Sunday smelled in your house—like strawberry cream, pressed linen, and prayer. Mornings were slow but sacred. You’d hum softly to yourself while smoothing your dress, your brooch already pinned like a badge of quiet power. And when you’d lean down to kiss my cheek, it felt like the whole world paused to witness grace.

I didn’t know then that I was watching a masterclass in dignity.

You never raised your voice to be heard—you raised your spirit. You didn’t need to command a room; your presence settled it. Whether you were pouring tea for someone grieving or opening your home to someone in need, you moved with reverence, like everything you touched mattered. And it did. Because you touched it.

I think of you every time I fix my collar before stepping into something new. I hear you in the way I encourage others. I feel you in the warmth I try to offer people who just need to be seen. Your legacy isn’t a memory—it’s my moral compass. You taught me that elegance is not the absence of struggle but the decision to rise above it with softness intact.

You didn’t just pray over me. You planted something.

That seed has grown into the way I speak, the way I create, the way I walk through this world with my head high but my heart open. And though I miss you more than words could ever carry, I light this candle in your honor—not to replace your presence, but to remind me it never left.

You are my matriarch. My compass. My example of how a woman moves when led by God and governed by grace.

Thank you for showing me the kind of light that doesn't burn out.

Forever your girl,

April

Light Her Legacy.

Honor the women who shaped you with every flicker. Join us in remembering the matriarchs who walked in grace—one candle, one tribute, one sacred story at a time. Share a tribute to your own matriarch below each tribute post for #JohniesReserve and bring the Legacy Box home.