Rosalie, with a poise that surprised even me, navigated through her tablet’s screen until she found her masterpiece. She pressed play, and a series of images appeared on the screen, accompanied by a melody that Rosalie herself had hummed and recorded. The video opened with a photo of Dolores in her youthful glory, standing proud in front of the bank where she had worked for decades.

“This is you, Grandma, when you started your job,” Rosalie narrated, pointing at the screen. “Mommy said you were really good at it, and that’s why you got to be the boss.” The next slide was a collage of photos—Dolores holding Craig as a baby, then him as a young boy, and finally, as the man I married.