TRUE-LIFE
We've been close for my whole life
Collapsing on to my single bed, I pulled a crumpled photo of my grandma out of my bag and smoothed it out.
‘I miss you so much,’ I whispered, tears falling as I stared at her cheeky grin.
It was August 2002, and piles of boxes were scattered across my bedroom floor.
See, I was only 14, and my mum Debbie, then 44, had just got a new job in Las Vegas – 2,500 miles from our home in New York and my grandma Mary, then 63.
Before the move, Grams, as I called her, lived
