My grandmother suffered from a terrible illness in her final years. I frequently went to see her because I loved her so much. She asked me to make her a vow one day when we were alone. She stared me in the eyes and demanded that I make this commitment, taking advantage of the fact that no one else was around.
A year after she passed away, she asked me to take her picture off of her gravestone. I attempted to reassure her that she would remain with us and that her time hadn’t come yet, but she was shocked and upset. However, she pleaded, “Just promise me that,” with a soft grin. I didn’t understand why she wanted this, but I still consented.
She died quietly that evening. I eventually forgot the pledge. I rushed to the grave after remembering it a year later. When I took the picture down, I was astonished by what I saw underneath it 
…
There was another picture of a young woman behind the first one.
I looked a lot like the woman.
I hurried to my grandfather’s house after taking the picture.
My mind was racing with questions.
My grandfather grinned when he saw the picture, but his eyes were sad.
He claimed to have taken the picture personally and to have identified it as my grandmother.
I was also plagued by the question, “Why hide this photo?”
Grandfather clarified that she was very conscious of her beauty and questioned why gravestones don’t have a picture of her when she was younger.
She wished to avoid being remembered as an elderly person.
She wanted everyone to recognize her for who she truly was—beautiful, vibrant, and content.
