My grandma gave me a key when I was 16 and made me promise I'd never throw it away. I thought it was just one of her little quirks. Eleven years later, after her funeral, I finally discovered what she'd been keeping from me. While cleaning out her old house, I found a locked drawer in her bedroom. The key fit. Inside were 11 birthday cards, one for every year since I turned 17. Each contained little notes about my life, things I'd accomplished, and memories she'd somehow kept track of. The last envelope was dated two weeks before she died. I opened it, and the first line made me sit down.