It was 11 pm, the last week of school during my Junior year of high school. I was sitting on the couch trying to cram information in for the next days final, while simultaneously texting some friends to go out to eat after the final, in honor of my birthday. My phone pinged and I picked it up, assuming a friend was confirming our arrangements. It was a text from my cousin. My blood ran cold as I read: "Baruch Dayan Haemet", I'm so sorry for your loss, let me know if I can do anything. WHAT?! I ran to my parents room and saw my mother sobbing into her pillow and I knew that my beloved grandmother had returned her soul to it's Maker. My grandmother and her parents escaped the war from Hungary when she was just 5 years old. They emigrated to Australia and started their life anew. I was named after Bubby's mother, Malka, and I always shared a special bond with her. After my parents got married, as well as many of my uncles and aunts, my grandparents moved to California to be closer to their children. I had the great merit and opportunity to spend many happy occasions, deep conversations, and inspirational moments with my Bubby. And now, she was gone. I couldn't think straight. It was my 17th birthday and I was "supposed" to be feeling happy, yet it felt like my heart had just been ripped out. Where was my Bubby when I needed her? I tossed and turned that night, with no respite in sight. The next morning I decided to go to school and try and take the final since I had studied anyway. It wasn't the best decision. Every time another student wished me happy birthday, I felt like a stab in my heart. How could I be happy when the world had just lost a shining light? I could not concentrate and failed that final. After the funeral I felt like I could not, and would not finish the year. I wanted to stay in bed and hide from the world. As I crawled under my covers that night I thought to myself, "what would Bubby want me to do now? How would she handle this"? And deep down in my gut, I knew. Bubby was a warrior. She looked at stumbling blocks and turned them into stepping stones. She turned challenges into opportunities, and she greeted each day with a smile and gratitude. It reminded me of when I was a child and because my name was Malka B., my parents would call me Maccabee - like the heroes of old. I knew it was time to act like a Maccabee. To fight darkness with light. I resolved right then, that although it would be hard, I would make my Bubby proud. I finished off the year and dedicated my final project in memory of my Bubby. Throughout the next year I tried my best to emulate my Grandmother's ways by volunteering at convalescent homes and with young children. I dedicated my extra learning in her memory. Then a bit before my next birthday I had a dream. In the dream Bubby came to me an said "I know that you are sad that I passed away on your birthday, but I want you to know that it's because our souls are eternally connected. We are bound in spirit". After that dream I was able to celebrate life with the joy that she would have wanted. I miss her and I'm proud to be her granddaughter.