Sitting on the couch, watching White Christmas, I craved my grandma’s waffle cookies. I said, “Mom, I want to learn how to make the waffle cookies,” but in reality, I just wanted to eat them.

My mom brought out the recipe box filled with Grandma’s sweet recipes, waffle cookies is the first recipe we see. She knows where it is by heart in the box.

Once we mix the ingredients, we add my favorite ingredient. I pour vanilla and Mom tells me to stop—but when she’s not looking, I add extra. Just as grandma taught me.

As soon as the scent of sweetness fills the house, my brothers rush down the stairs. This is surprising—they normally want nothing to do with the kitchen. But today, they grab spoons and taste the dough (they can’t wait for the cookies to be done). We fight over who gets to have the first cookie, and I was quick enough to grab it.

The cookie was like a hug, filled with warmth and love. Biting into it, memories of Grandma flood back. The cookie was as sweet as her smile. I envision her laughter and the fun we had baking. Standing around the kitchen, we talk about our favorite memories of her.

These cookies bring us together because they are a little piece of her—a reminder she is still with us.