For as long as I can remember, Grandma had gifted me little plastic sheep with a bell every year for my birthday, and for just as long, I never understood why. A different colored bell, but always a sheep.
A small sheep figurine | Source: Pexels
I glanced at my shelf, where they all sat in a neat row, each one from a different birthday.
“She’s sweet,” I thought to myself. “But does she even remember what she gave me last year?”
I didn’t dare ask her. After all, Grandma was old. Her hair was white, her hands shaky, and her memory wasn’t what it used to be. Still, every year, without fail, on my birthday, she would shuffle over with a little box in her hand.
Grandmother and granddaughter | Source: Pexels
“Happy Birthday, Clem,” she would say, her voice soft and raspy.
“Thanks, Grandma,” I would reply, smiling, though a little confused.
She always looked so proud, watching me open it, as if the sheep were something special. But to me, they were just… sheep. Plastic and simple.
Toy plastic sheep | Source: Pixabay
I used to think it was because she had so many grandchildren to keep track of. My two older brothers, Sheldon and Sam, got things like money or tools—stuff they could use. But me? Sheep.
“Maybe she’s just getting forgetful,” I would tell myself, trying to brush it off.
It wasn’t long before everything changed. My 19th birthday came and went, and Grandma wasn’t there to give me another sheep. She had fallen ill just a few months before, and everyone knew her time was near.
An ill woman | Source: Pexels
One evening, Mom sat beside me on the couch, her face tired and sad. “You should go see her, Clem,” she said softly.
I hesitated. “I don’t know if I can. I don’t want to remember her like this.”
Mom nodded. “I understand, but she loves you, you know. You were always special to her.”
I wiped my eyes, not wanting to cry. “I know.”
A young woman covering her face with her hands | Source: Pexels
A few days later, Grandma passed away. I couldn’t stop the tears. I missed her so much already. She had always been there, with her soft voice and kind eyes, shuffling around, doing her best despite her age.
A year later, on my 20th birthday, something strange happened. The party was small—just my family—and I was trying to be happy. But it felt different without Grandma there. Mom came over to me with a little box in her hand, and for a second, I froze.
Birthday cake with candles | Source: Unsplash
“What’s this?” I asked, confused.
Mom smiled gently. “It’s from Grandma. She gave this to me before she passed. Said it was the last one.”
I stared at the box, feeling a lump in my throat. “Another sheep?” I asked softly.
Mom nodded. “She wanted you to have it.”
A woman with a present | Source: Freepik
My heart pounded as I carefully opened the box. Inside, just as I expected, was a small plastic sheep. This one had a gold bell around its neck. I couldn’t hold back the tears. It was the last gift she would ever give me.
I excused myself from the room, leaving my family behind. The sounds of my nieces and nephews playing in the background seemed distant. I needed to be alone. I went to my room, holding the sheep tightly, and placed it on the shelf with the others.
A small plastic sheep | Source: Freepik
“I miss you, Grandma,” I whispered, tears streaming down my face.
That’s when Sheldon, my older brother, appeared at the door. “Clem,” he said, stepping into my room. “You okay?”
I shook my head, trying to wipe away the tears. “I just miss her, Sheldon. I always thought the sheep were… weird, but now… now they mean everything.”
Sheldon smiled, that knowing look in his eyes. “You haven’t figured it out yet, have you?”
A smiling young man | Source: Freepik
I blinked, confused. “Figured what out?”
He walked over to the shelf, picking up one of the sheep. “Did you ever look underneath?”
“What do you mean?” I asked, my voice still shaky.
Sheldon turned the sheep over, showing me the underside. There, printed in tiny letters, was a message.
A plastic sheep head with a note | Source: Freepik
I squinted. “I love you,” it read. But underneath, there was a small number.
“Wait, what’s that?” I asked, confused.
“It’s been there all along, Clem,” Sheldon replied with a grin. “Every single one of these sheep has a message. And a number.”
I stared at him, stunned. “You mean… they’re not just random gifts?”
A shocked young woman | Source: Pexels
“Not random at all,” he said, walking over to the shelf and picking up another sheep. He turned it over. “Here’s another. See? A number.”
I picked up the first sheep Grandma had ever given me, turning it over in my hands. Sure enough, there was a number under its tiny legs. My heart raced as I grabbed another, then another, checking each one. Each sheep had the same message of love, but with a unique number.
A close-up shot of a shocked woman | Source: Pexels
“But what does it mean?” I asked, feeling a sense of urgency.
Sheldon chuckled. “I’m not giving you all the answers, little sis. Think about it. Why would Grandma give you a sheep every year with a number?”
I thought hard, my mind spinning. “It has to be some kind of code,” I murmured.
Sheldon nodded, his eyes bright. “Exactly. And there’s a reason for the order. What was the last message you found?”
A smiling young man | Source: Pexels
I thought back to the final sheep I had received on my 20th birthday. “It said, ‘Go to the bank, Clem.'”
“Right,” Sheldon said, nodding. “So, take those numbers and arrange them by the order you got the sheep. What do you see?”
My hands shook as I grabbed a notebook and started writing down the numbers in sequence, from my 7th birthday to my 20th. Slowly, a pattern began to form. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing.
A shocked woman on a white backdrop | Source: Pexels
“It’s… a bank account number?” I whispered, my heart pounding.
Sheldon grinned. “Now you’re getting it.”
The next morning, I found myself standing outside Grandma’s bank, clutching the piece of paper with the account number. My palms were sweaty, and my stomach churned with nerves.
I approached the teller, a kind woman who smiled warmly. “How can I help you today?”
A smiling woman at work | Source: Pexels
I took a deep breath. “I… I think I have an account here. It was set up by my grandmother.”
The teller looked at the paper I handed her, then her eyes widened slightly. “One moment, please.”
After a few minutes, a bank consultant came out to meet me. He introduced himself and gestured for me to follow him to his office.
“Miss Clementine,” he began, sitting across from me, “It seems your grandmother set up a very special account for you when you were born.”
Safety deposit boxes | Source: Pixabay
I swallowed hard. “How much is in it?”
He clicked a few keys on his computer and then turned the screen toward me. My jaw dropped.
“Over $120,000,” he said calmly.
I stared at the number on the screen, completely stunned. “This… this is mine?”
“Yes,” the consultant replied, smiling. “Your grandmother made annual deposits for you, and it’s accumulated over the years. But that’s not all.”
A woman writing at work | Source: Pexels
He handed me a small key. “There’s also a safety deposit box in your name. Would you like to see it?”
I nodded, speechless.
A few moments later, I sat in a private room, the small safety deposit box in front of me. My hands trembled as I unlocked it. Inside, there was a single envelope, addressed to me in Grandma’s familiar handwriting.
I pulled it out slowly, opening the envelope with care. Inside was a handwritten letter.
Putting a note into an envelope | Source: Pexels
Dearest Clem,
You figured it out! Forgive this old lady for playing with you in this way, but I love you so much. I had to make sure that you were set for life and to do it this way so no one would take the money from you.
If I’m still around, come over for tea, honey. If I’m not, just know that I’m with you, always.
Love, Nana.
A hand-written note | Source: Pexels
Tears filled my eyes as I clutched the letter to my chest. She had planned all of this—years of sheep, each one carrying a secret, each one leading me to this moment.
Later that afternoon, I made my way to Grandma’s grave, holding a bouquet of her favorite flowers in one hand and a small flask of tea in the other.
The sun was beginning to set, casting a warm, golden light over the cemetery. I knelt down and placed the flowers on her grave, the weight of her love still heavy in my heart.
Person laying flowers at a grave | Source: Pexels
“I brought you some tea, Grandma,” I said softly, pouring a cup and setting it beside her gravestone. “Two sugars, just like you like it.”
I sat down on the soft grass, sipping my own tea and letting the silence wrap around me. For the first time in a long while, I felt at peace. It was as if she was right there beside me, her gentle smile in the breeze and her love in every sip of tea.
A young woman at a cemetery | Source: Pexels
“Thank you, Nana,” I whispered, wiping away a tear. “You’ve given me more than I ever could have imagined.”
If you liked this story, consider checking out this one: Grandma Madeline’s birthday turns heartbreaking when her family, ashamed of her janitor job, abandons her. Her loyal granddaughter, Darcy, returns home to confront the family’s disdain by helping Madeline reveal a big secret. Chaos erupts when her plan backfires.
This work is inspired by real events and people, but it has been fictionalized for creative purposes. Names, characters, and details have been changed to protect privacy and enhance the narrative. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.
The author and publisher make no claims to the accuracy of events or the portrayal of characters and are not liable for any misinterpretation. This story is provided “as is,” and any opinions expressed are those of the characters and do not reflect the views of the author or publisher.
