He Knows.

She had golden, aged skin. And big brown eyes. Shoulder length, thick, dark hair. With specks of grey you'd barely notice unless you stared.

But stare, he did.

"Grandma!" H yelled in the middle of the restaurant towards the woman I described.

"Shhhh." J quickly said, but I was so taken aback that I looked up.

And there sat a woman who could have very well been my mother's twin.

Not identical, not even exact. But enough for me to see the resemblance and enough for H, nine months after her death, to see her too.

He kept on staring. "Hi Grandma." He said.

Over and over.

Smiling at her, waiting for her to smile back.

Finally, when my heart had had enough, I told him, "That's not grandma, but you're right that she looks like grandma."

This woman looked like my mom before she was sick, before she lost her hair and before her body was weakened by the cancer, yet H, picked her out of a crowd. He remembered her as if no time had passed at all.

If there was ever any question if my son would know his grandma Nan, it's been answered now.

He does.