One day my sister Kay came over to find me sprinkling Tide on an ant hill.

“Whatcha doing?” she asked.

“I read this would kill fire ants.”

She laughed, and we went inside to eat something – pie or cake or a slice of each – and she left.

Then she poked her head back in the door and said, “Ronny come see! The ants are out here doing their laundry.”

So many memories. We lived next door to each other for 23 years, and we never had one argument.

As the memories return, they ease the grief of her death in one way, deepen it in others.

There’s a video of Kay dancing with my granddaughter Olivia in the middle of Sicily’s restaurant. Around them are my dad and Tim and family members talking and eating and doing what other people normally do. But this was our normal.

This was our Kay.

To win over my granddaughter Adeline, she told her, “If you say you love me, I’ll dance.”

So every time Kay was around, Adeline shouted, “I love you, Aunt Kay!” And Kay would start to dance.

The day before she died, Kay told her daughter Brandi that she was going dancing.

My son-in-law Frank said, “I wonder how many times God is saying, ‘I love you, Kay’ just to watch her dance.”

Kay is irreplaceable, and I’ve asked my sister Ann and my sister-in-law Monica, to be the fun aunt now, because we all know that I’m not.

But while we can never replace her, we will never stop sharing memories of Kay with her grandchildren and those yet to be born. And every time one of her grandchildren says, “I love Grammy,” I’ll make Monica or Ann dance.

Ronny Michel may be reached at rmichel@rtconline.com.