My grandma died unexpectedly 30 years ago yesterday. As the third oldest grandchild, I’m one of the few of my generation who was blessed to know her well. She used to take me shopping. She let me eat bowls of whipped cream. She gave squishy hugs, her purse smelled like band-aids and her Kringla was amazing. She was proud of me, and I knew it because I could hear it in her voice when she spoke. My grandma lost her husband to cancer when she was very young, and she was left with five kids age six and under to…