A/N: This is a sequel to chapter 4 which I posted about a year ago. That story was written right before the anniversary of a death in my family, and with another death looming over my family's head I couldn't stop thinking about writing this. So, here we are.

NOTE: It's obviously sad, dealing with death and grief.

Sheldon gently swayed back and forth on the tire swing in the backyard of his childhood home. It was late in the afternoon, the sun beginning to set in the sky. The heat was borderline unbearable, but Sheldon couldn't be bothered to notice. He simply stared ahead, disassociated from reality, and stuck with his own mind.

It was two years to the day since he'd lost MeeMaw. 730 days without her. So many months, weeks, and days without hearing her voice over the phone. So many seconds where she didn't call him Moonpie. And yet, the ache in his heart felt dull now. It wasn't as sharp and stinging. He couldn't feel every excruciating breath he took nearly as much as he had in the days following her death. Like any chronic pain, it had its flair ups, but they were becoming few and far between as of late.

And that scared him. Did that mean he was slowly forgetting MeeMaw? When would be the day he would remember her for the last time? He didn't want to ever let her memory die; she was too special for him to do that. But as the pain of her loss lessened, Sheldon wondered if he was a bad person for moving on with his life. Without her. Without his MeeMaw.

He and Amy just had their first child four months ago. This trip to Texas was the first time Mary and the rest of the family met his son. As Amy had handed Elliot over to Sheldon's mother for the first time, she uttered, "go say hi to your, MeeMaw." Mary had cried. But Sheldon came to a very distinct and terrifying realization.

He hadn't thought of his grandmother since he held his newborn in the hospital just moments after being born. Four whole months had gone by, and her memory didn't even cross his mind. Those fleeting seconds as he observed his son, the beautiful creation he and Amy had made together, were all he allowed his grandmother to have. She deserved better from him. After everything MeeMaw did for Sheldon, and he was forgetting her only two years after her passing.

She would have been so proud of him… bringing a child into the world. She would have been over the moon and would have told him so over their weekly phone chats. MeeMaw never got to do that. She never got to look at Elliot the way that Mary did as she held him for the first time. She wouldn't get to beam with pride as he did with Amy every time she handled their son with so much care. On the second anniversary of her death, that saddened him more than anything.

Sheldon heavily sighed as a gust of wind blew through his hair. How he wished he could have heard MeeMaw tell him she was proud. He couldn't think of anything he wouldn't do for her to meet Elliot.

He then did something that he hadn't done for his grandmother in a long time. He cried over her absence. He let the emotion course through his body and spill out of his tear ducts. How had he survived for so long without her? How was he continuing to survive without her?

Reasonably he knew why. He had Amy and all of his friends. And now he had a whole new little person who he was responsible for. His child brought him joy every day, even when it didn't seem like joy was possible. All of these people in his life, and yet he still missed his MeeMaw as if she had just died the day before. Sure, he didn't think about her that often anymore, but deep down, continuously, he missed her.

Perhaps he would never stop missing her. Even after he thought about her for the last time. Maybe it would just get easier as life carried on, and his grandmother's life got washed away with time. Sheldon couldn't be sure. He was so confused. Remembering and missing someone seemed so intertwined, so how could he do one but not the other?

Frustrated, he wiped away his now angry tears with his sleeve. Why? Was the only thing left for him to figure out, and he was usually good with the why questions. Sheldon rested his chin on top of the rubber tire as the silent, irate tears continued to stream down his face.

He watched Amy open the sliding glass door to the house and step outside. He watched her pull her loose cardigan tighter around her body as she crossed the yard over to him.

"Hey," she greeted worriedly. "You've been out here a long time, how are you doing?"

Sheldon's voice was failing him. He knew he would just cry harder if he tried to speak. Instead, he answered her with a pathetic shrug.

Amy reached out and ran her fingers through his hair. "Do you want to talk about it? Or would you like me to leave you alone?"

He shook his head lightly. "I don't know what I want," he whispered, barely audible.

"That's ok. You don't have to if you don't want to," Amy told him, moving to stand behind him so she could gently massage his shoulders.

Her touch brought him back to that early morning two years ago. When she had lightly tapped him in the same spot and broke down the last of his walls. How he had melted into her comforting hug at nearly three am. Those very same floodgates that she had opened up that day, the ones he had spent every day trying to close, opened again. Sheldon shook against the swing, the heavy-hitting grief for MeeMaw punching him once more.

Angry that he had forgotten her.

Sad that he would never stop missing her.

Confused because he couldn't differentiate the two.

Without even realizing it, Amy had managed to get him out of the swing somehow. Now, instead of lifeless, hot, rubber, he was sobbing into his wife's shoulder.

Just like she had that day in the hospital courtyard.

Amy, his pillar of strength, the woman who picked him up when the world seemed to be fighting against him. She was holding him tightly now, in his childhood back yard, carefully putting him back together as he fell apart in her arms.

"I shouldn't be this upset," Sheldon muttered after his sobs dwindled back into silent tears and residue. "She died two years ago, I should be moving on."

Amy pulled back from him, her eyes staring intensely into his. She held his face in between her hands. "You get to be upset by it anytime you want, Sheldon," Amy said forcefully. "There is no set timeline here."

"I didn't even remember it was the anniversary until you called Mom' MeeMaw'," Sheldon confessed. "How could I forget, Amy? I can't forget her." He sounded scared even to his own ears.

"You're not!" Amy took a step closer to him. "You'll never forget her, Sheldon, you just won't think about her as often. That's grief. Eventually, her memory will fade, and you will think about her less. But that doesn't mean you're forgetting about her. That just means that life is continuing to move on. As painful as it is, it's moving on without her."

Sheldon nodded to that, his breathing heavy and uneven once more. He couldn't bring himself to talk.

"I think about her too, Sheldon. I thought about her a lot right after she died, but it's less now. I thought about her when Elliot was born; I'm sure you did too. She would have loved him," Amy sniffled, her own eyes looking watery now.

Sheldon smiled bittersweetly. "She would have been so proud of me."

Amy wiped his cheeks with the pads of her thumbs, smiling and nodding in agreement. "She would have, Sheldon," she said as the first of her tears began to fall. "I know what she meant to you, Sheldon. And I know the way I miss her is completely different from yours. But, please remember, you're not dishonoring her legacy by simply living your life. Imagine how sad you would be if you thought about her all the time; she wouldn't have wanted that for you. She would want you to be there for your family,… for your son."

"Our son," Sheldon corrected with a smile.

Amy's eyes twinkled at that. "Our son. You're an amazing father, Sheldon, and MeeMaw would be so proud of that. I am proud of that. But your actions remember her better than your thoughts do."

"What?" Sheldon was perplexed. "I don't understand."

"She taught you so much about humanity and feelings. She taught you basic life skills that you use every day. Doing those things and treating people the way she taught you how to treat people is unconsciously remembering her every day. In the future, you're going to teach Elliot those very same lessons. Whether he likes it or not, he will be carrying on what she left behind without even realizing it."

Sheldon pondered that for a moment. "So, in a way, I'll never really forget her then?"

"Exactly. You don't have to think about her every day to remember her. It's ok to move on, Sheldon. Don't ever feel guilty about living your life."

With her hands still holding his face, Amy pulled him down and pressed a soft kiss to his forehead. Touched by the tender gesture, Sheldon held onto her wrists. Savoring the feel of her lips against his skin.

When she pulled back, Amy took his hands in her own. "I am still here to help you, Sheldon," she reminded him. "That will never change. If you want to talk about something, all you have to do is ask."

"Thank you, Amy… I love you."

She gave him that goofy smile every time he said that. "I love you too. Now let's get inside, your mother told me she made MeeMaw's apple pie!"

As Amy led them back to the house, Sheldon finally found like he had found some inner peace. He would miss his MeeMaw every day, without fail. But he wouldn't remember her every day. The memory of her lived on through unconscious actions and habits that she had taught him. Life would continue on, but he would still carry her lessons with him. Lessons he would one day pass on to his own son.

As painful as it was to begin to move on, Sheldon knew he had to. He was happy, and that's all MeeMaw ever wanted.

For now, on the second anniversary of her death, knowing that MeeMaw would be happy with the person he had become was enough for him.

A/N: Thank you so much for reading *love*