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.

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.

“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.

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.

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 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.

“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.”

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.

“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?”

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.

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?”

“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.”