As I robotically stroll into my room each afternoon, I glance at the bamboo plant silhouetted in the window. My grandmother had bought it for me for no reason at all.

Always thinking of other people, she would often show up with presents on just an ordinary day. It was the last present she gave me.

The bamboo plant curls its way up the window out of a bland white pot. As it inches farther toward the ceiling, its importance to me consequently grows. As my eyes scan my room, they always pause for a moment on the plant. I often reminisce about the last time I saw my grandmother.

The plant reminds me of Thanksgiving dinner at my grandparents' house two years ago. For the first time in my life, my grandmother was absent from the table. Two months earlier, she had been diagnosed with pancreatic cancer.

We finished dinner and all of my cousins began going upstairs to see her. Tagging along behind my brother, I heard the buzz of my grandmother's respirator. That sound carried sadness of funeral bells. However, my grandmother's smile continued to carry hope.

I failed to understand her behavior. My mom told me pancreatic cancer was the most deadly type of the disease. However, in the midst of imminent death, my grandmother smiled and laughed. Not once did I hear her complain or question her misfortunes. My grandmother had always been that way - constantly smiling and rarely complaining; she lived by that motto until her death.

As all of my cousins left, my brother and I were the last to leave. We hugged our grandma as she continued to smile. With the picture of her smile embedded in my mind, I hurried home expecting to see her again soon. Two nights later she passed away.

It's funny how a bamboo plant affects my attitude so much. Flashing me back, it reminds me to live like my grandmother: be happy and try not to complain. I'm sure the day my plant dies, my memory of my grandmother will live on. Until then, my bamboo plant helps instill in me the attitude of my grandmother.