Every summer, my grandmother waited for one very specific day—the day Chick-fil-A would announce the return of their peach milkshake. It wasn’t just a dessert to her; it was a memory in a cup. The flavor reminded her of her sister Merle’s homemade peach ice cream, a taste so deeply tied to her past that every sip felt like a visit back home.
Even on her hardest days, that milkshake could lift her spirits. She’d hold it in her hands like a little piece of joy, and for a while, the world seemed softer. Last year, on her birthday in late July, she skipped the cake entirely. While the rest of us cut slices and passed plates around the table, she sat smiling with her peach milkshake, savoring it slowly. I’m so grateful that I thought to take a photo that day—her eyes bright, her smile content, the cup in her hand. I didn’t know it would be one of her last.
When she passed away this past March, the absence she left behind was enormous. Then, a few weeks ago, I saw a post on Chick-fil-A’s Facebook page: peach milkshakes were coming back. I found myself typing a reply, telling them about my grandmother’s love for the drink, about how I planned to drink as many as I could this summer in her honor. I attached the picture from her last birthday.
To my surprise, Chick-fil-A responded. They asked me to send them a private message with my email and address, hinting that they had a little surprise for me.
The next day, I noticed two free peach milkshakes had been added to my account. It was such a kind gesture, and with everything else going on—especially Isaac being so sick—it gave me a much-needed happy moment.
But that wasn’t all.
A few days later, a package arrived at my door. Inside was a handwritten card, an ice cream cone keychain, a Chick-fil-A mug, and four more cards for free peach milkshakes. I smiled at the thoughtfulness—these were all things they could easily give away, but they still took the time to send them to me.
And then I saw it.
At the very bottom, wrapped carefully in bubble wrap, was a peach-colored picture frame. Inside it was the photograph I had shared of my grandmother on her birthday, milkshake in hand. Someone at Chick-fil-A had gone the extra mile—printing and framing that memory for me. I held it in my hands and laughed through tears.
They didn’t have to do that. But they did. A stranger cared enough to give me back something I didn’t even realize I needed—my grandmother’s joy, preserved in a frame.
I miss her so much. But every time I take a sip of a peach milkshake this summer, I feel like she’s still here, sharing it with me. And now, thanks to one unexpected act of kindness, her smile will always be just a glance away.
Some people think a milkshake is just a treat. But for me, this one will always be a reminder of love, memory, and the way kindness can keep someone’s spirit alive long after they’re gone.
