My mom came to stay with us for a long weekend in November. The kids’ grandma slept in the guest room, cooked oatmeal every morning, and stayed up too late playing cards with my three kids. Then on Sunday afternoon my husband drove the kids’ grandma to the airport. The house got quiet fast.

I expected the quiet. What I did not expect was the week that followed. Kids do not always say “I miss Grandma” in those words. Kids show it in small, sideways ways. Some of those ways look like nothing. Some of those ways look like bad moods. I started writing them down on the back of a grocery list, mostly because I wanted to tell my mom about them on the phone.

I also asked readers of this blog, many of them grandparents, what they notice in their own grandkids after a visit ends. Several of those replies are included below. Here is what I saw in my own house during that week, and what I think it means.

The kid keeps asking when grandma is coming back

On Monday morning, the day after my mom went home, our youngest asked me at breakfast when Grandma was coming back. I said we would see Grandma again at Christmas. Our youngest nodded and ate some cereal. Then our youngest asked the same question again at lunch. And again at bedtime. The question was not really about the calendar. My kid did not want a date. My kid wanted to hear that the visit from the kids’ grandma was not the last visit.

A reader named Linda M., 63, from Peoria, Illinois, wrote that her grandson does the same thing on the phone. Linda said, “He asks me the date every single call. I finally mailed him a calendar with my next visit circled in red. The asking stopped.”

A repeated question about coming back is a kid’s plain way of saying the goodbye felt too big.

The kid starts talking like grandma

My mom has a habit of saying “well, there we go” whenever something finally works. The toaster pops, there we go. The zipper closes, there we go. The kids’ grandma said it probably fifty times over the long weekend. On Tuesday I heard our middle one say it, word for word, after finishing a puzzle. The tone was exactly my mom’s tone. Our middle one did not seem to notice it had happened.

I did not point it out. I just smiled and went back to the dishes. Later that same day, our oldest called a dish towel a “tea towel,” which is what my mom calls it and not what I call it.

When a kid borrows a grandparent’s words, the kid is keeping that grandparent close in the only way a kid knows how.

The kid holds on to something grandma left behind

My mom left a cardigan on the back of a kitchen chair when she went home. I meant to mail it. By Wednesday the cardigan was gone from the chair. I found it on our youngest’s bed, folded badly, with a stuffed rabbit sitting on top of it. Our youngest told me the cardigan smelled like Grandma. That was true. It smelled like the hand lotion the kids’ grandma uses.

I decided not to mail the cardigan. My mom laughed when I told her on the phone and said to let the kid keep it until Christmas.

A reader named Robert H., 70, from Asheville, North Carolina, told me his granddaughter keeps a coffee mug he once used at her house. Robert said, “Nobody else is allowed to drink out of it. It sits on the shelf waiting for me.”

A kid who claims a grandparent’s object is building a small, real reminder that the person is still around.

The kid makes things to give grandma

On Thursday our middle one came to the kitchen table with a stack of drawings. Every drawing was labeled “for Grandma.” There was a picture of the kids’ grandma holding a cat we do not own. There was a picture of a house with a lot of windows. There was a picture that was mostly scribbles but had the word “Grandma” written on it in careful letters. Our middle one asked me for an envelope and a stamp.

I did not have a stamp. We drove to the post office after school pickup and mailed the whole stack. The envelope was fat and lumpy. The clerk did not mind.

Making a gift for someone who is far away is a way of reaching toward that person when a hug is not possible.

The kid gets cranky at grandma’s usual time

My mom reads to my kids at bedtime when the kids’ grandma stays with us. The routine was the same every night of the long weekend. Bath, pajamas, then my mom on the edge of the bed with a chapter book. On Friday, bedtime fell apart. Our youngest cried about the wrong pajamas. Our oldest said the bedroom was too hot. Our middle one would not get into bed at all.

I was tired and almost got cross. Then I noticed the clock. It was exactly the time my mom would have started reading. My husband picked up the chapter book, sat on the edge of the bed, and read a chapter. The crying stopped. Nobody said the word “Grandma” out loud.

A sudden bad mood at a familiar hour is often grief wearing a disguise, and a kid needs the routine filled rather than a lecture.

The kid retells grandma’s stories to anyone who listens

My mom tells the same story every visit about the time a goat got loose at a county fair when my mom was a girl. The story is not long. The kids’ grandma told it twice over the long weekend. On Saturday, a neighbor stopped by to borrow a ladder. Our oldest told the neighbor the entire goat story on the front step, with my mom’s hand gestures and my mom’s pause right before the ending.

The neighbor was polite and laughed in the right place. Our oldest looked pleased, then said, “My grandma told me that.”

A reader named Carol J., 58, from Fresno, California, said her grandkids do this at school. Carol wrote, “The teacher told me she knows all about my fishing trips. I have never met that teacher.”

Retelling a grandparent’s story is a kid’s way of carrying the grandparent into rooms the grandparent has never entered.

The kid asks to do the thing grandma always does

Every visit, my mom bakes bread with my kids. The kids’ grandma lets the kids punch the dough down and does not care about flour on the floor. On Sunday, a full week after my mom went home, our middle one asked if we could make bread. I do not usually make bread. I told my middle one that I was not sure I remembered how.

My middle one said, “Grandma does it like this,” and started pulling out the flour and the big bowl. The kid walked me through every step. The dough came out dense and a little flat. We ate it anyway, warm with butter, and my middle one asked me to take a picture to send to Grandma.

Asking to repeat a grandparent’s activity is a way of borrowing that person’s presence for an afternoon.

That week taught me something I had not thought much about before. My kids missed my mom in a dozen small ways, and almost none of those ways involved saying so. If I had only listened for the words, I would have missed all of it. I would have called the bedtime meltdown bad behavior. I would have mailed the cardigan. I would have thrown the lumpy envelope into the recycling.

I am not an expert on grandparents or on grief. I am a former teacher and a mom who kept a list on the back of a grocery receipt. But I think the list is worth sharing, especially for grandparents who live far away and wonder if the visit mattered. It mattered. The kids are still talking about it.

What small thing has your grandchild done that told you, without words, that the visit mattered?