My grandmother passed away last night. She was nearing 90 years old. Her death was not unexpected; she was admitted to the hospital with pneumonia several months ago and while she was there the doctors discovered that she had bone cancer.
I'm sorry to say I didn't know her well. In fact, I probably only met her ten or so times in my 37 years. Still, she was my Dad's mother and I'm very sad for him. I also realized that in mourning her passing, I mourn the loss of my last surviving grandparent and, in essence, my last chance to have the kind of relationship with a grandparent that I've only ever heard about. Sadly, the only grandparent I was ever around for any length of time was a child molester. Another story for another day, I guess.
Like I said, I didn't know her well, but here are some things that I do know. She was a caring woman who took in many foster children when she was a young married woman. In fact, she adopted four of them. She was really tiny, probably not even a hundred pounds and for most of her life she smoked like a chimney. I can picture her sitting at the kitchen table with her legs crossed (well, not crossed exactly...she did this weird thing where she wrapped on leg completely around the other) with streams of smoke rising around her. Complaining. Yeah, she was a big complainer. I'm not being disrespectful. I loved the fact that she was cranky! Well, I actually prefer to think of her as spirited. I always said that if I lived to be her age I would be the same way.
I'll miss you, Granny.
My Thought Chain
7 years ago