Last weekend my 96 year old Grammy passed away.
I'm having a slight difficulty in writing this because there were two versions of my grandmother in my memory. There is the rounder, younger and much healthier version. The Grammy who lived walking distance away from us in Maine. The Grammy who was like a second mother. "Only three fig newtons Laurie!" type of Grammy. The Grammy I would watch old Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers movies with and have sleepovers with. And then there was the Grammy later in life... The last ten years have not been easy on her. But she’s tough as nails and she stayed with us. From her coma to several breaks and falls and surgeries, she was still here. Having to leave her home for a nursing home was not easy for her but it was a physical necessity. It was a safety thing. And lately you could just tell... she was done. She had had enough. And I cannot blame her. Since I stopped working almost ten years ago I have spent every Monday (not as often lately as her health deteriorated) with her and my mom... but I wish my last visit with her could have gone better... And try as I might I know I won’t be able to forget it. But I do know this: I told her I loved her twice (the second time she responded that she loved me too, so thankful for that tiny miracle) and then she told me that she wanted to go home. And she is home, finally. I can only imagine her joy to finally be reunited with my Poppop after twenty-nine years apart.
