[This entry was written on a plane and posted as of the date written]
There's no easy way to say this, and I'm not even sure why I'm addressing this matter in a public forum. My grandmother died Friday. She had a massive stroke on Thursday morning, and died quietly this afternoon. Firey and independent until the end, she was surrounded by family, yet waited until everyone had stepped out for a moment to actually pass.
There is a great sadness within me, yet also a bit of relief. She had been failing for some time, and had lost my grandfather just a few months before. I wasn't there to see her degrade day after day, and I can't even begin to imagine how my cousins, aunt, uncle and mother coped with it. (to say nothing of my grandfather, who watched the woman he'd loved for 60+ years slip away.) Much of my relief is for them.
For the past few years, she told everyone that she had lived a full life. She had much to be proud of. She had beautiful children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren, and these were a source of some of the greatest joys in her life. She left us with a great legacy of memories, admonishments, and guidance. I find myself being caught up in those memories lately.
