Bye Grandma
As we were walking out the door to take the littlest one to daycare, my aunt calls.
My Great-Grandmother passed away last night in her sleep. She was either 100 or 102, depending who you asked. The only documentation of her birth was a family bible, and my great-great grandfather didn't have the best handwriting in the world. We had been expecting this for some time. After her third stroke, we knew it was only a matter of time.
Visitation is tomorrow. The funeral is Saturday. Both events are in Robinsville, NC.
Due to personal obligations, and a promise I made to my Great-Grandma Beulah, I will not be there to see her off.
Many years ago, when Grandma still had all her marbles, she made me promise her (over a plate of Thai food no less) that if she ever became mentally incapacitated that I would not come and see her or go to the funeral. She wanted me to remember her just the way she was, smiling, vibrant, and snarky to the core. That is how I remember Grandma, and some of you were actually lucky enough to meet her. The last time I saw Grandma, all the family's black sheep (including myself) had gathered on the back porch of my great-uncle's place for her birthday. We were sharing a bottle of my cousin's wine that was one breath away from being sherry. She walked out with us, poured herself a sizable glass, and said, "Drink up boys, this wine isn't getting any colder, and I'm not getting any younger." and then proceeded to eviscerate both right wing conservatism and my father. That was my Great-Grandma, the crazy old lady who supported me and taught me to dream. Three days after that party, she had the first of three strokes. It was pretty much down hill from there. Last month she called me during one of her lucid moments, to let me know that old folks home food sucks, and could I send my sister with some Price's Chicken Coop Chicken. I did just that. I was lucky enough to have the last words I spoke to her be "I love you."
Bye Grandma...never did get that bastard Willard Scott to say her name on TV.
My Great-Grandmother passed away last night in her sleep. She was either 100 or 102, depending who you asked. The only documentation of her birth was a family bible, and my great-great grandfather didn't have the best handwriting in the world. We had been expecting this for some time. After her third stroke, we knew it was only a matter of time.
Visitation is tomorrow. The funeral is Saturday. Both events are in Robinsville, NC.
Due to personal obligations, and a promise I made to my Great-Grandma Beulah, I will not be there to see her off.
Many years ago, when Grandma still had all her marbles, she made me promise her (over a plate of Thai food no less) that if she ever became mentally incapacitated that I would not come and see her or go to the funeral. She wanted me to remember her just the way she was, smiling, vibrant, and snarky to the core. That is how I remember Grandma, and some of you were actually lucky enough to meet her. The last time I saw Grandma, all the family's black sheep (including myself) had gathered on the back porch of my great-uncle's place for her birthday. We were sharing a bottle of my cousin's wine that was one breath away from being sherry. She walked out with us, poured herself a sizable glass, and said, "Drink up boys, this wine isn't getting any colder, and I'm not getting any younger." and then proceeded to eviscerate both right wing conservatism and my father. That was my Great-Grandma, the crazy old lady who supported me and taught me to dream. Three days after that party, she had the first of three strokes. It was pretty much down hill from there. Last month she called me during one of her lucid moments, to let me know that old folks home food sucks, and could I send my sister with some Price's Chicken Coop Chicken. I did just that. I was lucky enough to have the last words I spoke to her be "I love you."
Bye Grandma...never did get that bastard Willard Scott to say her name on TV.