well, i was flying
My grandmother died two hours ago. That's about two weeks more time than anyone expected her to have. Two weeks ago, her heart stopped in ICU and the hospital team resuscitated her despite her DNR request; in very traditional Dottie fashion, she had this to say about it:
"Well, I was flying, and I don't know if I was going up or if I was going down, but dammit, someone pulled me back!"
Last weekend all six of her kids made it down to Tennessee for goodbyes, and they pulled out her old martini shaker to mix her up her favorite drink. Not that she was allowed a drink, but my aunt filled the syringe the hospice staff had been using for her oral morphine allowance and filled it up with martini instead. Her eyes lit up with glee when she tasted it.
She was a salty old dame, our clan matriarch. Former WAC, wife of a hard-drinking asshole blacksmith, raised six boisterous kids on very little money, chain-smoker, cocktail hour devotee, bone-dry snarker, largely unsentimental and always called things as she saw 'em. She was never a particularly warm or cuddly grandma, but she indulged all eleven of her grandkids and loved to pull shit with us while our parents weren't looking. She made awesome homemade applesauce and mixed a mean martini.
So this drink's for you, Dottie. Give 'em hell upstairs.
This entry was originally posted on Dreamwidth. Comment wherever you'd like.
"Well, I was flying, and I don't know if I was going up or if I was going down, but dammit, someone pulled me back!"
Last weekend all six of her kids made it down to Tennessee for goodbyes, and they pulled out her old martini shaker to mix her up her favorite drink. Not that she was allowed a drink, but my aunt filled the syringe the hospice staff had been using for her oral morphine allowance and filled it up with martini instead. Her eyes lit up with glee when she tasted it.
She was a salty old dame, our clan matriarch. Former WAC, wife of a hard-drinking asshole blacksmith, raised six boisterous kids on very little money, chain-smoker, cocktail hour devotee, bone-dry snarker, largely unsentimental and always called things as she saw 'em. She was never a particularly warm or cuddly grandma, but she indulged all eleven of her grandkids and loved to pull shit with us while our parents weren't looking. She made awesome homemade applesauce and mixed a mean martini.
So this drink's for you, Dottie. Give 'em hell upstairs.
This entry was originally posted on Dreamwidth. Comment wherever you'd like.