Remembering Grandma

Grandma with her great grand-daughters,
cousins Morgan and Julia.

My Grandma, my dad's mother, died yesterday--one week after her 93rd birthday. She was surrounded by family in her last days, something she always said she wanted.

She was a firecracker, my Grandma. A whippersnapper, Molly said. Although her body was failing her at the end, her mind was as sharp as ever.

We visited her last December, then again in April, knowing our time together was short. On that last visit, we said our goodbyes--not explicitly, but in time spent visiting and remembering and just being there.

She was tough, a fighter. She was never one to just give in. Born at the very end of one World War, she lived through the Depression and another World War, man landing on the moon, the fall of the Berlin Wall. In the '90s my dad bought her a computer and she started using email.

Now her fight is over and she can rest. Our sadness is mixed with relief that she can be at peace now, and gratitude for having known her.

I have lots of memories, so here's just one. In 1985, when Live Aid happened, we didn't have cable TV in my house (I don't think we even had color TV yet), but Grandma and Grandpa did. So I spent that whole day at their house, on their couch, watching it on their TV. Grandpa mostly retreated to the basement, away from the wacky performers and the crazy music, but Grandma was fascinated and would check in from time to time, wondering who everyone was, making various observations, bringing me snacks. Me and Grandma and MTV.

Goodbye, Grandma. We love you.