I don’t know how to tell you about my grandma. She was funny in a dry, droll way that’s hard to describe. She was incredibly sweet, in her undemonstrative, quiet way. She made a life in her garden and her kitchen, and when she was there that was where I wanted to be.
She loved dogs, birds, flowers, and babies. She loved the southwest. She was always whistling songs. She saved everything. She bought me the best pair of shoes I own, and found me a wonderful green hat in a gutter. She could always tell when I’d been crying or upset or had lost weight, and sent me to rest or fed me custard. She believed I deserved every good thing that could possibly happen to me. She’s a huge part of who I am and why.
The last few years were cruel, as they stripped away too much of what she’d loved doing and being, from her garden to her privacy. But even in the last days, she was still there and still herself. Even when she couldn’t speak, I could see she was mouthing “I love you.” And when she decided to let go on Friday night, she did it her way: quietly, after a long day of song and visits and love.
As she would say: Home, James, and don’t spare the horses.
As Deb says — this past week made us incredibly grateful for each other, everyone at Serene Corner, and Evergreen Hospice.