My grandmother died today. She was 83 years old.
Here's where I would give a charming reminiscence of the life and times of my father's mother, but the truth is, I can't say I knew her past my personal interaction with her, which feels rather self-centered and inconsiderate. Then again, neither she nor Grandad talked particularly much about their past.
What I do know about her younger life is all very light overview, and sounds rather cookie-cutter. Met Grandad in college, married young (by my generation's standards, at least), lived in the suburbs, raised three kids, happy homemaker all her life. But I don't feel like I ever knew that woman.
Instead, the woman I knew was a great lady who made amazing fruit salad in the summer and a cheesy potato bake that tasted like home. The woman I knew played golf into her 70s. The woman I knew liked a good martini. The woman I knew was a fervent Redskins fan and would become downright surly if an event kept her from watching the boys in burgundy. The woman I knew liked to knit things for her family - I once stole a sweater she made for Dad and wore it until it fell apart. The woman I knew playfully badgered my sister about becoming a hairdresser so that she could get her hair done for free (Sister didn't take her up on it). The woman I knew was never satisfied with my posture and incessantly corrected my use of "me" versus "I." The woman I knew volunteered at a foundation supporting a battered women's shelter. The woman I knew acted in plays and joined her community chorus group because she hated to be idle. The woman I knew just loved children... especially when they were asleep.
Earlier this week, she and Grandad had dinner with some friends and spent the evening talking and laughing. Later that night, she suffered a massive stroke in her sleep. She was taken to the hospital, but she never recovered. It was sudden and no one was prepared for it, but in the grand scheme and considering all possible ways, I can't help but think it was a great exit. She enjoyed life up till the last minute, then let go quickly, painlessly, and peacefully.
My grandmother died today. She was 83 years old.
Here's where I would give a charming reminiscence of the life and times of my father's mother, but the truth is, I can't say I knew her past my personal interaction with her, which feels rather self-centered and inconsiderate. Then again, neither she nor Grandad talked particularly much about their past.
What I do know about her younger life is all very light overview, and sounds rather cookie-cutter. Met Grandad in college, married young (by my generation's standards, at least), lived in the suburbs, raised three kids, happy homemaker all her life. But I don't feel like I ever knew that woman.
Instead, the woman I knew was a great lady who made amazing fruit salad in the summer and a cheesy potato bake that tasted like home. The woman I knew played golf into her 70s. The woman I knew liked a good martini. The woman I knew was a fervent Redskins fan and would become downright surly if an event kept her from watching the boys in burgundy. The woman I knew liked to knit things for her family - I once stole a sweater she made for Dad and wore it until it fell apart. The woman I knew playfully badgered my sister about becoming a hairdresser so that she could get her hair done for free (Sister didn't take her up on it). The woman I knew was never satisfied with my posture and incessantly corrected my use of "me" versus "I." The woman I knew volunteered at a foundation supporting a battered women's shelter. The woman I knew acted in plays and joined her community chorus group because she hated to be idle. The woman I knew just loved children... especially when they were asleep.
Earlier this week, she and Grandad had dinner with some friends and spent the evening talking and laughing. Later that night, she suffered a massive stroke in her sleep. She was taken to the hospital, but she never recovered. It was sudden and no one was prepared for it, but in the grand scheme and considering all possible ways, I can't help but think it was a great exit. She enjoyed life up till the last minute, then let go quickly, painlessly, and peacefully.
My grandmother died today. She was 83 years old.