My grandmother died this evening and I am sitting here typing because … because I need to I guess. I was already gearing up to drive home tomorrow and visit her at the hospital. The good news is that I don’t have to go to a wretched hospital.
The bad news – awful, depressing news – is that I will never see my lovely grandmother again.
She loved diamonds and nature, good books and jokes, and her family. She always smelled of soft perfume and was the most feminine woman I have ever met. And the strongest. Author Lee Smith one said that mountain women are as frail as coal trucks, and so they are. My grandmother lived 88 years mostly on her own terms. She was wise and mysterious, funny and gentle, beautiful and determined. There’s not enough space on the Internet to tell you how much I love her, how much I owe her, and how much I learned from her.
There’s also not enough space to tell you of all my regrets, all the things I should have done and said. I am old enough to know better, but somehow I thought she would live forever. I thought there would be time. I thought we would laugh together again.