Goodbye, Grammy

My grammy, my mother's mother, died tonight at age 94. It sounds like a good death... she wasn't in pain, and she had her husband of seventy years there with her along with her oldest daughter.

I last wrote to her a few weeks ago, when I heard she was declining, and she sent back a note thanking me.

It's odd to realize how little I really knew her. Born in 1919, she raised five children and buried one of them. She wore red lipstick every day when she was raising the kids. Her in-laws didn't like her, thought their son had married down, and called her a brood mare. She bickered with Grandaddy, spent endless hours in the kitchen, was not cool (or so I'm told) with gay people. She bought me a purple bicycle when I visited at age 8 or so, and had it shipped to my place with instructions not to tell my parents it was coming. She won many prizes at fairs for her needlework (mainly embroidery), and she could sew clothing too. She walked quickly and always had a sense of mischief about her. Her letters stayed mostly on shallow topics though: her garden, most often.

I find myself saddened, and wanting to know more about her life. Hoping for stories at the memorial service, which won't be until January.