Losing a loved one (peacefully, quietly, late in life) is an interesting experience. There is sadness – of course there is sadness – but there is also joy in remembering, and in celebrating one more time all of the things you shared with that person. Things you’ve forgotten. Things you may not have even known you shared.
This post has been written in my heart for two weeks now . . . but putting it down in typeface seems so much harder, more permanent. How is it that I can be a grown woman, a full-on adult person, and still feel as vulnerable as a child?
I know I’m lucky. Until just a few years ago, all four of my grandparents were still living. That’s pretty darn good. And then my grandfathers both passed away, within months of each other. They were both in their 80’s and had battled health problems for years, so the end, while sad, was not a surprise.
But my grandmother . . . my paternal grandmother, she’s the one who seemed destined to outlive us all. An indomitable force. A woman to be reckoned with.