Amy's grandfather died in about the first week of January several years ago. Her mother died a year or two later, within a few days. A year after that her grandmother died, again within a week of that same date.
My grandfather died two Easters ago. Now, just days before Easter this year, one of my grandmothers died. Last Thursday morning. Amy posted a great little tribute on her blog.
She was 91, and still living on her own. Not slowly wasting away over the decades in a nursing home. There were a couple years that were pretty rough when she couldn't keep track of who was who, but they passed. We saw her just a month or so ago, and she was lucid and alert. She told stories about some of her career path, ending up as a university secretary.
But she was also desperately lonely. That last time we saw her she admitted that she was extra tired. She hadn't slept well the night before. She had been too excited about us bringing Jareth over to be able to sleep. But even on hardly any sleep she was thrilled to see us, and was maybe more alert than I feel this morning without coffee.
She had mentioned to a few people that she wasn't enjoying life. I think she was too polite and selfless to let go. I think she only lived so as long as she did because she didn't want to burden anyone. As it was, she had everything so organized as to have a binder of all the important estate information--with a table of contents and everything.
We've known it was coming. And to me she's not gone. She's just moved on. She'll pick another life to be born into. And some part of her, even if she's not consciously aware of it, is going to really enjoy youth.
Posted by fictionman at March 26, 2005 08:49 AM | TrackBack (0)