It doesn’t feel like a full year since my grandmother died. My grandparents were such a huge part of my upbringing and my adulthood. They passed on within about 2 months of each other. First Walter, then Victoria.
My father, mother, sister, and I were at her side when she breathed her last. Was it an honor to be there? It felt like an honor. I don’t know that I deserved to be there at her side during the transition from this life into the next. It was a complicated night with feelings I’m still untangling. And, although I had wept at my grandfather’s funeral two months prior, I haven’t really been able to cry since that night in the hospital with my grandma. I don’t know why.
My parents beautifully crafted her obituary, as they did with my grandfather. My grandma was a hero. An iconoclast who didn’t believe women needed to stay in the home if they wanted to attend university or work a challenging job. This is a trait she passed on to my mother. Her legacy is one of providing love and education for children, standing tall for one’s values, and possessing and wielding a quiet strength.
This is the last picture of me with my grandma, taken on the day of my grandfather’s funeral.