Late Friday night I learned that my grandmother had passed away. She celebrated her 90th in January.
As I’ve written before, I’ve been very blessed to grow up with all of my grandparents and two great-grandparents. My grandma grew up as one of (I think) 13 children on a farm in Michigan and went on to raise four children of her own. She taught three generations about the love and joy of being part of a large and often boisterous extended family, the delights of ham sandwiches and the most scrumptious homemade jams and pies you’ve ever tasted, the value of hard work and entrepreneurship — one of my favorite places to go when we visited “up north” was “the store,” a men’s clothing store she and my grandfather owned for many years — and the grace she showed in growing old…even when she began to appear too fragile to carry her infectious laugh.
My grandmother told me more than once that she hated to see me alone in these last few years, including when I spoke to her a week ago. It didn’t matter that I told her I didn’t mind for the most part; I know she hated to be alone and that it’s been hard for her since my grandfather died a few years ago. She worried about me after my divorce and would tell me she prayed for me. I always understood she meant this in the best of ways, so I would thank her…and then sometimes roll my eyes (out of sight). I mean, weren’t there any big, bad, more desperate people she could pray for instead?!
But I’m thinking her prayers may have something to do with where I find myself today — by and large a very, very good place. It’s nice to know I’ll have her and my other grandparents still watching out for me.
(and I hope they’re sharing stories over a game of euchre as I type…)