My grandmother died this morning. Two weeks shy of her 96th birthday, born August 14, 1914. Spry, feisty, an adorable short little woman we loved dearly. Healthy, engaging all her life. Mostly I remember laughing with her. All the time. Even during our last phone conversation.
She was matriarch over a tiny family -- 25 total (cousins & all), spanning four generations, and exceptionally close. So she will be intensely missed, reverently honored. I feel blessed to have known her so intimately for so long, grateful she had only a few precipitating hospital days, dying peacefully in her sleep.
She's resting well, I'm sure.