My grandmother has passed away.
This is a bit of a big thing. I have had the good fortune to reach age twenty-five with all my grandparents in fairly good health. Grandma Grimm has been in failing health for the past few years, so this comes as no surprise. Still, it is a shock to have it happen.
Ruthetta Grimm, called Willie by Grandpa Grimm, has always been a mythic figure. You couldn’t do much in my youth to anger Grandpa, but woe unto he who angered Grandma. I never did. All I saw was a sweet woman who made amazing pecan pie. But there was the imagined Grandma, the one you never wanted to see.
I last saw her a few weeks ago. I wanted her to meet Sam and know we were getting married. She held Sam’s hand and mine. For a long time, I was alone with her. Grandma held my hand, too weak to sit up. We just sat in silence. Grandma and I have never talked much – I was never articulate enough to carry on a conversation when she was in health. But it was nice to sit with her. I let her know I loved her and kissed her forehead.
I did all I needed to with Grandma. Her death is sad, but she is done suffering. She touched a lot minds and hearts. My mother learned to cook from her. Mom taught my sister and me. She is alive whenever Sarah makes a pie, even just a little.
So, Grandma’s book is closed. But there’s one Hell of an epilogue to her story.