In Which: A Book is Closed

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.

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