My grandmother died this morning. She was an amazing lady. She spoke more than eight languages, she never complained about having two bum hips that caused her to walk with two canes and later a walker, or her gradual loss of hearing and eyesight, or even the bone cancer that was slowly eating away at her body. She loved her garden, animals, books, and the birds that came to her feeders. She was a very patient and extremely kind woman and she loved life. She made the best pickles I've ever tasted and was a pretty shrewd business woman.
I was her first grandchild, the one who received her name. She made tapes of her telling stories so that I would know her even though we lived far away. When I was older and lived closer, she told me stories of how she came to Canada and met my grandfather, toured Europe on a motorcycle, made it through the depression and the war, and eventually learned how to be a country wife.
I wish that she could have lived forever.