Sallie

My grandma died last Wednesday. I knew this was coming and yet I still feel so sad to have lost her.  Great sobs escaped me as my parents told me the news and discussed their plans for the next week or so.

I was struck by how selfish it was to be sad.  She had been ready to die for three years at least, since she had a stroke that stole her good health from her. Maybe more, since my grandpa died 10 years ago, and she often wondered why she was left behind without him.

At her 90th birthday party

I was able to visit her two weeks ago, during some of the last good days she had.  During the 48 hours I spent with her she told me over and over how beautiful I was, and how happy she was that I had come to visit. It was, honestly, a little awkward for a girl who doesn't know how to accept compliments, but her joy at my presence made me immensely glad to have made the journey. I will treasure that weekend for a long time.

They posted her obituary today. While it's probably more fulsome than the average obit, it doesn't paint a picture of the grandma I want to remember. My grandma made me feel special. I'm one of four children and one of 12 grandchildren, but my grandma saw me.

As a kid, I stayed with her on my own for several weeks each summer.  Together we would walk to the library a couple of times of week, because we both liked to read. My cousins came over, and she would treat us with a walk to the Homewood Grill, a magical place that served soft serve ice cream and hot dogs -- my two favorite foods.

Just weeks after her stroke. She
told me "Don't ever turn 96. It's
all downhill after 96"

When I became an adult, she was an avid reader of this blog and a fan of my Facebook page.  She couldn't figure out how to leave a comment on the blog, but she would tell my mom how proud she was of me for the work I put into losing weight, and she would call me and tell me the same occasionally.  But she never made me feel bad for being overweight in the first place. Even after I regained the weight, I kept trying to lose it because I knew how happy it would make her.  She joined Facebook when she was 92 and commented "like" on all of my posts for the next four years until she had her stroke and had to move into a nursing home.

Touring her garden

I only ever knew her as an old lady, and I wish I had spent more time getting to know her impressions of life as a young woman.  On my last visit, I was desperate to find out how she fell in love with my grandpa. She could recall the circumstances with vivid detail (he was a boarder at the home of one her sorority sisters in college), but she couldn't articulate the feelings (or maybe I wasn't articulating the point of my questions well enough).

The year I was born, my parents moved our family from our homeland of Illinois to the South.  The rest of my life has been spent making annual or bi-annual visits home where we stayed with Grandma.  She was an amazing hostess who had a magic plate (later Tupperware) that was always full of cookies.  No matter how many cookies we ate in a day, the next morning the plate would be full again.  It's a phenomena I've only ever experienced at Grandma's.

With her only daughter, my mama

She was an avid golfer and lamented, that last weekend I spent with her, that she had never gotten a hole in one.  She helped my grandpa run the family business, Johnson and Sons Funeral Home.  She was an active member of more than the average amount of civic and church and social groups.  Everybody liked Sallie, and if you tried to call her on a weekday during her 70s, 80s or early 90s, you wouldn't catch her because the was out socializing.

I know only the bare bones of her life, where she lived, what her parents were like, what she did for fun as a kid, when she married and when she had babies. I'm lucky enough to have several things of hers in my own home, that make me think of her fondly. Every June when my day lilies bloom, I will think of her garden, where these same blooms originated (day lilies are very hardy and easy to transplant, I've learned from her).

I am lucky to have known her. I am glad she is no longer in pain. I just wish it didn't hurt so much for her to be gone.