My Grandma, Irene Storms, passed away this morning. They say she had a whole slew of ailments, but the fatal one was a broken heart. She followed her beloved husband Robert by only a few months.
Although it wasn't a surprise or even a tragedy (she was 88!) I feel most sorry that we never knew each other as women. By the time I was an adult I was too broke to travel, and she was becoming too frail to leave the house. What was she like as a girl? How did she and my grandpa fall in love? Why the heck did she collect all those hundreds of painted plates? What was it like adopting two children and why didn't she have any biological ones? I have a million questions I wish I had asked her, and I can only assume she remembered me as the gangly pre-teen who wore scandalous patched jean cut-offs and didn't know my bible verses.
I love you, Grandma. I'm glad Ruby met you. I'm glad you are my grandma. I am imagining you without your walker, without your glasses, holding hands with Robert and running without tiring.
*photo source 'grandma's hands'
2 comments:
Sorry about your grandma. I like the way you are imagining her, though. Makes me all misty. Love, Madison
Thanks Madison. Me too.
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