I'm struck by what's left.
I’ve just returned from the funeral services for my last remaining Grandma. She was 96. Living out of state with family, her final 15-20 years were riddled with varying degrees of dementia. I learned that one of the final two names she remembered was my mom’s. I didn’t know her well. And it seems when you live to 96 all your friends and acquaintances have passed before you. Family is who remains after all those years. In attendance were her 6 children and their spouses, several grandchildren and great grandchildren. I learned that she and grandpa were quite resourceful in their child rearing years. I learned of her creative solutions when money was tight. It sounded so familiar to parts of my own story. She picked up acrylic painting after her kids were grown. A creative at heart - which she passed to my mom, who has passed it on to me. Several pieces were available at the services for us to take home. I chose this one with her signature in the corner ... RC ‘87. I imagine I would have loved this spot by the water. Death always makes me reflect on life a little. I’m struck by who comes to honor the one who is gone. There is always family. In this case her children traveled a long way to be here today. I’m struck by the varied spiritual messages shared. In this case a strong Christian legacy was begun with Grandma and Grandpa. I’m struck ... in the end ... our family, our spirit, and our story are what remain... and if I’m living as though my days are numbered ... these are what I want to be about before I draw my final breath. I’m so glad you’re finally home Grandma. ❤️