My Grandmother

My grandmother passed away a few days ago, and yesterday was the funeral. Her death wasn’t unexpected; it had been preceded by a long battle with dementia and a short battle with pneumonia. The events have been difficult to process, since the woman that I had grown up with as my grandmother had disappeared a long time ago as her mind decayed, and I had mourned her when it became obvious that her spirit was not going to recover. Her physical death, however, makes her passing all that much more real.

During the past few months, I learned that my grandma had been an avid sewer during her younger years. I learned that she would make and sell doll clothes to earn money for Christmas, and during the funeral service my aunt told the story of how the girls of the family would sing together while my grandmother sewed clothes for the local department store. Part of me feels sad that I never bonded with my grandma over a common interest, and I have to remind myself that by the time I first sat down at a sewing machine with the determination to learn, she was already slipping away. I never had the chance to share the hobby with her.

My grandmother had been very human, and along with all of her good qualities she had bad ones mixed in as well, so she wasn’t always easy to get along with. Despite that, the entire family came for her funeral. All of her children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren were there. It had been very touching to be part of that.

I pray that she has found relief on the other side.

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