My last grandparent, my maternal grandmother Florence Blongastainer, passed yesterday.
She was 91 years old, and until 18 days ago, she was living on her own, still driving, and happily causing trouble. She grew up during the Great Depression in a family of six kids. As a very sickly child, the doctors told her parents she probably wouldn’t live to be a teenager. She made it just a tad past that . Along the way she brought up two fantastic children, thoroughly enjoyed her six grandchildren, and doted on her fourteen great-grandchildren. I’m extremely grateful that she and my kids got to know each other well. They, like me, are going to miss her a lot.
In 2011 we had a big family party to celebrate her 90th birthday. There are lots of pictures extant that include me with my tongue hangin’ out and a bourbon in my hand. My grandmother however actually possessed some decorum. During the session with the photographer at her 90th, I managed to cajole her to raise her glass and (nearly) stick her tongue out. I’m glad I did, as I really love this picture and will treasure it.
When I shuffle off, I can only hope to be half as fondly-remembered as my grandmother is. Miss you, grammy.