Hubby’s grandmother died last week. Late one night, Hubby’s grandmother put herself on a breathing machine (something she had been resisting), called her family to her, they all came, said their good-byes, and then she took herself off the breathing machine and died about 2 hours later. She went as peacefully as she could, under the circumstances, and this was a long time coming, as she has been in and out of the hospital for years now. Still, it was a very emotional, trying time for everyone involved. Between her death and the funeral, I’ve just found it hard to muster up the will to want to write too much about anything. As someone who doesn’t believe in any sort of afterlife, funerals are hard for me, because I can’t say any of the stock phrases: I don’t believe “she’s in a better place” or that “she’s with god now”. I believe she’s just dead. The closest I can come to a comforting phrase is “She lived a rich, full, life, with many people who loved and cared about her and she will be missed”.
I didn’t know Mrs. Hubby’s Grandma very well, but she was always a very sweet lady to me, and Hubby was pretty close to her. I learned that she had been a huge advocate for renter’s rights, back in her day, and had helped more than one tenant stay in a place. She lived through the Great Depression, World War II, and had 5 boys and a girl, and more grandkids and great-grandkids than I can count, all raised to be decent human beings. She was married for more than 60 years, which I can’t even imagine at this point in my life.
She did live a rich life, and I can only hope that everyone else could have a life as full as hers.