It was a surreal day when I heard about Grandma passing. Mondays tend to be. September 11th immeasurably so. I wrote these words in my journal that morning: “I probably don’t realize the extent to which she has had an impact on my way of being. I was one of many in her presence. So many grandchildren and great grandchildren and even great great grandchildren. She was grand matriarch to so many. My memories: antique toys, National Geographic, her small kitchen unchanged from the 50’s (40’s?), her encyclopedic mind when it came to the family history and so many other subjects, Ginger snaps (Granddad’s voice calling her from the other room – ‘Ginger!’). Thanksgivings and Christmases and an occasional summer visit. Picking steamed crabs in Glen Burnie. I still have Grandma’s spirit, even if a bit of it. She had so much to share and so many to share it with. The disjoint thoughts expressed here serve only as mere notes to what she really meant. So much world. A world traveler she was, and an aficionado of so many things. She never tired of learning, reading, and of giving of herself, until her body, her shell finally could no longer contain her adventuresome spirit. She broke free from it on this day and now she has no bonds with the physical world that tie her.”
Grandma, along with so many things, represented, for me, a love of the printed word and of imagination. She loved a good, clean joke and an honest laugh. She inherited a thriftiness necessitated during the era of the Great Depression, days we can hardly even imagine in my generation. She always made do and she always had something to share. She has been one of the great constants of my life and I am happy that she no longer has to make do, to suffer in this life, but has such an abundance of eternal love to share in the next.