Hello all! I’ve been rather absent the last week or so, and I wanted to address that. This is a departure from the fiction and writing about writing I’ve been doing lately.

My grandma passed away sort of suddenly last week. I say “sort of” because she was 87, she’d been in a nursing home for about a year, and recently took a rather abrupt turn. So while it was a bit of a surprise, I also can’t say that it was entirely unexpected.

Biologically, this woman was my great-aunt, but she was grandma to me. I’m struck by the power of names when I consider situations like this. There are already people in my life who we call “aunt” and “uncle” to Connor despite having no blood ties. They say you don’t get to choose your family, but I disagree.

When I think of my grandma, one of the first things that comes to mind is baking. Cookies, buns, donuts, kuchen, pies. There was no shortage of carbs in her house. My brother even nicknamed her “Cookie” for a short time when he was just learning to talk; he knew there’d always be cookies there. As a good German girl in ND, she kept people fed. Food was her love language.

We used to stay with her in the summers for a week or two at a time. (I say “we” because I was never brave enough to do it until my sister was also old enough to stay.) Grandma lived a block from the city pool in her small town, and we spent every afternoon in the water. She watched us carefully from the shade, ready to jump in and save us, despite the fact that she couldn’t swim. Despite the lifeguards in their chairs.

Grandma loved babies and little kids. I’m so happy she got to meet Connor. Although he won’t remember it, I will treasure her smile whenever we came to visit her. I’ll treasure the God-coordinated visit we had with her the weekend before she passed. Some things humans can’t take credit for and this is one of them.

Grief is a funny thing. It’s not just sadness and loss. I think if it were, we’d find it easier to cope with. Grief is layers of feelings, sometimes separate, often mixed-up. It’s missing her now and missing who she was before the dementia. It’s incredible peace, knowing she did not suffer long. Grief is memories that suddenly strike us while driving down the road, at the smell of turkey and stuffing, at the sight of a clear, blue swimming pool.Those moments of tear-filled smiles. It’s the joy of a life well-lived.

Grandma, I know you’re watching the Yankees from heaven this fall. I bet the reception is amazing. Maybe I’ll even root for them this year. Until we meet again. Love always.