Dropping like flies

Pardon the crude title. Saturday, I found out this morning, Pedro's mother, Grandma Elaine, died. Keash's mom, Liz, died a couple of weeks ago. That means that in the last month, two of my surviving three grandparents have died. Since Christmas, it's actually three of four who've died. Remember Lewis?

That means I've only got Grandma left. Of all the eight (nine?) grandparents I began with, Grandma has always been my favorite. She's the one who worked when other women didn't. She had an urban garden much like mine is now. She's my hero. She was the one who used to mow her lawn with a reel mower, and she is the one who gave me mini-boxes of sugar cereal. She's the one who taught me about sprinkling white sugar on home-grown lettuce and rolling it up for a very special treat from the Great Depression.

She talks in baby talk to both children and animals. She tells me stories about my mom's childhood and gives me the pictures Mom would rather I not have, but which I treasure. She comes to me with personal questions and tells me secrets. I love my Grandma, and I'm really worried now. When she dies, it will be a very different level of sadness and grief that I'll have to process. It's hitting home that Gram isn't going to last forever, no matter how much I want her to.