Slightly Off the Mark

 Grandma Nannie had, by any standards, a challenging life.

She was raised in rural Tennessee during the Great Depression. She worked as a nurse and watched her husband go off to Europe for World War II. He was, she's told me, not the best husband ever.

After he passed she remarried, but eventually he passed away, too. Nannie had to go through the deaths of all her children, a grandson, and two great-grandchildren. Eventually she had to leave her home and move into a nursing home. I can tell you everyone was great there, but just the same, she was reduced to having half of a room to herself, after being independent for so long.

After all that, she made it to age 99. Her obituary is here:

I was not a good grandson. I didn't go to see her nearly as often as I should have, although thankfully Emily and I did have a nice visit with her a few weeks ago. The last time we stopped in, just a few days before her death, she was sleeping so soundly we couldn't bear to wake her. Now we wish we had. Emily and I were hatching a plan to take her to my daughter's baby shower, but considering the logistical challenges and how much she'd fallen in recent years, maybe it was for the best.

And yet when we'd show she was unfailingly chipper and happy to see us. Her mind was sharp right to the end.

It was a call I'd expected for some time, and I handled the news more badly than I'd thought I would, more badly than I should have. You see, Grandma Nannie was ready two go. You can have your own opinions about religion, but arguing with her about it would have been a very bad idea. She knew where she was going when she died, with complete confidence. If you knew her, you wouldn't doubt it. She was ushered through the Pearly Gates into the open arms of God, and right now she's hanging out with all the loved ones who went before her.

We can grieve, but we can't be unhappy for her. Her pain is gone. Her body is no longer frail. Her medical issues are in the past. She is loved.