(sacred to the memory of)

We knew this was coming, would come, but none of us were ready, really. There are so many of us, who love her, it has been a lot of emotion to get your arms around. But today I was thankful for the visitation, for the time there, for everyone being together for a few days eating, telling stories, holding onto one another. And the service today was hers, true and appropriate. We laughed; I fell apart suddenly during a reading from Lamentations; we held each other together.

For the last twenty-five years, she has been our matriarch, a generous hostess, tireless teller of family stories, recorder of seriously old photos, holder of an utterly charming twinkle in her eye, giver of wizzened quips that became more hilarious and comforting the older she got, and essentially, my grandmother. She never married, outlived her siblings and friends, and greeted some 3,000 newborn babies as they came into the world as a maternity nurse. She ate cookies for breakfast at Christmastime and would stay up late talking. She was not vain, but she was usually impeccable. She lived independently until she was 96. We unmarried women in the family always said that, if our worst case scenario as spinsters (sigh...) was to end up like her in our old age -- fiercely beloved, successful in her vocation, experienced in the world, surrounded by friends and colleagues, living her life as she chose to -- well, we said, we can handle that. She did what she wanted, and how, rock-solid and sweet.

But saying now that I will miss her does not begin it. I am so sad, but so grateful.