My grandmother died today

[James Heaps-Nelson]

My maternal grandmother died today just shy of her 93rd birthday. I have lots of memories of summers in Chicago: playing bridge, picking raspberries, playing music until late, visiting museums and going to Chicago White Sox games. When I last visited in August, I asked her what her most favorite thing in the world was and she said: play music! So my mom and I played fiddle and banjo for about 2 hours an grandma's happiness come shining through. To you, grandma: you were a champion in life and death.

Jim

Edited September 18, 2007 by James Heaps-Nelson

[Ross Barlow]

Jim,

Sorry to hear about your grandmother. Grandmothers are irreplaceable. No more stories, no more of that wisdom from a life well-lived. I understand the empty place that it must now create in your own life.

My own maternal grandma was 98 when she died, having seen a world of no automobiles or airplanes in her youth and then living to see men walking on the moon. Your mention of raspberries reminds me of my own paternal grandma. In her last year of life, I visited her with a bowl of red raspberries – her very favorite kind – that I had picked on that July afternoon. Watching her eyes light up like a little kid when she saw them is still, for me, one of the most priceless memories I have of her.

.

-Ross Barlow.

[Michael Stuart Kelly]

Jim,

Please accept Kat's and my deepest condolences.

Michael

[Jonathan]

Sorry for your loss, Jim.

J

[BaalChatzaf]

My maternal grandmother died today just shy of her 93rd birthday. I have lots of memories of summers in Chicago: playing bridge, picking raspberries, playing music until late, visiting museums and going to Chicago White Sox games. When I last visited in August, I asked her what her most favorite thing in the world was and she said: play music! So my mom and I played fiddle and banjo for about 2 hours an grandma's happiness come shining through. To you, grandma: you were a champion in life and death.

Jim

She had a good run. May you be equally blessed.

Ba'al Chatzaf

[Chris Grieb]

Jim; My condolences! I've lost a very good friend of 30 years in the last few days so I am going through my own. One thing about my friend is all the wonderful people who loved him. I hope you are experiencing that about your Grandmother.

[Michael Russell]

Jim, I’m so sorry to hear about your loss. My maternal grandmother is 95. Although she is fine (for her age) physically, her mind is gone; we lost her years ago. That you were able to interact with your grandmother up until the last month of her 93 years is a blessing. Keep on playing music.

Mick

[Brant Gaede]

My condolences, Jim.

--Brant

[Alfonso Jones]

My maternal grandmother died today just shy of her 93rd birthday. I have lots of memories of summers in Chicago: playing bridge, picking raspberries, playing music until late, visiting museums and going to Chicago White Sox games. When I last visited in August, I asked her what her most favorite thing in the world was and she said: play music! So my mom and I played fiddle and banjo for about 2 hours an grandma's happiness come shining through. To you, grandma: you were a champion in life and death.

Jim

Sorry to hear of your loss. I have very pleasant memories of stories told by all four of my grandparents (all now deceased). I am glad you had the time to stay connected with your grandmother.

Alfonso

[Barbara Branden]

I'm sorry about your grandmother, James. Grandmothers can be very special people.

I remember my own very well, although she died when I was only twelve. Every Friday evening, the whole of my father's family -- more than thirty people and assorted children -- gathered at her home for dinner and for conversations and debates at the top of everyone's lungs. I would go to her home immediately after school on Friday, and she and I would have tea at her kitchen table. My tea was served in a saucer, I assume so that I wouldn't spill it, and she very thoughtfuly drank her tea from a saucer, too. I was not yet an adult, but a bit too old not to have known it, when I finally realized that not everybody drank tea from saucers. As a good Jewish grandmother, she would sometimes question me about what I ate at home. Did I eat bacon? Oh, no, I assured her -- lying in my teeth as I had been ordered to do.

Directly after tea and a hug or two, I would go upstairs -- she lived in a duplex -- where an aunt and uncle lived. They had a wonderful library, and for more than an hour I was left alone to dig through their books and read.

With the help of an aunt, my grandmother -- I called her Babba -- spent the entire week cooking amd preparimg for Friday evening. To have her family gathered together under her roof, healthy, happy, successful, and rather remarkably vocal, was a blessing she cherished. I remember her tiny figure bowed in quiet prayer, her head covered with a shawl, over the Friday night candles. I'm sure she was praising her God for the great gift he had given her.

When she died, it was of course at home, not in a hospital. Her death was a very peaceful slipping away. The whole family was there, and was summoned into her bedroom, two at a time, to say goodbye. My mother took my hand and was about to lead me into the bedroom, when an aunt said, "Oh, no! Barbara musn't go in there. She shouldn't see a dead body. She'll be terrified." My wise mother shook her head and said, "There's nothing frightening about death, and I want Barbara to know that. It's simply a fact of life. I won't hide it from her as if it were some terrible, secret evil. I want her to see how peaceful it can be." And she was right. I looked at my grandmother's sweet face for a few moments -- and I thought, "How could my aunt think that anything about Babba could hurt me or frighten me?"

Barbara

[James Heaps-Nelson]

I'm sorry about your grandmother, James. Grandmothers can be very special people.

I remember my own very well, although she died when I was only twelve. Every Friday evening, the whole of my father's family -- more than thirty people and assorted children -- gathered at her home for dinner and for conversations and debates at the top of everyone's lungs. I would go to her home immediately after school on Friday, and she and I would have tea at her kitchen table. My tea was served in a saucer, I assume so that I wouldn't spill it, and she very thoughtfuly drank her tea from a saucer, too. I was not yet an adult, but a bit too old not to have known it, when I finally realized that not everybody drank tea from saucers. As a good Jewish grandmother, she would sometimes question me about what I ate at home. Did I eat bacon? Oh, no, I assured her -- lying in my teeth as I had been ordered to do.

Directly after tea and a hug or two, I would go upstairs -- she lived in a duplex -- where an aunt and uncle lived. They had a wonderful library, and for more than an hour I was left alone to dig through their books and read.

With the help of an aunt, my grandmother -- I called her Babba -- spent the entire week cooking amd preparimg for Friday evening. To have her family gathered together under her roof, healthy, happy, successful, and rather remarkably vocal, was a blessing she cherished. I remember her tiny figure bowed in quiet prayer, her head covered with a shawl, over the Friday night candles. I'm sure she was praising her God for the great gift he had given her.

When she died, it was of course at home, not in a hospital. Her death was a very peaceful slipping away. The whole family was there, and was summoned into her bedroom, two at a time, to say goodbye. My mother took my hand and was about to lead me into the bedroom, when an aunt said, "Oh, no! Barbara musn't go in there. She shouldn't see a dead body. She'll be terrified." My wise mother shook her head and said, "There's nothing frightening about death, and I want Barbara to know that. It's simply a fact of life. I won't hide it from her as if it were some terrible, secret evil. I want her to see how peaceful it can be." And she was right. I looked at my grandmother's sweet face for a few moments -- and I thought, "How could my aunt think that anything about Babba could hurt me or frighten me?"

Barbara

Barbara,

Thanks for that wonderful remembrance! We had the funeral in Chicago last weekend. This is the first time I've seen almost everybody from my mother's side of the family together in one place. My mother has been in to visit grandma in the nursing home at least twice a week for the last four years since grandma had her stroke. My mother has been wonderful through this and we're looking forward to her coming out to Arizona to go hiking in Sedona for Tahnksgiving.

Jim

[Mike Renzulli]

Jim,

So sorry for your loss. It sounds like your grandmother had a great last couple of years, was a wonderful person and, I am sure, a great life too.

Mike Renzulli

My maternal grandmother died today just shy of her 93rd birthday. I have lots of memories of summers in Chicago: playing bridge, picking raspberries, playing music until late, visiting museums and going to Chicago White Sox games. When I last visited in August, I asked her what her most favorite thing in the world was and she said: play music! So my mom and I played fiddle and banjo for about 2 hours an grandma's happiness come shining through. To you, grandma: you were a champion in life and death.

Jim

[Chris Grieb]

Jim; I went today to the memorial service for my friend who died that I mentioned in an earlier post.(#6) It was a wonderful event that had both tears and laughter. It will give me a lot of great memories of my friend Fred and I hope you have the same of your grandmother.

Edited October 28, 2007 by Chris Grieb

[Philip Coates]

James and Barbara, I envy you your close connection with a grandparent. It makes me feel the loss of them having died before my time. I had aunts, and one in particular who was the understanding, supportive one in my life when we were for a time in the county where she lived.