She died. It was an immeasurably terrifying day for some reason; perhaps because it had elements of the surreal coupled with the supernatural. It was a day that was spent more as an out of body experience rather than a day of sorrow and loss. As the days went on and I would think of her, I cried, of course, but not for the letting go of her; more for my own guilt and distance from her. She left our dimension at the age of 93, a mere month before her 94th birthday. Everyone said, “She had a good run.” And she did, I admit. But how is her “good run” comforting to her, to me, to the fear we hold of the unknown?
Growing up, I remember looking upon grandma in awe. She was the fanciest lady I had ever seen at five years old. Except as I grew she continued to be the most savvy woman I had ever seen. In my little girl sensibilities, it seemed she was the only person in the world like her. When I was a pre-teen I realized I was right. She was always fashion forward, clever, and her creativity was paramount to those artists of her generation, perhaps going even beyond. She was an innovator; a pioneer. What she lacked in some realms she more than made up with fashion, knowledge, card games, art and heritage.
So today, one year gone from losing this extraordinary woman, I raise a glass to her with the wish that she is happy and fulfilled wherever she is. שָׁלוֹם שָׁלוֹם לְךָ to you Granny.