Tom’s Grandma Ruth passed away this morning at the age of 94. We’ve known it was coming for a few weeks, so it was not a surprise. Bittersweet, nonetheless.
She was a tiny woman, small enough that even I towered over her, but made up for size in energy and spunk. Since she lived many states away, Tom and I didn’t have as many opportunities as we would have liked to visit, but we kept in touch by phone. She kept us up-to-date of the goings-on in her neck of the woods, and always made us laugh with her candor and world view.
For all the years I have known him, Tom has been full of stories of his grandmother and grandfather, both happy and sad, but clear indicators that they helped shape who he is today.
She will be missed.
Just as the day was drawing to a close, and we’d had a day of emotional ups and downs, booking flights and juggling schedules, we got news that a friend of ours had delivered a baby girl. In the morning, almost to the moment that Ruth passed.
Whether it’s a new life that has just emerged or an older one that has passed on, I like to think they are both celebrated. How lucky we are to do this dance, for however long we are given. To learn and explore, revel and embrace. And when it’s done, we get to drift off into a well-deserved slumber. Not a bad deal, if you ask me.