R.I.P.

I firmly believe that as a person ages, his or her true character becomes even more evident. My maternal grandmother, who passed away three years ago last Saturday, was beloved to everyone who ever met her. As she got older, she grew more and more slender, her delicate bones becoming more prominent as her very flesh seemed to pass from solid to spirit. This sweet sublimation seemed to reflect a metaphysical process as well, for the essential frame of generosity and quiet faithfulness in her character also emerged ever more clearly.

I often wish that she could have lived to have seen Allison Clare, but then I wonder if perhaps they knew each other before Allison Clare was born. I imagine them sitting on a park bench together, holding hands, while my grandmother looks lovingly down at her and tells her, "When you go down there, be a good little girl and obey your mommy" because that's exactly the sort of thing she would have said. Be good, obey, wait, hope, trust, pray; this too shall pass.

We miss her all the time but look eagerly to the day when we will see her again.