Farewell

My grandma died on April 4th.

This is the grandma who taught me to bake yeast breads. Who taught me to sew. Who I picked green beans and strawberries with, and cooked and cooked and cooked and cooked meals with at harvest time.

She taught me a new knit stitch at her 91st birthday party February 16th.

She and my grandpa ran a dairy farm 2 miles down the road from where I grew up, which made us next-door neighbors. We spent a lot of time with them, helping with farm chores and eating my grandma's fabulous full-o'-fat farm cooking. They always came to our school plays and ball games, and my brothers and I helped them show the Brown Swiss cattle they were so proud of at the State Fair every September.

Grandma had moved away from the farm six years ago after my grandfather passed away, and I admired the way she embraced such a big lifestyle change at the age of 85. She always kept herself busy - exercising every morning, knitting and quilting for mission projects, playing bridge, going to church and singing in the choir. She even played in a bell choir, though I don't really know how she was able to lift the bells.

I wish I had seen her more - she only lived 1 hour away but I was seldom able to get to her house for a visit. I did get to see her the night before she died, though, which I'm very grateful for. And she knew my kids, for which I'm also grateful.

I know she was ready when she went. It was a pretty spring day when she died, and her hospital room had a rather rural view of a large bank of grain elevators, which I think she would have liked.

It doesn't make me miss her any less though. Goodbye, Grandma. I love you.