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On January 7, 2015, my grandmother passed away unexpectedly. She lived nearly ninety-six years, so, it may seem strange to describe her death as unexpected, but it was, at least to me. Since her father died at the age of 106, and her older brother will be ninety-nine years old in a few months, I just assumed that she would live to be at least 100 years old. I used to tease her that if she didn’t live as long or longer than her father, then she was nothing but a quitter. That statement used to make her giggle, and she would respond with, “Oh honey, I don’t know about that.” I thought I knew, but she knew better. So, news of her death caught me off-guard, and honestly, if she had lived another ninety-five years, I still would not have been ready for her to leave this world.
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