When You Live to See 93

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My non-grandmother passed away this week. She was 93 and not my grandmother.

She was one of my best friend's Nanas and she kind of felt like my Nana, too. She lived with Patrick's parents, next door to the house we had for eleven years, and we'd always try to see her whenever we were there. One time she forgot my name but she always asked about Rob, and she really liked my brother Sean. 

I was walking Ender this morning with Rob and it struck me--what an incredible blessing to be alive for so long. She lived to see both her grandchildren graduate from college, and fall in love and get married, and last year she got to meet her first great-grandchild. She was funny, kind, and beloved by many. She had a lovely laugh and a beautifully positive attitude. Lately I have been so consumed with thoughts of illness and death before one's time that I never stopped to ponder the possibility of being 90-something one day; of bringing light to everyone who knows you for years and years and years the way she did. 

If I can end up being just a little bit like Nana, I'll look back on my life as a success. 

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