My grandmother died

My mom called this morning to let me know that my grandmother died. She seemed to be OK, and I think everyone was expecting it. She hadn't been well for some time, and she hadn't been happy for at least a decade, maybe more.

My initial reaction was me wondering why I didn't feel bad about it. The last time I saw her was December 2006, and she was a shell of a person even then. Instead of greeting you with excitement, it was more about how terrible her life was. I'm not sure when depression took hold of her to that extent.

She wasn't always like that. She was very much the 60's homemaker archetype. She cooked and cleaned, and had lunch ready for grandpa when he came home for lunch. When I was a kid, she didn't seem unhappy with the arrangement, but thinking back I'm not sure. She had an accident in a skating rink when she was younger that caused her to lose her sense of smell and taste, something that came up often. When we were little, she liked to scratch our backs, and it seemed we were always stepping on her toes. We called her "Ga Ga" then, presumably because it was one of the first things I was able to say.

She'd definitely look out for me whenever I visited as well. We'd have Thanksgiving over her house, and for some reason, someone created the expectation that I didn't like turkey. I don't remember ever making that choice, but she'd always make a couple of hot dogs for me.

It was a habit for a long time for us to go to my grandparents' house after church (where she'd always give us quarters to put in the collection plate), where we'd have sandwiches and watch bowling on TV. They had a big old canister of Tinker Toys and I'd build stuff. Those were safe, relaxed times.

I don't really know when the depression came in, but I guess she tried to commit suicide a couple of times. It's unfortunate she spent so much time being unhappy, but I hope she's able to rest easy now.