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Today is the day that my grandmother died.  She was 97 and was born in 1917.  We all knew it was coming, but, still.

It makes me sad I didn't get to see her one last time.  That the last time I saw her was the one last time, though it was a good visit.  Gram patted my hand and looked at my arm and said, "You are so white."  I said, "Thanks, Gram.  It runs in the family, you know."  I'm not sure she knew who I was, but Gram was always friendly and happy.  Always happy.  Always smiling.  Gram didn't always live a smooth life, but she still came out happy.  I try to remember that when I hear myself whining or getting ready to be snippy.

I love you, Gram.