Seat of Our Pants

An email hit my inbox this afternoon – the type you hope to never get.

“Jaime, please call me. Sweetheart, grandma passed away about an hour ago.”

Mildred Croft, my Grandma, passed away today. She was one of the last family members Martin and I saw before we left for this trip. She had just moved into a new apartment in San Diego (with my mom’s help) and had offered to watch our unruly bunch of house plants. We drove the plants to San Diego about a month before our departure date. After packing her little one bedroom full of them, we retired to my mom’s house for a few days of enjoying each others company.

We talked a lot about her life. She was happy to share, revealing things about her life that I could kick myself for not writing down. What I do remember is that Martin reminded her of my late grandfather – a man she’d missed every day since his passing from Alzheimer’s. I’ve been proud of my husband before, but never so much as in that moment.

It was a short trip – too short – and we had to return to San Francisco a day and a half after arriving. We left after a bunch of big hugs. She told us to be safe and have a great time (she was a fan of our trip) and I assured her that we would see her in just over a year. My heart hurts just thinking about that.

The opportunity to spend time with her before we left was a blessing. I have to remember that. In an attempt to console me, Martin pointed out that I am 1/4^th of her – that she lives on in me. Well, if what I saw in my grandma that weekend is a reflection of my future, I can count myself very luck woman.

Rest in peace, Grandma. I love you.

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