Mortality

By Douglas V. Gibbs

Last night, during the early evening hours, my grandmother passed away. She was my last surviving grandparent.

Tall and thin, and well into her eighties, her dark complexion gave evidence of her three-quarters Black Foote Indian heritage. She worked most of her life, enjoying a long career as a grocery store checker.

Grandma's height was believed to have been the genetic input that fueled the height acquired by my brother, my son, and me.

She retired in Arizona where the weather is warm, and the drive to Laughlin and Las Vegas is reasonable. She lived with her boyfriend of many years, and found herself in the hospital a few days ago when he collapsed, and fell on her.

With a shattered hip, Grandma required surgery. While in the hospital, however, she contracted the pneumonia, and the operation was put on hold until they could nurse her back to a minimum standard of health. With my mom by her side grandma battled her way through the pneumonia. When she became healthy enough to handle the surgery, the surgeons came to get her to take her to the operating room, and as they entered her room, she flat lined.

Years ago Grandma had heart surgery, and my mom believes all of the stress was just too much for her old heart, and frail body.

I was in my office correcting my daughter's college paper when Dad called me to tell me the news. Mom had advised me of the hospitalization the day before. Last night my brother and I spoke about the plans for the service on Saturday, and our guilt arose in the conversation.

The last time either of us had spoken with Grandma on the phone was Christmas. The last time either of us had visited her in Arizona was years ago. Running our lives had taken such a toll that we had not made the time to visit her, and now she's gone without us even saying goodbye.

Then I began to think about legacies. My Great Grandfather Gibbs lives on in the book he wrote about his break with the Mormon Church, my father's legacy lies in 80 acres of paradise on the Oregon Coast, and my Grandfather left us with the videos he took, memories of his humor, and the tales of his service in World War II.

Grandma's legacy, however, is something even more. Until old age made it difficult for her, she made sure that every year she came to spend Christmas with us. She remembered everyone's birthdays, and like clockwork we always received a birthday card and a bit of money to go with it. I saw more of my Grandma, growing up, than any of my other grandparents, and though I am not necessarily saying that makes any of them outrank each other, I am saying that when it came down to brass tacks, Grandma was always there.

Her legacy lies in the many memories of childhood, the joy of family gathered for Christmas, and the smile she always gave when greeting us.

Thank you, Grandma, for a lifetime of memories.

Rest in peace in the arms of the Lord.

-- Political Pistachio Conservative News and Commentary