About an hour ago the Mister received the call he dreaded all week. His beloved grandma passed away in her bed, surrounded by as many loved ones as the room could hold.
She loved roses and books, but not as much as we loved her. I don’t imagine I will ever drive past the 30 or so heirloom rose bushes that line our driveway without picturing her standing in the thick of them, a huge smile lining her kind face as she called out to me names like Kennedy, Lincoln, Darby, Fire and Ice, Agatha Christie, and countless others I knew I would never remember. No, I knew even then the memory of her laughing waist high in roses would be the thing worth remembering.
The Mister just read this and he said ‘scrabble.’ He wants you to know she loved scrabble, too.