a life lived
My sisters blog. I don’t think i could have worded it like her ever.
My grandmother died a little over three weeks ago. She was sick for about a month before–not really sick but her body was failing. But until five months before she passed away she was living alone at ninety two — proudly and fiercely, taking each day as it came despite the fact that she could barely see and was almost deaf and needed a walker-frame to get around. Sure she had help: my father, my sister, and her youngest sister lived not too far away and showed up the minute she called in sick. But the choice that she made to live independently was her own, a choice which she protected right until the very end, when a fall in the bathroom required hospitalisation and then a permanent move to my parents’ house.
To live independently is one thing, but as I look back what was most admirable was the generosity…
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