Strength. Resilience. Fearlessness. Zest for life.

You did great. Such a powerful force. Such love.

Thank you.

The following is a tribute written by my talented brother, GS:

My Gram

No words of verse or prose can adequately paint a portrait of my Gram. Knowing her, loving her, and learning from her are immeasurably more powerful than anything I could ever write in tribute to her. But nothing soothes loss like sharing. The sharing of tears, of hugs, of comfort, of company, of memories, of love. And so these words, however inadequate, are my way of sharing.

My Gram inspires us with her...

Strength and independence. Both were a result of being raised as part of a large family, in a granite-hard land of coal mines made beautiful by tree-covered hills and hard-working people. She had lost loved ones, including her father, at a young age. She knew heartache and pain over the death of siblings. But she endured with dignity and fearlessness. After losing her husband, she lived alone and took pride in her home, in decorating, in cooking, in crosswords. Until cancer, no one ever had to take care of my Gram. In the end, I think it was one of the hardest things for her to accept, losing her independence.

Love of family. She cherished it above all things, and was rightly the center of ours. More than the center, she was the foundation, the bedrock. Matriarch does not fully describe it. She raised four intelligent, successful, beautiful daughters, was a grandmother to ten, and a great-grandmother to ten more. She held us all as babies, and smiled just the same. No matter the generation, she was there for us. And with a mere reference to a length of wood, exactly one yard long, hanging in her pantry, she demanded respect.

Willingness to live life to its fullest. I never thought of my Gram as old. I know now that’s because she never stopped enjoying life. She had a sharp sense of humor and loved to laugh. She could smirk with an almost devious twinkle in her eyes. On the day before she died, I sat by her bedside and pointed out to her that I stick my feet outside the covers just like she does. She grinned. Ear to ear. She couldn’t laugh, but I knew she wanted to. She loved parties and gatherings and shindigs and celebrations. She appreciated new experiences, but treasured her traditions. Perhaps most importantly, she made those around her feel loved. And truly, what else should life be about?

Guidance. Whenever we left my Gram’s house, she stood in the doorway and waved until we were out of sight. I never asked her why. But it made me feel like she wanted me to know that she wished me luck wherever I was going, whatever I was doing, and she’d be there when I came back. Now that she’s gone, I feel much the same way. Even though I have crested the hill and can no longer see her, I feel like she is here supporting me, and that all I need do is think of her and she will be there. But even so, I miss my Gram.