My grandma died today. That's her in the middle between my Mom on the left and my Aunt on the right. She was 95. She was the best Grandma in the whole world, one of the nicest ladies anywhere. She worked at KFVS television in Cape Girardeau, MO for 44 plus years. 40 hours during the week plus a half day on Saturday. That's the way they did it then but she never complained.
She held up well for a long time. She cut out her daily cocktail before dinner only recently. My Mom got her a cane when her balance wavered but she tossed it in the closet. She took me to New York City in 1974 when I was nine years old, just to show me the place. We walked the mall in D.C. together that summer and the battlefield at Gettysburg too, and though we didn't know it then, her great-grandfather may have fought there for the union.
She was a distant cousin to Harriet Beecher Stowe and Wild Bill Hickok, not that she bragged about it. She was not one to make a fuss. She didn't like dogs. The only time in my entire life when she raised her voice was once when I was five years old and our dog jumped up in a chair to get comfortable. She didn't know I was listening nearby when she implored our family pet, in no uncertain terms, to get the hell off the furniture. And that was it.
She co-owned her own vegetable cannery on the West bank of the Mississippi river during the depression until bums burned down. She drank in a speak-easy during prohibition. She married a Democrat and voted Republican. She drove a Buick. She sent me to England when I graduated from high school.
She set the bar very high for Grandmothers everywhere, all over the world, and today she died. Thank you Grandma for 95 great years. I know not everything turned out the way you planned, but I'm glad it did, for my sake, and as long as I live, you won't be forgotten.