Strong women

Each day, I look at my daughters and am amazed at what survivors they are. They survived their early beginnings in China, where food and love were rationed -- not out of cruelty, but out of necessity. They survived leaving the only world they knew to come to a new land, where the people didn't look like anyone they'd ever seen, where the language was foreign and the sights, sounds and smells were all new. They've survived having us as their doting but often bumbling parents. And they are thriving. Happy and healthy.

They fit right in to our family of strong women.

Recently, we lost one of those women -- my grandmother, who, at 86, finally decided it was time to move off this earth.

Her body had long grown weary, and in recent years, her mind was often more focused in the past than in the present. Yet she, too, was a survivor, a woman who led by example and daily showed the power of love. She survived the Depression, worked at a time many women didn't. She came home tired after a long day, yet still found time for a game of cards with her grandchildren. She made our favorite foods, tailoring birthday treats to each grandchild's preferences. She hopped on a plane for the first time in her life in her 60s to fly to New England to surprise her granddaughter. Her southern Indiana accent and the Rhode Islanders' own special language mixed seemlessly. No one quite understood each other, yet a good time was had by all.

She survived widowhood, a heart attack and a stroke, still somehow becoming the reigning queen of her nursing home. She dished out marital advice, telling me once, "You don't need to roll down any more hills" -- her version of walking down the aisle. And she proudly claimed her family each time one of us came to visit, parading us around to anyone who'd listen and announcing, "This is one of mine!"

I never saw my grandmother lose her patience, though I'm sure she did. She had a knack for resolving sibling disputes that made each of us feel like a winner. I can't count the number of meals she ate at the "kids' table" instead of sitting in the dining room with the adults. I think she enjoyed it. We sure did.

My daughters both got to meet my Nanny. One of my favorite memories is of my first daughter toddling down the hallway with my grandma. Nanny was in her wheelchair, and Who I was holding her hand. It was an amazing moment.

My girls joined me in bidding her farewell last week, as I explained that her body was just a shell and what made her special had already been spirited off to heaven. We just had to help her body catch up. And yes, sometimes when you die, you get a parade. I hope she enjoyed hers.

To Nanny/Annie/Granny, Godspeed. You'll always be one of ours.


I think she'd have liked that.