95

So as I mentioned in my last post we flew out to Phoenix two weeks ago to celebrate my grandmother's 95th birthday. She won't actually turn 95 until next month, but this was the best weekend for the whole family to get together to celebrate this amazing milestone.

There is so much I could say about my grandmother. There is so much I have already said about her.

She is the strongest person I know. She is also the most honest. She doesn't want to still be alive. She wants her time in this world to be done, and when I said to her that we would be celebrating her 100th in no time her reply was a mixture of sadness and laughter.

But this weekend was not about all of this. It was about celebrating her in a way that she wanted, in honoring her life so very well lived, in bringing together every member of her family that she loves so dearly. She may not have heard everything we said, she may not have been able to taste the pizza or eat the cake or drink some wine, but she was happy. And in the end her happiness is the only thing that mattered to any of us.

We celebrated at the house she lives at, with a photographer who captured the moments of laughter, of tears, of togetherness. We ate pizza and gave her gifts, and in her true fashion she gave gifts to each of her great-grandsons.

It was a weekend, much like her 90th birthday, that we will all remember forever. And I know she will too.

As we left her on Monday she told me not to cry. I said the same to her, and told her we would see her again. She said she knew it would be hard, with the baby coming. I told her that was the exact reason I knew we would, because she was going to meet this fourth great-grandchild of hers. I hope this is true.

And when we left, after we all said goodbye, and Finn said he loved her loud enough that she could hear, we walked out. And only then did I cry.