I wasn’t sure I would write a post touching on her, but I’ve thought too much about her not to. Of all of my grandparents, my Grandma Tate (Papa’s mother) is the one I most want to be like for many reasons. She went through a lot, from the death of her father when she was a baby to memory problems late in life. She grew up in a poor family and raised one of her own that was by no means well-off financially. However, she also made the most of life. She was always positive and cheerful.
Being a later grandchild, I only have stories of her being older. I have few memories of her husband. Grandpa died when I was 7, just shy of their 50th anniversary. She didn’t have the heart to cook as much once it was just her so I can’t say my love of cooking came from her. Not so much on gardening and sewing; Grandma actually worked as a seamstress for a time even. (In fact, with these two interests, I got a double dose from ladies on both sides of my family.) In her mid-80s, Grandma Tate was still putting in a small vegetable garden and tending her flowers at her home, where she lived alone.
There isn’t enough room here to do justise to the details of her life. April would have been her 93rd birthday. She died a week ago tomorrow. We were blessed to take the girls to see her the Monday before that at the nursing home (she moved there just a couple years ago). Shorty after our visit, she declined quickly. I’ll miss those visits, but I’m thankful the end was quick and peaceful for her. I’m glad I ended our visit as I always did: telling her I loved her and that we’d see her again soon.