Grandma hated to say goodbye. In fact, she’d usually just wave a hand at us and disappear, tearfully, into the house when it was time for us to go. It made her too sad to say a formal goodbye to us. So I suppose, in a way, that it is fitting that I’ve been unable to compose my thoughts in farewell to her.

I know the thought of me without words is like a day without air, but in the case of my grandmother I have been finding it hard to speak. It’s not that I have nothing to say. Quite simply, the opposite is true. I have so much to say about her that it’s hard to get anything out.

We, her family, have all been slowly releasing her since she suffered a stroke in 2008. The moment when she finally was released was long in coming, fully expected, and, in some ways, a relief. But no matter how tenuous her grip on life had become, it was clear that her love for us wavered not a dot. And, even when you know someone was suffering, it is hard to know that this world now holds one less person who loves you. And the task of passing that love on is a staggering responsibility.

I am not sure I can adequately express what my grandmother’s example has meant to me in my life. Certainly, we were close. Beyond that, however, there have been times in my life when she, and only she, was able to convey that she understood me and what I was going through without any awkwardness. To speak simply and touch the truth without giving pain is a gift. I sincerely hope she has inspired me to be like her.

You can find her obituary here. Or, like me, you can plant some yellow daisies this spring and think, fondly, of the woman who said so often, “I’ll take five children to one adult, any day.” Those of you who met her, loved her. Those who did not missed out on a wonderful opportunity.