Granny has passed.

Granny passed very early this morning after a two month battle with congestive heart failure, just past 2am. My mom called me at about 3am; I was in a sound sleep, but just starting to have hints of waking as a huge thunderstorm- one of the most intense I've ever experienced since moving to Boston- came roiling in on top of us. The raging storm seemed fitting for the moment, signifying the end of something, and someone, so dear to so many people. She was 91.

I was very fortunate to have spent her 90th birthday with her last year, along with all of my aunts and uncles and several of the dozens of grandchildren (which sadly, I don't even know 85% of their names or how exactly we're related. I have a HUGE network of cousins and second cousins). Larry was even fortunate enough to be able to come down and join us also, as was my sister and brother-in-law. It was a really lovely day and I'm so lucky to have been able to share that with her. When she was hospitalized briefly a couple of weeks ago, I realized I might not have the chance to tell Granny how much I loved her, so I sent her a card to that effect. I'm so glad I did because she passed less than a month after that first scare.

Granny was born in 1919. She mothered 7 children: 2 boys and 5 girls - over a span of nearly 20 years. My Granny literally lived the term "dirt poor" and yet she always made sure there was a roof over their heads and food in their bellies. She lived in the deep South and yet always remained a fairly progressive woman. When her second youngest daughter (my Mom) married a Japanese man, he was welcomed into the family like just another person. This coming on the heels of the civil rights movement in the South- it was big deal at the time. She was also very supportive and excited about my decision to convert to Judaism and eventually marrying a Jew. She really loved Larry, and I'm so glad he got to meet her on a few occasions in the last decade.

She was always a no-frills kind of woman, with a huge heart and a wicked sharp intellect. She told it like it was and had the gift for some of the most biting one-liners. When I was born, she stayed with my Mom for a month as my parents adjusted to a new baby for the first time in 8 years. As she got older, my Aunt Kay took primary responsibility for her, Granny moving in with her and my two cousins. Granny lived with my Aunt Kay for nearly 10 years. When her health wasn't doing so well, she was moved to the nursing home about two years ago.

I am very, very sad. My mom is of course, sad, but she and her siblings have been preparing for this all week, if not the last year or so. Still, it doesn't soften the blow any less when it finally happens. Her funeral will be next week in her hometown in Georgia. I will probably not be online for most of next week, as there is extensive travel to get to this tiny little town. I want to leave you with one of my favorite stories about her.

How Granny Got Back Her Sewing Machine
My grandfather (who died before I was born) was kind of your typical man of the South in the 1940s-50s: drank too much, owned some guns, might have had a rough hand. Still, my Granny loved him and he was the father of her 7 children. He was a trapper and was responsible for fulfilling the breadwinner role in the home. My Granny was expected to stay at home, raise the kids, and do the 1950s housewife thing.

My Granny was an accomplished seamstress. She did everything she could to provide for and support her children, so she clandestinely began to start doing seamstress work and tailoring for the people in town. She used the money to purchase not one, but two life insurance policies on her husband. I told you: the women had a wicked sharp intellect.

Somehow my grandfather found out and in a drunken stupor decided to end Granny's little side business. He picked up her Singer sewing machine right out of the house and marched it to the lake about a quarter of a mile away. There was no way his wife was going to be earning money more than he, much less really make ANY income. As he was ready to toss the whole sewing machine into the lake, he stopped as he heard the cock of a gun from behind him.

It was Granny, holding my grandfather's double-barreled shotgun.

"If you throw my sewing machine into the lake, it'll be the last thing you'll ever do."

Without a word, he turned around and started walking back to the house, my Granny following behind him with the shotgun pressed against the small of his back.

Needless to say, my Granny got her sewing machine back, and my grandfather never spoke of it again.

Now that is a strong woman.

Miss you, Granny.