Timing; alternately titled: Obituary, the draft that won't be published

My grandma died last night. Writing that gives it some legitimacy that talking on the phone about it seems to lack. She died in her sleep. I had so feared that she's spend the last months of her life truly suffering, and I'm so very glad that won't be the case. When we last talked, about two weeks ago, she outlined how things would work once she lost the ability to speak, which she'd expected to happen pretty soon, as her disease was progressing pretty quickly. She could no longer get around without her motorized wheelchair, and she was pretty much housebound.

My grandmother, even in her healthier days, wasn't the kind of person people write Hallmark cards about. She wasn't a warm and fuzzy kind of person. She was very matter-of-fact and particular, and she knew what she liked and didn't, and she couldn't be easily convinced to change her opinion on things. She was an artist and could work with her hands in ways that just amaze me. Several of her water colors hang in my apartment, and her quilts cover most of the furniture in my room. Her birthday is May 16, and she really didn't want to live another year. I'm so glad she finally got what she wanted.

There's a small bit of irony to the timing of this whole thing. My paternal grandmother died on my birthday, May 14, in 1984. It was mother's day weekend. My parents postponed the funeral so that I could have my 7th birthday party, for which I will be eternally grateful. I've been joking with friends and family for weeks that grandma would die on my birthday, just for continuity, though I don't think my grandmothers liked each other. My birthday party is tonight, but it's ok. My mom said I didn't have to come home until after the party.