Death of a hoarder

My grandmother died this past Saturday night.  This would be my Dad's mother.  She was in her mid-80s. 

I watched her suffer from a distance as her skeleton disinegrated.  This brought about enormous physical pain and embarrassment as her independence ground to a halt.  Her mind stayed sharp through all of this, which in many ways only added to the suffering and heartache. 

This woman was unique.  She had no formal education other than secondary, yet if you'd met her, you would have guessed otherwise.  Being extremely articulate and well groomed, with impeccable taste and sensibilities, she came across as much more complex than she really was. 

Or maybe she was...?

I never really understood why she was such a bitch to so many who loved her, yet overall presented a kind, respectful face towards the majority of the world at large.   

Perhaps I'll get to ask her that question someday.  I do hope so. 

She was never mean to me personally, but then again...

For my parents' sake, I'm SO THANKFUL that she's passed on.  They've been through the emotional wringer over the past 6 months.  This is especially true of my Dad. 

I'll see members of my family tomorrow afternoon that I'll likely never again lay eyes on.  My grandmother just barely threaded together our motley crue.  Now that she's gone, they'll be no stopping the inevitable dispersion.  This will be especially true of those who no longer live in the Magnolia state.

Bittersweet.

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