Tim's paternal grandmother passed away today. Grandma lived to be 100 years old and was a fighter until the very end.
My first memory of Grandma was when Tim and I were dating. Truth be told, I don't know if she and I had even met yet, but Tim told me that she had slipped him a twenty when she found out I was Catholic.
And apparently, she used to write what was inside the gifts she gave Tim, his brother and his father for Christmas on the outside of the package. You had to look, but it was there. They would make a big show of shaking and otherwise investigating each package before declaring, "There are jeans in here!" She never did discover how they knew.
Then there was the Christmas when we gave Tim's brother the Fart Machine, a small device that could be activated remotely and made, naturally, farting noises. Grandma, then about 95, found this to be tear inducingly funny. You had to love it.
We were fortunate enough to see Grandma on her 100th birthday. We gave her the option of any place in town for lunch. She chose the land of fried fish and gigantic margaritas. A woman after my own heart.
Love you Grandma and we'll miss you. Our lives were better for having you in them.