Say hello to Grampa for me...

She's gone... After 93 years of denying The Grim Reaper a free soul, he got it.
My grandmother is breathing easily now... at least she's breathing ethereal air better.

She passed on on a rainy Wednesday (see, I knew there was something wrong with a rainy midweek. Usually a wet Wednesday happens only for dramatic effect)

The passing was surreal. Usually a death in a family evokes copious amounts of relatively salty tears, but her removal from the mortal plane was an enormous weight off our shoulders... until we carry the casket to her final plot of earth.

If I seem coy about death, it is my release of otherwise destructive emotional outbursts.

Oh, dem golden slippers!
Golden slippers I'se gwine to wear,
To walk de golden street