Grandma Garnet

Just under 2 weeks ago, I was talking to my mom and asked how my grandma was doing. She's been getting sicker and sicker for years now, and had recently gone into the nursing home.
"She has an ear infection now," my mom said.
Sheesh! I thought, how much more can that poor woman take.
I guess that was it.
The next morning my mom called. I couldn't answer because I was at work, but I had a pretty good idea of why she was calling. People talk about the dreaded "middle of the night" call, when they know something is wrong. I get the middle of the day call. My mom knows I can't answer, so there are only a few reasons she would call.
When my grandpa died last year, I knew something was wrong when my mom called twice in a row. She never does that either.
So I finally called her back and found out that my Grandma Garnet, my dad's mom, died last Monday morning at the nursing home. Nobody was especially shocked, and I think a few of us were even relieved. At this point, she was just suffering. She hadn't smiled in a long time, and being so ill, and so afraid of being ill, for that long strips a person of their personality.
I wasn't able to go to the funeral. It's a pretty wretched trek from the west coast, and I'd rather go for a whole week this summer when I can spend more time with my grandpa and parents.
What do I remember about my grandma?
My two earliest significant memories of her are...weird.
First, I remember being at church with her. We went to the Nazarene Church most Sundays with my grandparents (while my parents snoozed at home). I remember one Sunday the pastor mentioned something in his sermon about the evils of alchohol. Afterwards, grandma asked me if my dad still drank beer.
"Sure," I said. "He drinks beer all the time!" I was probably 8 or 9. Or even younger.
"We're going to have to pray for him then," she told me.
I went home and told my mom that we were going to pray for dad for drinking beer.
Much eyerolling followed.
My second memory was that she was the first person who ever told me what being "gay" meant. I saw some literature in her mail about it, and asked her what that meant. She told me, though I can't remember exactly how. I also don't remember getting any connotation of it, negative or otherwise from her. Though she certainly didn't bother to tell me that her oldest son was gay. Also, I suspect that the literature I saw (knowing the kind of people they rolled with) was not at all pro-gay material.
I could go on about my young memories of her, but they're all of a similar angle. Weird, right? How did I wind up so liberal?*** Maybe I'll post more later, actually. They are rather fascinating.
My grandma and grandpa were married for 61 years. That is beyond amazing. My grandma was the oldest of 9 kids. She was in the army (she drove a jeep!). She got her teacher's degree. All in all, her life was pretty full, and pretty interesting. I think it is partly because of her that I learned to see the world in terms of stories to be told.
I'm glad she was in my life, and she will be missed.
***My mom, that's how.