That we all might be so loved.

Lindy & Londy, c. 1940. From family archives.

In time, I’m sure I will have more to say. But for now, it’s been two days since my grandmother died at age 93. She was many things, but I’m thinking most of her loyalty these days. It’s a touchstone of my memories of her. When I was still a teenager, my grandfather took ill. He was sick that last four years of his life, the final two bedridden in a care facility. Grammy, who’s only regret in life was that she never learned to drive, still managed to be with him, augmenting his daily care in his nursing home.

She spent some of her first retirement years working harder than when employed, and in the most hopeless of settings. She brought him clean clothes. Did his physical therapy with him. Was his advocate when he could not speak for himself. Bathed him, sat with him, and was with him in his final hours. In the 22 years that passed, her love for him continued on.

That we all might be so loved. That we all might love so strongly.

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