Life of Ronnie

My wife’s Grandma Lois passed away on Friday, so we are driving down to Oregon today for the funeral.

I lost both of my grandmothers in the last few years, and even when they are getting old and are ready to move on to a better place, it still makes it rough. One can always be happy they are past their pain and with God, but still be sad because you’ll miss them.

My fondest memory of Grandma Lois is from the first day I met her — Thanksgiving (of the American variety) 2004. It was also the first time I met Anna’s parents, which was intimidating enough. They drove up from Oregon with Grandma Lois to join us — only recently dating — and Anna’s brother and his family at Anna’s little apartment for turkey and all the fixin’s. This was definitely a high-pressure “the boyfriend is assessed” kind of day.

I’ve been something of a WWII enthusiast for some time now, and Lois had spent the WWII years in the Women’s Army Corps (WAC), so she brought several of her scrapbooks to share with me. We spent a couple of hours sitting together on the couch as she showed me old photos, postcards and news clippings from her time in the service, playing in the WAC band. Up until this last year and even though she was in her mid 80′s, she was still called upon almost weekly to play her bugle at veteran events and funerals. Anna looked over several times to see if I needed “rescuing” from the conversation, but apparently I was actually interested! I was especially amused at the article from VE Day that mentioned the “gay throngs dancing in the streets”. How our language has changed since 1945.

I suppose I must have left a good impression though, because at the end of the day when everyone was putting on their coats to leave, Grandma Lois failed at her attempt at a whisper and said loud enough for us all to hear “I think Anna should marry that man!”.

And she did!

We were able to drive down and visit with Grandma Lois one last time a few weeks ago, knowing that she didn’t have long. It was a great visit, filled with laughter and memories, even if its purpose was bittersweet.

Rest in peace, Grandma Lois. Tell Jim that I’m taking good care of his granddaughter.