Now it can be told.

One month ago, on May 4, 2023, my grandmother had her 107th birthday.  For many, many years she would only admit to being 35 years old, and if you asked why she would tell you one of these reasons:

• The year she was 35 was a good one, and she saw no reason to change it.
• Jack Benny only admitted to being 39 years old, and he is much older than she.
• Sometimes an amalgam of both.

My grandmother was quite irate at my brother one Thanksgiving when we visited, and since his birthday was around then we celebrated, and one of her neighbors noticed.  The lady asked who was the honoree, and when my brother admitted it was he, she asked how old he was.  Proudly my brother said he had just turned forty.  After we returned to my grandmother's apartment she scolded my brother, asking how people could believe she is just 35 when her grandchildren are older than she!

The only time we could get her to admit to being older was if there was a senior discount - and not always.

It proved a complication when my grandmother was in hospital a number of years ago, and the doctors called my mother telling her they needed to invoke the Healthcare Power of Attorney she held, to give my grandmother some treatment.  My mother was surprised, as she'd spoken to her mother a short time before and things didn't seem that much amiss.  The doctor explained that he'd gone in to assess and speak with my grandmother, who was having gallbladder trouble, and my grandmother's answers suggested that she was not mentally capable of making decisions on her own behalf.  My mother asked what the questions and answers had been.

One, of course, was age.  My mother asked whether the doctor had asked the date of my grandmother's birth or the actual number of years.  Both, he replied.  My mother asked if my grandmother had properly named the year which would make her 35 years old that day, and the doctor admitted that she had.  Well, pointed out my mother, doesn't that show she still a bit sharp?

The doctor said that my grandmother had also not known who the President was.  My mother, who knows her mother very well, asked if she had been unable to name him or had just said "that man".  The latter, the doctor admitted.  Given that the President of the time was a Democrat, my mother suggested he ask some other questions, as my grandmother was not likely to name anybody other than a Republican.

Until shortly before her 107th birthday, that was my grandmother.  She was fighting pneumonia in April, which is why I thought of sending her birthday blanket early as a get-well gift.  The truth is that I was not certain she would still be alive for her birthday, or not capable of recognizing a gift.  But she rallied, and was alive, and my mother and I flew down to visit.

What my mother had not told either me or my brother is that my grandmother had suffered an apparent stroke earlier that week, and after discussions with her medical providers and the aides attending, my mother had called in the local hospice team.  My grandmother had been adamant that she did not want to die in hospital, so as long as it could be done, my mother determined that she would be cared for at home.

This happened on the Monday, and since my brother and I usually call on the weekend, and then I would call midweek, we didn't know.  (When I called on Wednesday evening my grandmother wasn't able to say much, and I thought it was just because I called in the evening - she'd been sundowning for a while.)  And my mother, being busy with everything, hadn't told us until she and I were on the way to the airport.  I texted my brother to ask if he knew, and he hadn't.  So now we did.

I was very glad to be able to see my grandmother one last time, and for her to be able to recognize and talk with us, although she was very weak and not always cognizant.  We visited for what time she could handle, but clearly there wasn't much time left.

During my trip to Texas, knowing she was failing, I had my family promise that if my grandmother died they would tell me, and I promised not to leave the meetings early but to change my return flight and meet people in Florida.  My grandmother hung on, and I got home, quickly doing laundry and turning my suitcase in anticipation of another trip.

Thursday evening, we got the call.

On Friday my mother and I flew down, and in a concentrated whirlwind of activity, fueled by hamburgers and ice cream and assisted by some of the aides, in four days we cleaned out my grandmother's apartment.  Furniture was donated, special items packed to bring home, and the final arrangements made.  I'd had some photos taken during the birthday trip, because I knew they would be the final ones.  Of course we found others in a couple of photo albums, most recording parties and travel my grandmother had done with my step-grandfather, and a few older ones of family.  My grandmother, unfortunately, was not a sentimentalist and tended to weed out photos she deemed unimportant - on visits we would salvage what we could.

So it has been a month since my grandmother turned 107.  I won't post a photo from that final trip, but one from earlier, when my mother and I visited for her birthday and my grandmother was only 99:

Since my grandmother was born just before Mother's Day, we made a point to visit for her birthday (or as close as jobs allowed) instead, because, she noted, people always remembered Mother's Day for cards and gifts and visiting, but would forget other times.  Visiting for her birthday showed we remembered her all the time.  Even after she turned 100 we were not permitted to acknowledge her age during our visits, even though the community where she lived included the fact in their newsletter.  My grandmother said she hoped most of the people there were frail of memory and wouldn't remember that her age now had three digits.

I've already felt the pang, not being able to call to tell her about the Memorial Day service I attended last weekend.  Veterans and servicemembers were very important to my grandmother, and she took all the recognitions - Armed Forces Day, Memorial Day, and Veterans Day - very seriously.  We found photos of my older niece's graduation among the ones my grandmother kept, and I realized we wouldn't be sending her any of my younger niece's graduation, which happened the weekend my mother and I were cleaning out the apartment (we watched a livestream).

The birthday blanket came home with me, and I've washed and folded it and tucked it into a special shelf in the linen closet, with a bluebonnets blanket a friend designed, that my grandmother loved and often had wrapped around her legs.  They are going to stay there for a long time.

I love and miss her, very very much.