Woke up last night to a call from my in-laws; my wife’s 96 year-old grandmother died at the age of 96. The woman was a force to be reckoned with who lived life on her terms and ensured we all knew where we belonged.
I first met her at the family “camp” in Maine nearly ten years ago. Hard to imagine she was 86 at the time. I’m thrilled she had an opportunity to meet her two most recent great-grandchildren (my sons) — she had a total of seven great-grandchildren and they’ll all remember her.
Her secret to long life? Whiskey sours. The Maine air. And I’m sure that hearty Canadian stock played a part (she was from Quebec).
She will be missed, but never forgotten.