Good bye grandma

John Bobincheck from Orinda, California, writes about the death of his Maltese grandmother who passed away last year. Her characteristics are easily recognizable:

After many years of toughing it out, my grandmother died today. She survived a
lot of wild stuff in her days and after the stroke, the home stretch was no
picnic. But man, what a lady. She survived WW2 on Malta and immigrated to the US
soon after. Her life as an immigrant (as anyone could guess) wasn't glamourous,
but to me she always was.

When you are a kid, adults are awfully mysterious and the only thing that
matters is when they want to spend time with you - and she often did. She was
always making sure we were well fed. I was told long before I could know what it
meant to never go without food because you never know when you will have to go
without it. Later, my grandfather told me some stories of what it was like to
live on an island in a war. So, I stopped complaining.

I guess there's a lot that will pass on with her, things like the lullabye that
I can still hear her sing, but have no idea what it is because I don't
understand Maltese (except for the things my grandfather used to call me). The
baked pasta that had the specific density of lead but tasted so good you always
had at least two hunks. The way she could smile and let you know that this old
lady with one working leg can still see right through you and you aren't getting
away with shit, so don't think that you are, but, it's OK because I'm not going
to tell anybody. Would have been nice if she could have lived longer, but she
was done and I'm just damn lucky to have what I got which in the end was quite a
bit.