Last night, my grandmother died. Her health and her mental capacity had been waning for quite some time now, but, last night, over the course of about a half-hour, she gave up the ghost and slipped away into an empty oblivion.
My grandmother was going to turn 90 this year. I was all pumped up to have Baby J meet her at her 90th birthday. I even had plans of taking a black-and-white photograph. I doubt either of them would have really known what was going on but I think it would have been nice for everyone else.
I wonder how much of my grandmother now lives on in Baby J or how much any of the distant relatives we never knew live on in us. Maybe when Baby J can handle it, I'll teach her some of my grandmother's Yiddish so the tradition can live on. Maybe she'll even use it someday without realizing how or why she knows it. Maybe all our ancestors affect us in just that way. My great-grandmother had a somewhat artistic inclination. I grew up playing with my G.I. Joe and He-Man figurines on tables decorated with her tile mosaics. Maybe that's why I picked up art as an avocation/vocation. Maybe it seeped in sideways while I defeated Skeletor and Cobra Commander.
Who knows what Baby J will get from her great-grandmother. Whatever it is, I'm sure it will be great.