Spanglish Accent: I hope there are bearskin rugs in heaven...

I don't have a lot of words. I don't know why. Because there is so much that I could say about this woman. My grandmother. But I don't think any of my words will do her justice. They can't tell you the intangibles. About her heart. Her love. The sound of her voice. Her courage. I can't tell you about how much she will be missed now that she is gone. They can't speak of the love that her children, her grandchildren and her great-grand-kids had for her. Especially my MadHatter, who thinks she hung the moon.

I am never at a loss for words. But here I am. Unfamiliar territory, so I am going to do what is familiar and put in some pictures...because they each say a thousand words that I can't seem to find. Maybe this way I can say all the things I wish I could.

I wish I could tell you about how much she loved her children. All five of them. So different in so many ways and yet together, they made the perfect family. They didn't have a lot growing up but they had each other. And to me, that makes them one of the richest families in the world.

I wish I could tell you about how much fun she was. She never lost her love of life or of children. She never lost her love of play. I can attest to that personally - as can both of my girls. I thank my lucky stars that they both got to see that side of her at such a young age (and that I got it on film for them to relive as they get older).

I wish I could tell you about the life she led, the struggles she fought and the triumphs that reigned supreme. I wasn't there but I heard the stories {oh, did I hear the stories :) }...

I wish I could tell you about the bear skin rug that we were supposed to have our picture taken on. Much to the chagrin of my entire family. It was a picture they never wanted to see. It was a picture that she and I would have proudly displayed in our homes. It was between her and I. An inside joke and one I am keeping dear to my heart for the rest of my days.

She was a fighter. Determined, stubborn, lovely. She was honest (sometimes brutally so), she was a spitfire, she was sociable. She was a mother. She was a friend. She was my grandmother. And she was loved. By her family. By her friends. By anyone that happened to make her acquaintance.

She was mine. And I still can't believe I have to let her go...

Circa 1971. Grandma with my brother Spike on the left. My brother Chris in her right arm. And my Uncle Chuck (her youngest) squatting in front of her house.