We'll Keep Her Memory Alive

She was 98.


My son was hoping she'd make it to 100, but sadly, this didn't happen.

My Nana Jo passed away last week, after a long battle with dementia. I knew she was frustrated because she was independent. And even though she had dementia, she'd always smile when we'd enter the room. If the kids were at school, she'd always ask how they were doing. She knew us, even at the end.

There are many things I'll miss about Nana Jo.



I'll miss her love of books. We liked to discuss what we were reading. We both enjoyed Jodi Picoult.

I'll miss how she was feisty. She knew what she liked and didn't like, and wouldn't hesitate to tell you. She was upset when I got pregnant at 19, and rightfully so. But then years later she made sure to tell me how proud she was and that I was a wonderful mother.



I'll miss talking with her. Before dementia really caught up with her, she could be a fun conversationalist. She was an excellent bridge player, and she could play the piano wonderfully. I took lessons as a kid but never caught on. I liked knowing how things were back in the day. She would talk about living through the depression, which fascinated me.

I'll miss discussing what it was like being a military spouse, because she was one. She married my grandpa who I never met--he was in the Air Force and died in a plane crash. Then she married my Grandpa who I DID meet, and he also was in the Air Force. She knew what it was like to wait for the one you loved, though she liked to remind me that it was difficult in her day. She would tell me how it would be months before she knew if her husband was okay in World War 2 or Vietnam. Sometimes the letters she would get were almost completely blacked out.

I'll miss her. The world was a better place when she was in it. And I will keep her memory alive. I will see her whenever my kids smile and their dimples show. They got those from her. So did I. I'm lucky. I was think of her whenever I open a new book. When I hear someone playing the piano.


I am glad that I gave her this to fill out before dementia took over. Now I have something to look through.

If you'll excuse me, I have some reading to do. To remember.