Hits Like a Ton of Bricks

Grandma N. was a tough little lady. She farmed coffee alongside my Grandpa for decades upon decades getting up at the crack of dawn, making that steaming cup of coffee and hot breakfast to get their day going. They had 7 acres of land total and farmed what they could, made a living, raised two boys - my uncle and my dad, had a simple life overlooking the ocean literally on the side of a volcano. She was tough, always questioning, keeping everyone in line, wanting to know what was going, making little jokes to keep things light, teasing in her own way.

My Grandpa passed away, and my Grandma with the help of my uncle carried on without him farming a little less with every year. But still, she had that light in her eyes, that little slight bit of naughtiness. In the three times Greg visited with her with me, he saw a bit of Grandma in me and snickered. If my uncle didn't pick her up on time from the senior activity center, she would walk home with or without sidewalks, stubborn, strong and independent. Greg giggled. "That's where Maile gets it from..."

She was my last grandparent alive, she outlived them. That's her, that's Grandma. We just saw her November of last year, and she was still sprite, giving us relationship advice, telling Greg not to mess with me because "she get sharp teeth" (ha!), telling us to eat some more, busy pulling weeds outside as were getting ready to leave, telling us to come back again soon.

Good night, Grandma, sweet dreams. I can see you smiling and laughing alongside Grandpa again. You two were so cute together. Take good care, rest in peace, I'll miss you. I love you.