This past Monday night my Oma, my mother’s mother passed away after many years of declining mental and physical health. She will be greatly missed. No, not the shell that stopped breathing, peacefully, in her sleep that night, but the vibrant, quirky, Emily Post-esque lady she was before dementia took control of her life and dragged down the lives of those who loved her. Tuesday my friend Molly asked if I was sad. I told her, truthfully, I’m more sad of HOW her life declined and sad over the loss of my last living grandparent than I am of her eventual death. This Saturday we who lived her will celebrate her life. Celebrateing by being together, with stories, and of course wine. And even though it’s a bit early, I’m sure my sister will let it slide, to let the family know and celebrate a new life. There’s an old gospel song that suggests the theory that there is never a passing without new life, and how lucky is my family for this to be true.