Grossi's Day, comes and goes.

Ursula Johanna would have been 96 today if she could have held on.  But that was so improbable as to stretch to impossible.  Her life had been a lot for any human to take on, and I really think she was ready to go.  Without Waldo, it was even tougher.  But she loved her birthday, more than any of us. (I try to ignore mine, and have been actively doing so for the last 20 years.)

Every October 8th is a short pause in the journey of  life, to stop, stand still, and think, holy moley, what would she (and my life) be like if she were still here.  Crazy, Daddy-o. 

Here are some shots of her in happier times.

This has always been one of my favorites, not sure why. I suspect she didn't like it much because she seemed so vulnerable in it.  She was a handful at that age...by all accounts.  If you look closely, there is a resemblance to one or more of her great-granddaughters.

 

 

 

 With Waldo,  early days.  They seemed to have a good time together then.  I don't remember much about it, and they rarely showed that side to me.

 

 I think this is Tracy. Mother hated that I made her a grandmother by 45, though she soon got over it by playing with the cause.  Some people are almost that old when they give birth themselves. Yikes!

Later, during her last few months, she still ruled the roost, mostly because it wasn't worth the grief to go up against her.  She must have been very lonely.  It terrifies me when I see parts of that face looking back at me from the mirror.

    

This is a great one, despite the fact that I am in it. Four  generations...wow.  And the littlest one in the picture now towers over the other two remaining.  Life is indeed strange.  And fleeting.