The end of an era

The last of my grandmother's sisters died this week. She was one of eight, born in the living room of the house she grew up in and that her brother lived in his entire life, the house that has been in the family continuously since 1600-whatever, still with the original root cellar. Grandma's taking it hard--because her sister died, duh, but also because my grandma is now The Last One Standing. The two brothers that are left are both younger than she is.

I think I'm going to drive down for the funeral this weekend. Not because I was particularly close to my great-aunt, but because all my uncles are coming in for it and it occurs to me that my grandma's time left on earth is now probably pretty limited. It will be the end of an era when she finally goes, and I'm hoping she hangs on with tooth and nail to these last years and does not go quietly into that good night.

I hope that for everyone, actually, that we all suck all the juice out of life right up to the last minute and that our last thought is not a pain-filled, weary acceptance of death but a "Goddamnit, who drank the last of the margaritas?" before keeling over of a heart attack in the middle of the conga line.