I've been granted permission by my mother (now that it's over) to share this with all of you.
On April 15th PST 4:30 PM, my grandmother, at the age of 98, after being in our house for months, died in my bedroom she's been using since she was brought here from the hospital. They were going to take away the wheel chair the day she died, since they felt she wouldn't be getting out of bed anymore (when she first came to the house, she used a walker to get up and have dinner with us, and watched the first and half seasons of Hawaii Five-0 in the living room).
We'll be holding one last Easter egg hunt at her house (as we have every year since before I was born) before the house is sold off (it's most likely fate since no one wants to take it right now, but we don't know for certain yet). Ironically . . . we didn't want to while she was still alive, and were going to have it at OUR HOUSE instead . . . but now . . .
I kept meaning to ask her historical questions, but I never asked her many. The one I do remember is when I asked what she remembered about the civil rights movement, she only told me that she "thought it was a good movement."
She was a positively wonderful and great woman.