I knew the message would come one day, in a call, because I wasn't around to receive it firsthand, I dreaded it, although I knew it was somewhat inevitable, and tried to slowly prepare myself over the last couple of years for what was going to have to become my truth at some time. Yes, she was aging; the stroke the previous year had definitely left its mark. Her proprioception was not the same, balance had become a major issue, but still she seemed like she'd be around forever. We could just catch her when she fell. The short-term memory loss was more cute than a sign of life slipping away. All of our recent history got shifted to a lobe that could no longer be accessed. It's not that it wasn't there; it was just no longer accessible, which was fine, because we got to know the part of Gram that was her without us, before us, when she was all her; not a wife, not a mother, not a grandmother, just Senia. Hearing stories of her childhood in Quincy, swimming in the rock quarry, jumping over fire hydrants with her brother, became a monumental record, except that at times the record would play three times in five minutes. That was the cute part, and although she was aging both physically and mentally, at 94 she still looked young and seemed like she would be around forever. taken from page 2: The Significance of Having Curly Hair; A Loving Memoir of the Life and Loss of My Grandmother