Just before starting second grade, my grandmother Mary died. Though her death was a deep grief to me—we had been quite close and many of my earliest memories involve her—it was not unexpected. She had a myriad of health issues, the worst of which was kidney failure. She had been kept alive by dialysis for some time when she decided to voluntarily quit treatment. She was ready to go home and, I imagine, ready to be reunited to her husband, my grandfather, who preceded her in death by six years after 43 years of marriage.
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