My last living grandparent died today.

My father’s mother passed away early this morning. She was 91 years old. Her name was Florence ans she spoke fluent Polish and made the best cheesecake ever. I was fortunate enough to really get to know her before she had her stroke when she moved in with my father to take care of him. I remember the day she explained to me what a sit bath was and how mortified I was when she used the word ‘intercourse.’ I loved how incredibly independent she was even well into her 80s and how she would still take a walk everyday. As a child, she would force me to read aloud every time I stayed with her and I hated that she made me read books with no pictures but loved that afterwards she would let me play Hungry Hungry Hippo. Explaining how great my grandmother was is next to impossible. 

I officially do not have any grandparents. It’s a strange feeling to get to the point in your life where all your grandparents have died.