Mum rang up tonight and confirmed what I had suspected after a terse email from Dad earlier in the day: my grandmother died this afternoon.

Grandma V had been living in a managed care facility for the last couple of years, on the whole experiencing a good quality of life, with occasional bouts of depression, confusion and mischief, from what Mum has related to me from time to time.

Mum said that she’d been doing poorly for several weeks – among other things, she’d forgotten all her nouns, but could use adjectives fine! Just last week she started eating again and got her nouns back, and reached the notable age of 94 years.

She had a heart attack last night, stablised for a bit, but died this afternoon in her sleep at about 3:00pm NZ time, of a pulmonary endema or some related complication.

Some of the family were in town anyway for a get-together to celebrate her 94th birthday, so my Aunt Wendy, Mum, and my sister Vivienne were able to be there with her.

Now is the point at which I am supposed to write something profound and touching, drawing on my memories of her, but frankly, I don’t think I’m going to be able succeed. Let’s see… 

She taught me (and Walter) piano for 4 or 5 years, and I have this vague feeling I was a difficult pupil, which I kind of regret now. I know she heard some of the music Walter and I have produced in recent years, and I hope she knew she could take some credit in building up a foundation of technique that we both take for granted now.

The last time I saw her was just before L and I left for the States and we were helping her out with hearing aid batteries, and seeing her off at the airport as she flew down to Christchurch to visit her brother Kelvin. I said my goodbyes to her then, I think I knew I wouldn’t see her again.