When I die, I wish it would be just like how Oma L did: uneventful, undramatic, simply slipping away from the reiteration life has become. She lived a full life of more than 80 years, survived by three daughters, half a dozen grandchildren and more great-grandchildren than most of us will probably ever live to see. She had a harmonious relationship with a husband whose memories still prompted a wayward tear and whose watch she still wore long after the hands have stopped ticking. To her last day, it was how she wished it would be: in her own home, in the neighborhood that has known her for decades. Not in the hospital, not in a home for the elderly. She had her wits about her til the last moment, comparatively fit and healthy. She was not sick, she just spent lovely days with her children, individually and all together.

Of course, it was a loss. And we will miss her. But how can you grieve the passing of someone whose life has been lived to its fullest? How can you not let her go, when she herself has been ready, no longer expecting more from Life? What more can one ask for?

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