Strength

I had some plans this morning — I need to finish this book and edit some of the stories that have been sent to me for this Easy Rider thing. I also needed to change the oil in my bike, which has been delayed way too long.

I got the news that my 107 year old Grandma had passed away.

107 is a helluva shift. She’s seen more things that I can comprehend. She was born in 1911; the wright brothers had just barely flown, women would soon get the right to vote; World war one. World War Two. Man flew on the moon.

The funny thing about Ethel Tregeagle, is she never talked about these things. I’d ask her about them, and she’d barely have a recollection of the times.

Yet, she could tell you a story about things she experienced in those times. Those memories were sharp. Even to the end.

She was the strongest woman I’ve ever seen. Ethel just did her thing, always. I don’t think she had an ounce of introspection. Things just were what they were.

She’d own the moment, and didn’t care if you tried to take it over. Grandma Tregeagle was doing her thing. Man, she was one of a kind. I’ll miss her.

I can see her in some of my kids; and it scares the hell out of me, yet it also makes me proud. I think a combination of what she was has been passed down, and I’m glad my family got some of it.

Yeah, strength… Ethel Tregeagle had that in droves.

Hell, 107. The anchor of my family, maybe more than she gets credit for.

It’s breaking me up more than I care to admit right now, but some of that my inner Ethel Tregeagle gene will kick in soon enough, and I’ll power it out.

I’m going to feel this. RIP Grandma Tregeagle. And Thank you.

I’m also going to go finish draining my oil.