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I spent summers on her farm in the Berkshires. She had Alzheimer's, which I understand is heartbreaking to watch someone slip into a world in which we cannot understand, but as I saw the disease progress she sometimes slipped into a haven of happiness. As the disease progressed, images of her sister could not be clouded and she lived in a world where sometimes, her late husband, was still alive. As she spoke of these memories and people her demeanor illuminated into a sense of contentment; happiness I would say. She never would let go of the story about how, to that day, she was mortified at the sight of beet soup that her father had always made for supper. A memory that never seemed to fade even as her memory drifted into realms of dementia scientist's cannot depict.
My heart is broken. As I know that she is who survived my Nanna; As she has crossed the gates of heaven, I am selfish to feel a loss of a grandmother and a childhood I once knew. A hardworking lady, always with fresh cows milk and vegetable from her garden, would always be surprised as I showed up on her door step. Honest and always to the point, I aspire to be a little more like her.