With Love

My grandmother died last Thursday. It was blessedly quick. She came down with pneumonia and had to be checked into the hospital, where she was not a good patient. She kept trying to escape. After a week of antibiotics that weren't doing a thing the doctor informed us he thought the breast cancer she had fought off and on for the last 10 years had moved into her lungs. She died a day or two later.
I thought I would be fine with this. I grew up in Missouri and my grandparents had lived in Baltimore until 5 or 6 years ago when they needed to move into a retirement home. The homes here were nicer for less money, so they moved. It turns out Grandma wasn't close with either of her granddaughters. She was proud of us, and bragged about our accomplishments, but she didn't understand us. The boys were easier, I guess. I understand this, I was always Grandpa's girl.
It wasn't until I was getting ready to leave for walk with Purl today that I realized how affected I am by her leaving. I had subconsciously dressed in pink walking gear and my koman race for the cure hat. This itself isn't that odd, but I chose a race bandanna for Purl, one that I almost never use for her. I guess I was paying a tribute in my own way.