In memoriam to my Omi

She plugged in the waffle iron at the breakfast table so she didn't have to keep running into the kitchen (why don't I ever remember to do that?). She grew the biggest, most beautifully scented roses I have ever had the pleasure of burying my nose in. She never failed to have a treasure set aside for me and my sisters each time we visited, a "little something" that she had found while volunteering to sort donated goods at Vashon's famous Granny's Attic thrift shop. She always had a book in German that she was reading, and reverted to speaking in the language of her youth as Alzheimer's overtook her. When she continued to recognize me but not Jeff, she was always delighted to discover this tall, handsome, funny man was my husband.

She was my "Omi" (a German term of endearment for "Grandma"), and she passed away Thursday, March 18, at the age of 91.

Her death was not unexpected, and she died peacefully in her sleep, in the house she'd lived in for decades, lovingly caretaken by my grandpa -- who refused to consider any other living arrangement. His devotion is inspiring to me.

Although the last time we spent together was right before New Year's, at our Garrison family reunion in Port Townsend, I'm grateful she got to know Soren (pictured above at his first Christmas, in 2008). He was a lucky boy to be born with three great-grandparents...now, two.

I hadn't really cried until just now. It feels good and right. Her time with us was at an end.

I love you, Karin, my Omi, and we'll miss you.