<a href="http://www.halfwaytonormal.com/wp-content/uploads/2008/10/gmac.jpg"><img class="alignnone size-full wp-image-115" title="gmac" src="http://www.halfwaytonormal.com/wp-content/uploads/2008/10/gmac.jpg" alt="" width="436" height="582" /></a>
<h5 style="padding-left: 150px;">Grandma June with my daughter S. June in 2003</h5>
My Grandma June died yesterday morning. It was not a surprise. She was 94, and had been living with alzheimers for many years. Last Saturday morning she turned a corner and we knew the end was near.

I spent time talking on the phone to my mom when she called with the news, and then tried to process my own mixed feelings. But what filled me with the sharpest sadness was the thought of telling my girls when they came home from school.

<strong>What do you tell your kids when someone they knew and loved has died?</strong> As <a href="http://www.halfwaytonormal.com/?p=556">my post earlier this week</a> suggests, there is no "right way" to approach it. There's only the most honest, true way you possibly can.
<h4>What I told my girls about Grandma June</h4>
I told my girls that Grandma June died, and their grandma (my mom) was sad, but she knew Grandma June was ready to go. I told them their grandma had sung some hymns to Grandma June that morning, and then had said "Everyone's waiting for you, Mom. Your mother and father and brothers and sisters are all wondering what's taking you so long."

<strong>I tried to help them grasp the Grandma June I knew most of my life, before she slipped into alzheimers. I told them how the two words I think best described Grandma June were "joyful" and "feisty." </strong>She was able to see so much beauty and joy in everything around her, and yet she never let anyone walk all over her. When something mattered to her, it mattered deeply. I told them how determined Grandma June always was, and that she never wanted to give up, which was probably why she took a while to die. I said that Grandma June's faith in God was stronger than anyone's I knew.

<strong>And finally I told my girls how confused I felt about Grandma June dying</strong>—that I was very sad, but I felt like I wasn't feeling as much grief as I should. It had been so long since she was able to really enjoy her life, and respond to the love her family gave. <strong>I told them it was OK to feel whatever they were feeling.</strong> They might feel confused about their sadness, or about not feeling sad enough, but whatever they actually felt was just right.
<h4>Some of Grandma June lives on in me</h4>
This morning I looked up <a href="http://www.halfwaytonormal.com/?p=114">a blog post </a>I wrote about Grandma June more than a year ago, in the form of a letter to her. I want to share it with my girls, especially this part, which says so much about who she was and how she can live on in us:
<p style="padding-left: 30px;"><em>I have always recognized in you a sizable portion of who I was and am, as well as a significant aspect of who I wanted (and still want) to be. I could relate to your love for words and music and clothes, and to your quirky sense of humor. I could also relate to your feisty response to anything that ruffled your feathers, and to how that feisty attitude sometimes got you in trouble. You were transparent and opinionated, and you took life head-on.</em></p>
<p style="padding-left: 30px;"><em>What I couldn’t always relate to, but was always drawn to, was your pure joyfulness in all circumstances, and your unwavering trust in God’s goodness. You were always a true light to those around you; somehow you managed to bring sunshine to people without ever downplaying life’s darkness and storms. You were a realist, without being cynical. I wanted—and still want—to be more like you.</em></p>