Grandma bit the green-weenie this morning. She was 104 years old.
She saw three different centuries and two different Millenia.
Beat that, Motherfucker.
In her few lucid moments from the last five years she’s been pretty much impatiently waiting for death. She’d shrunk into a blind Yodalike creature. There’s a thread around here somewhere where I talk about her. She was a neat broad who outlived just about everybody she ever knew.
She’ll be buried next to my Father’s father who has been patiently saving a spot for her these last 70 years or so.
She was perfectly healthy when she died (other than being 104 years old that is.)
She died of a late breakfast.
She had breakfast late this morning, and as she slept she got a little bit dehydrated as we all do through the night.
This through her electrolyte balance off making her slightly nauseaus, so that she didn’t eat or drink much.
She went unconscious in the her Parkchester apartment in the Bronx that my father was born in, and the live in aid called the ambulance. She died in the emergency room, making her the first of my family we know of to die of natural causes.
Apparently, when you get that old, your body just doesn’t have that much ability to recover from even the mildest shocks.
So during lunch I went out and bought a bottle of 18 year old Glenlivet. I’ll go see my father, and we’ll toast her off.
But, when I came back from lunch, it turns out the day’s events were not yet through with me.
The wife calls. She’s pregnant.
My congratulations. 
And let me be the first (or forty-second) to tell you: you have no idea how you’re lifes gonna change. 