RIP Eunice Hudnall

Grandma and I, 1962

My grandmother died today. She was 92.

Eunice was the nicest person I have ever met, and I am not just saying that because she’s my grandmother. She really was the sweetest, most self-less person I have met. Everyone mentioned that who knew her. And she made the most incredible apple pie I have ever tasted. The crust was unbelievably good. She made it by feel. No pie I have ever had has even come close. Remotely close. It was that good.

My grandfather Perry passed away in 1984. He was 86 at the time, so he was much older than my grandma.

In the last 8 years Eunice had been suffering from progressively worsening Alzheimers. She did not recognize me or my father, or anyone else in her final years. Not ev4en her pet dog. In fact, she did not even speak in the last couple of years.  It’s really hard to take to see someone who loved you and you loved back, not even recognize you or care. Last time I saw her, she looked at me like I was a tree or a rock. It was very difficult for me.

That Elvis Costello song “Veronica” really messes me up every time I hear it because it reminds me of her.

Eunice told me many stories when we were younger, about life in America in the early 20th century. She grew up in a farm in Colorado, where she met my grandfather who was a migrant farmer. They married and moved to California during the depression, where my father was born. They lived in Petaluma for awhile, where my grandfather had a Chicken Ranch. Then they moved to a little house in Santa Rosa, the town I was born.

I’ve been expecting this day for years now, but when it happens it’s always when you least expect it. It’s just starting to sink in.

Good bye, Grandma. I love you.

Eunice, Grandpa Perry and my Dad, Jim. 1980.

James,
Please accept my deepest sympathy for your loss, and that of your family, also.  Clearly your Grandma lives on in your own niceness - You’ve never been anything but nice to me, even at the times when we might be in disagreement.

Peace

Posted by  on  02/14  at  07:11 PM

My thoughts and prayers go with you and your family.

Posted by Macker  on  02/14  at  07:52 PM

Thanks.

Posted by  on  02/14  at  09:31 PM

Oh, Jim, I’m so sorry. Even when a member of the family lives a tremendously long time, there’s never really a sense of preparation or complete acceptance about their loss, is there?

May she sleep in peace and wake in wonderment.

Posted by Brin-Marie McLaughlin  on  02/15  at  01:22 AM

Condolences, James.

Posted by  on  02/15  at  06:38 AM

I’m very sorry for your loss, James.

Posted by joy  on  02/15  at  06:50 AM

Thoughts and prayers, brother…

Posted by  on  02/15  at  08:18 AM

James,
So sorry for your loss.  My mother, Estella, died last Thursday.  She had been ill for a long time.

Know that your Grandmother and my Mom are no longer suffering.  In Heaven they are happy and whole and no longer in any pain.

Sherry

Posted by  on  02/15  at  10:14 AM

Thanks, everyone.

Sorry to hear about your mom, Sherry.

I’ve been expecting my grandmother’s passing for awhile, but when it happens, it’s still emotionally effecting.

I feel better today.

Posted by  on  02/15  at  10:30 AM

What can I say that hasn’t already been said?

Other than, my condolences also.

Posted by Dave Marron  on  02/15  at  10:42 AM

I’m sorry to hear this also.  It is never an easy thing to go through.

Posted by Laurie  on  02/15  at  04:01 PM

I’m so sorry to hear this…

Posted by Sarah  on  02/15  at  08:06 PM

I’m so sorry, James.

Gone From My Sight

I am standing upon the seashore. A ship at my side spreads her white sails to the morning breeze and starts for the blue ocean. She is an object of beauty and strength. I stand and watch her until at length she hangs like a speck of white cloud just where the sea and sky come to mingle with each other.
Then someone at my side says: “There, she is gone!”

“Gone where?”

Gone from my sight. That is all. She is just as large in mast and hull and spar as she was when she left my side and she is just as able to bear her load of living freight to her destined port.

Her diminished size is in me, not in her. And just at the moment when someone at my side says: “There, she is gone!” there are other eyes watching her coming, and other voices ready to take up the glad shout: “Here she comes!”

Posted by  on  02/15  at  08:20 PM

You have my condolences, Hud.

Posted by John Cassidy  on  02/15  at  10:59 PM

My prayers are with you James. She will live on in your memory for sure.

Posted by  on  02/16  at  02:07 AM

You will still have her beautiful memories.

I remember when my best friend was killed at the age of nineteen. After my mother told me, I walked to the front door and looked out at the road through the screen.  I couldn’t understand why the cars were still going by. I guess I thought the world should have stopped.

Posted by  on  02/16  at  07:19 AM

I never know what to say when someone passes away.

There are a bunch of cliched phrases I could use, but they just feel awkward to use at times like this.

The last person I knew who passed away (going on 4 years now), it messed me up for a good month.  He was one of my dad’s best friends.  It’s still weird to think of the guy—who I knew MUCH BETTER than any of my grandparents—and realize he’s never going to be over at my parents’ house again for a social night or dinner.

It gets better over time, but boy does it still leaves a small emptiness in you—even when you do have the benefit of some faith that the person is in a better place and surely better off dead than living in constant pain.

Posted by  on  02/16  at  07:42 AM
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