“Seeing death as the end of life is like seeing the horizon as the end of the ocean.”

Like I mentioned yesterday, my grandparents were Dutch-Indonesian. They did a lot of the raising of me - mainly because my Opa was a nut who wouldn't let us eat dinner at home, and would hijack us despite my mother's protests. By and large, that was totally okay by me... mom canNOT cook. We grew up living with them off and on, until I was 16. After I got married, and had #1, my tiny family and I moved back in with Oma to help take care of her. After Opa passed, she was... lost. She didn't know how to write a check, she didn't know what a debit card was, she couldn't drive... She needed help, and wasn't willing to leave the house Opa built for her when they immigrated. So. There it was. We had a super awesome time living there, and my husband was totally one of her favorite people ever.

Eventually, we moved out and my parents moved in, and there she stayed...in the house Opa built, for the rest of her life. She had a ridiculous amount of faith... Like, ridiculous. I could never. I'm too uppity and impatient and cynical for that faith nonsense. But she did... and I wish I could, 'cause she was the most gentle, calming person I've ever known.

She was super awesome, and today is her birthday. I ought remember her more often, 'cause... dude. NOTHING I've had to complain about in my life compares to stuff SHE dealt with. So, in honor... Oma is Awesomeness, and I'm gonna stop whining about my lack of organic potatoes.

Happy Birthday, Oma!