My maternal grandmother, Louisa Nadeau, passed away late Monday night/early Tuesday morning. She slipped away peacefully, in the company of her children. She was nearly 94 years old.
She was the only one of my grandparents that I was ever truly close to. Her husband died when I was about five, and my father's parents were spending much of their time in Florida while I was growing up. A devout Catholic, French Canadian woman (who would frequently slip into French when excited or when her English vocabulary proved inadequate for the thought she was trying to express), she was always supportive of me and my creative efforts. We shared the same birthday. Every Christmas dinner was at her house. As a child, I spent many hours at her kitchen table tracing comic book panels and making up my own stories. I found my first Edgar Rice Burroughs novel in a box of paperbacks in her basement (I don't know who it belonged to originally – one of my uncles, perhaps – but she told me I could have it.), and when my sister and I would stay overnight on weekends that my folks were away on snowmobile trips or vacations, she always let me stay up as late as I wanted to watch the CBS Late Movie (which is where I first saw The Avengers and The Return of The Saint).
I never saw her angry. As far as I know, she was never anything but warm and loving, and I'm going to miss her – and the sparkle in her eye – terribly.
Rest in peace, Grammy.