My paternal grandmother died yesterday afternoon at the age of 105. She was the oldest resident of her nursing home, and the last of my surviving grandparents. I will preach her funeral this Saturday in Arlington, Texas.

No condolences are necessary. When a person dies at 105, nobody asks, “Why, Lord? Why did you allow this to happen?” Her passing seems natural and perhaps a bit overdue.

My father grew up in a low-income neighborhood on the other side of the tracks from the upscale suburb in which my mother was raised. My father’s family were Catholics, while my mother’s family were Protestant fundamentalists. As a child, I spent much time with my mother’s parents and siblings and little time around my father’s clan. My own upbringing was suburban and Protestant, and I identified more easily with my mother’s branch of the tree.

However, when my mother became terminally ill with cancer, it was my father’s mother who moved across the country to come live with us and to help my dad with his five children. It was an heroic act.

My grandmother’s abrupt arrival into our lives also felt like an intrusion. She was unsophisticated, impolite, stubborn, and sarcastic. She was frequently the butt of family jokes. Class condescension is reprehensible, but it is the most natural of human traits, and perhaps comes easiest within one’s own family circle.

After my mother’s passing, my tie to my mother’s relatives diminished, while my affection for my paternal grandmother grew. Like all of us, she mellowed with age. She was cheerful. She had a way of enjoying life despite the circumstances. She laughed often. She loved to eat. A trip to Denny’s was a treat. Her enjoyment of simple pleasures made simple pleasures more enjoyable for the rest of us. I know now that simple pleasures are the only pleasures this life has to offer. I didn’t learn that in the suburbs.

It is funny how we think we knew someone because we knew the role they played in our own lives. My grandmother played a role in my life and moreso in that of my siblings for the last 40 years. However, the truth is, my siblings and I know almost nothing about the person she was for the first 65 years of her life.

She was a Christian. In the last few decades, she practiced her faith in the Baptist church. I doubt she could tell you too much about fine points of Christian doctrine, but she knew what she believed and in Whom she had placed her faith.

For many years I have not had opportunities to see her often. In recent years, she has not been capable of much communication, due more to failing eyesight and hearing loss than to loss of mental function. I have missed her for some time. I continue to miss her today, now that she has passed away.

And I look forward, one day, to really getting to know her.