She was my Grandma GG. She married her second husband Jim at age 73, when many think she should’ve been done with romance and carrying on.
I’ll never forget the day she told me. We were sitting in my burgandy colored living room. I was 30 years old and had just delivered my 3rd baby. She told me there was someone she liked. I asked her if she loved him. She blushed and nodded yes.
I dreamily began planning a wedding that very moment. Her grandson could walk her down the aisle. I’d do the invitations. We’d reserve the small chapel at the First Baptist Church. The month of June would be lovely.
Grandma would have none of that. She eloped the next day.
Her daughters were furious. She hadn’t consulted them and they knew he (Jim, Grandma’s new husband) had to be a golddigger. Grandma had almost a million dollars worth of real estate and was doing quite well for a woman with an 8th grade education, a former alcoholic husband and 3 kids.
Grandma and Jim were an item for the next 10 years. They were rarely apart. Even when Alzheimer’s took over her mind, Jim loved her. They watched The Price is Right every morning and Wheel of Fortune at night and ate vanilla ice cream cones. He showed up daily when she was moved to the nursing home and when she didn’t recognize him anymore, he was still there.
Age doesn’t matter when you truly love someone. Grandma loved Jim. Jim loved Grandma. That was a fact. (Grandma never divulged her real age to Jim, even after they married…I think he thought she was 6 years younger than she really was. At birthday parties we were banned from mentioning it.)