This is one of many saucy photos of my grandparents (on right) and their friends, probably in the early 1930s.

This is my grandmother, mother (on right) and aunt, in the early 1940s.

This is my grandmother now at the age of 93, holding the floor plan for an assisted living unit.

Even though Angie gets stuck in a loop a lot easier these days, where she starts a story and repeats it several times in a row, she's still interesting. We stayed up one night and I let her tell all she had to tell about her immigrant father and step mother, and how she dropped out of school to work at Heinz and how she met the love of her life.

She talked a lot about how her parents died peacefully in their own home. There was part of me that wanted to slip her some extra, more lethal drugs and just tell her it would be okay. I don't think her daughters are ready for her to die. I'm not sure her body is ready to go either. But her mind is tired, her spirit is tired. She is ready. I wish we lived in a society where that was okay.