My great-grandmother passed away two days ago at the age of 87.  She was born on November 5, 1921 in Ione, Oregon.  She is survived by two children, seven grandchildren, 19 great-grandchildren, and four great-great grandchildren.  I spent many summers of my youth visiting her.  She was the one who encouraged me to sing by singing me songs when I was a little girl.  As I got older I did not have the time or money to see her often.  I only got to see her once every other year or so.  When I found out that she wasn't doingn to well, I booked plane tickets to visit her as soon as school got out in May.  I needed to see her for the last time.  She knew her time was coming soon; she had been sick for quite some time.  I just, in some ways, wanted her to wait so I could have hugged her one last time.  I called her a week before her death, but a phonecall just doesn't seem like enough.  It's unfair.  Life is cruel.  But at least I have the comfort of knowing that she passed away knowing she was loved.  She started a legacy; a legacy that grew for generations.  She was loved, and that's what really counts.