We live in a culture that glorifies youth. We're taught to chase it, fear aging, and overlook our elders (esp. women) who have lived. Really lived.

I'm guilty of it. You probably are too.

But today, I want to talk about my grandma, Nancy (though, we all called her G). She passed last weekend, just over a week before her 94th birthday. I’m still in the thick of it—processing, remembering, and realizing just how much of me exists because of her.

G was raised in the tiny town of Pennington Gap, Virginia. Her southern charm came with one-liners😉—like “move or build a fence around it!” or “slicker than snot on a doorknob.” When we’d leave her house, she’d wave and say, “don’t hit any chickens!”

When she was in her 20s, she met my grandfather, Amado, an immigrant from the Philippines. She said she saw him once and knew she had to have him. When they got together, her family disowned her—because he was a man of color. God forbid…

It didn't take long for them to start their family. They had five (!!!) children together.

3 months before their first family trip to the Philippines, Amado died suddenly of a heart attack. Both Amado and G were in their mid-30s. A 36-year-old, single mother of five.

She never remarried. Nor ever really dated. “Why would I settle for cheap beer,” she’d say, “when I had champagne?”

In the small, mostly white town of Rising Sun, Indiana, G’s house was the spot. It was a place where everyone felt welcome, especially the Black friends of her kids who didn’t always feel seen or accepted elsewhere. She had this way of making people feel like they belonged, no matter who they were or where they came from. Her door was always open, and her love was loud and unconditional.

G was our matriarch. The no-nonsense, incredibly sassy, fiercely protective matriarch. Now she’s my queen guardian angel.

So today, let this be a love letter to the women of age. The ones who’ve lived hard and full and honest lives. The ones whose stories made us possible.

May we stop erasing them in our quest for youth. May we honor them while they’re here. And may we carry their magic with us long after they’re gone.