Serving Bread

My maternal grandmother passed away last Tuesday, March 18 at her home in Cupertino, California. She was 86 years old. Born on March 13, 1922, in Baghdad, Iraq, she was the third of five daughters of Dikran and Azniv. Her father (my great-grandfather) was one of the pioneers of the first Independent Iraqi Government in 1921. She married my grandfather in 1944.

Together they lived in Baghdad until 1979, then moved to Beirut, Lebanon until 1986 when they moved to the United States. It is difficult for me to capture one memory of her because she has been a part of so many of my memories. For years, we lived together, and until college, I had never lived more than a mile from her.

I will remember my grandmother for her brutal honesty. She never feared speaking her mind. If she didn’t like something I did or something I wore or just something about me, she did not shrink back from telling me. Yet despite such honesty, she expressed unconditional love to many, especially to those in her family.

She is survived by her husband of 64 years, four daughters, nine grand-children, and three great-grand-children.