You were 67 years old and you drove four hours to see Metallica with me. Your retirement gift to yourself you said. We were the oldest and youngest people in our section and you didn’t care at all. You knew every word. Sang louder than anyone. My friends couldn’t believe my grandma was that cool. You had the heart attack two days later. The doctors said all that excitement probably didn’t help. I don’t care. You died happy. That’s what matters. I still wear the concert shirt. Miss you Grandma Jean.