She was Nana to my wife. She was GG to my kids. She was 99 when she passed away on Friday morning.

She woke up, had breakfast, buzzed the nurse and told her that she was going to die now.

Nana let go once she learned that her 96-year-old baby sister was going to be looked after in a nursing home. At 99 and 96, the two sisters amazingly lived on their own. Nana took care of her sister.

She had a great sense of humor. After a recent heart attack, she joked to my wife that maybe she'll hold off on buying that blouse she had her eye on; the one she would wear for her 100th birthday party in December.

She squeaked when she laughed and she called everyone dearheart. She had so much love inside of her for her family that she would glow when she saw us. She would whimper and quiver with joy, tears flowing.

"Come," she'd squeak with a big smile. "Come inside dearhearts."

She was a sweet and lovely person who will be deeply missed.

Diabetes, of course, won't give us a moment to mourn.

When we're following two other cars through Long Island wine country to the funeral home and we all need to pull over on the grass when Charlie feels low and needs to be tested.

When Charlie is drinking so much because of high blood sugars that by the time we're standing at the gravesite, he's got to pee and can't hold it. I take him to the car, where he fills a large red plastic cup almost to the top like I'm filling beer from a keg. Now I've got a warm cup of pee and I'm standing amongst hundreds of tombstones wondering where I can possibly dump it without desecrating someone's remains.

On the long drive home, the kids looked pensive in the back as we stared at low clouds that looked like a squadron of lavender whales. The whales slowly became one - morphing into a giant Thanksgiving turkey.

"There's no carbs in clouds," Charlie said. "I can eat as much cloud as I want."

He thought again about GG.

"When I die, I'm gonna try not to die."