I spent the weekend at home with the parents so that we could make a special trip this afternoon. The mission was simple: I wanted to place flowers on the grave of my maternal grandmother, Mildred, who was born 100 years ago today.

When I was little, both of my parents worked; during the day, I would stay with her. When I started school, she would pick me up when it let out. She was a major influence on me until her death, far too young, at 74. At the time, I was 12.

Shortly before she died, I interviewed her for a composition I was writing for an English class. She wasn’t thrilled with the topic, “My Favorite Old-Timer,” and her answer to my first question, “When were you born?” was, “Am I supposed to tell the truth?”

I’ll post more about that interview and what she had to say about growing up in the early part of the 20th century in a very rural community later this summer.

One of the things I remember most about her was the way she treated others. She would help anyone who needed it. She treated everyone the same. My dad has said many times over the years that she treated him like he was her son, not her son-in-law. She treated me like I was her son, not her grandson.

She was the first person very close to me who I lost, and it was a lesson about death that I would never really have been ready to learn. My biggest regret, I think, is not really having the opportunity to know her as an adult. I would have loved the chance to talk with her about worried I would have later in life. It’s hard to believe that she had been gone for 25 years.

Interestingly enough, for people who enjoy these kind of numerical coincedences — I have an aunt who delights in them — my grandmother, the oldest of ten children, was 37 when she had my mom, who was the youngest of five. My mom was 37 when my grandmother died. And I’m 37 as we pause to celebrate what would have been her 100th birthday. Odd, isn’t it?

My mom said she would have been “tickled” to know that we placed flowers on her grave today. It was something I just really wanted — even needed — to do today. There are those rare times when I think she’d be proud of me. Most of the time, I have my doubts for reasons I can’t always explain.