The world is a diminished place now, as my beloved grandmother, Bettye Planque Wedeking Horrall, died last week, aged 98 years and 51 weeks. She was our “Mamoo,” the matriarch of our very close family, the moral compass of all our disparate generations. She was also just plain tremendous fun, always laughing from the beginning of her long life to the end.
She was my mother’s mother, and as I get older, I see more resemblance among the four generations of our family’s little girls. There is something in the twinkle of our eyes, I think. Here is my mother, aged six.