Or it doesn't, actually.
Sometimes life ends.
This happened to be the case of one great grandmother recently. A lady who truly understood what it meant to live through hard times. A lady who was a survivor. A lady who fought so hard for all the things she loved.
She lost this last battle to cancer. And the sprout will never know his great grandma. Sure, he's met her and spent time with her. But being only one, he will not carry these memories with him.
Instead he will hear of how she survived the war in France.
He will learn that she once hemmed pants for Picasso, who offered to pay her in art. But she was so poor that she asked for money instead.
He will hear about how she came to Canada to have a better life for daughters, only to be swindled, left penniless and alone, with her daughters back home.
He will find out that grandpa lent her the money to bring them together. The same man who sat in the front row at her funeral and could not stand because he was crying so much.
He will learn that she had trouble pronouncing names and it took her years to say daddy's name, called mummy "brawny-winny" for the longest time and never quite got your name.
She was a woman who continued to love after life took away so much, and everything indicated that she should be defeated.
But she never was.
We will miss you, grandma.