My life was incredibly blessed by the ability to meet and get to know five of my great grandparents.

I’ve written here before about Nan and Pop, my mother’s maternal grandparents, and I also had Ma and Pa, my dad’s grandparents, who I got to spend time with on numerous occasions.

With that incredible blessing, though, came the unfortunate experience of having to say goodbye as the oldest generation of our family slowly dwindled. Each passing harbored its own reason for tears and brought up a slew of memories.

Until March 6, the last living member of that level of our family tree, and arguably the one with the most unique grandparent name, was my Great Florida Grandma.

Known to the world as Delores Van Camp, she was my mother’s paternal grandmother, and while she was born in Michigan, she spent most of her life in Florida, hence the reference in the name me and my brother called her (Great Grandma who lives in Florida= Great Florida Grandma).

For most of my life, and well before it I imagine, you never saw without her hair and makeup done. She was an incredible spark of energy that instantly brightened whatever room she was walking into.

Her nearly 40-year teaching career was spent in the public school system in Miami. While I know that she cared about the many kids that she taught and enjoyed shaping young minds for future success in the world, there’s a part of me that wonders whether there wasn’t a small part of her that enjoyed teaching for the performative aspect of the job.

In her younger years, she would sing on occasion at her parents’ restaurant. She had an appreciation for the arts and encouraged us to use our talents. Great Florida Grandma was able to goad a piano tune from my brother even as he was still learning and would sometimes sing along.

Now he’s a professional pianist. Anyone that had the pleasure of meeting her quickly learned that she had an indescribable aura about her. Maybe the most perfect example of what is commonly referred to as a “spitfire.”

Her sense of humor was wicked in the best way. While sitting around the table catching up one time, someone lamented that they didn’t have a chair to sit in, so she stuck her thumb out like she was hailing a taxi and told them “Here, have a seat.”

Then she laughed, almost as if she didn’t think she should be but couldn’t help herself. Great Florida Grandma was a joy to be around, but she also wasn’t afraid to let you know what she was thinking whether it was about a decision you were making that she didn’t agree with or even mentioning in passing that you look like you put on some weight.

During one of our visits to Florida, we went to eat at an old Italian restaurant called Lorenzo’s, the kind of place that still had checkered tablecloths and an accordion player on hand.

As we were leaving, another driver cut her off in the parking lot and, without hesitation, she proceeded to call the man a son of a word that I won’t repeat here.

She was tough and passionate, possibly a result of her deep Greek heritage, but she also endured heartbreaks that would be too much for even the most stoic individual.

On a separate visit where my brother and I got to spend a week with her during the summer, we stopped at a gas station for a fill up. As she pulled her wallet out to get money to go in and pay, I happened to notice her driver license.

In that tactful way that I tended to as a kid, I asked her, “Why are you making such a weird face in your photo?”

She then explained to me that right before renewing her license, she got the news that her husband, my great grandfather, was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s, the disease that would eventually take his life the year I was born.

Great Florida Grandma also had to say goodbye to both parents, all of her siblings, some of her children and other friends and family along the way, a particularly hard downside of living to the age of 94.

Despite that, she had the best smile, and I think those losses informed her immense desire to take care of her family, particularly her many grand and great-grandkids.

Some of my earliest memories of Great Florida Grandma revolve around Christmas. We never actually spent Christmas together, but she always made sure that she sent us something in the mail.

We’d get excited that we got a gift in the mail and then be disappointed that it was a new pack of socks and underwear. On a couple of occasions, she would take us on a shopping trip to a department store where we were a little aggravated that we were only buying some clothes for the upcoming school year.

It occurs to me now that she was just trying to make sure we had the things we needed, a tradition she had originally started with my mom and her brother.

As we got older, she would send us a little money in a card for Christmases, birthdays and even for Greek Easter, a holiday that we never celebrated and wasn’t even completely sure when it was. She just wanted to do something nice.

Even before I was old enough to know much about the world, she stepped in in a big way.

When I was diagnosed with Craniosynostosis at six months old, there were a lot of factors that went into the planning for the surgery I would eventually have to correct it, one of which was the logistics of where my parents would stay so they could be close by.

The hospital wasn’t an option, and they had reached out to an organization that helps with those kinds of things only to be denied. But Great Florida Grandma stepped in and footed the bill for a hotel room as long as they needed.

It was never about flaunting anything but simply taking care of those she cared about. Back and forth from a job with an incredibly long commute, I would call and check in with her every couple of weeks, something I now wish I had done about ten times as much. Every now and then she would repeat herself and occasionally seem to get certain details about who I was confused, but they remain some of my favorite conversations.

There are countless memories I could share about Great Florida Grandma. Trips to the zoo and other outings as a kid, entire days spent checking out a local antique store circuit to see what she could add to her collection or dinner at Burger King where we each got to use a $1 Chicken Sandwich coupon and then share an order of fries.

She was one of the most singular people I’ve ever had the pleasure of knowing. To try and be like her could only ever be a pale imitation at best. We can only try and live by the lessons she left behind.

We went to a Build-A-Bear one time to make a stuffed animal. Before we went in, she explained very intently to us that she would pay for the bear, but any other clothes or accessories that we got with it, we would have to pay for out of our spending money.

It didn’t really make sense at the time, but that experience taught us a lot about the value of money and that if we wanted something, we had to be willing to pay for it.

All of my life was spent referring to her as Great Florida Grandma, a name that was decided before I was born. That’s how she signed every card she sent, and when I would call her on those long rides home, I would always start with “Hello Great Florida Grandmother” so she knew it was me.

But reflecting on my time with her and the life that she led as a totally inimitable force, I realize now that she wasn’t just a Great Florida Grandma. She was the absolute best one a guy could ask for, and I already miss her dearly.

How could you not?