RIP.

So everyone's heard the news by now - political journalism great Tim Russert died last week, and our field and "Meet The Press" will never be the same again.

I had originally planned on blogging about that, but something much more near to my heart has happened since then.

My grandma Ester died yesterday. She was 73 and had been battling cancer since March. The doctors caught it late, so it was already spreading by the time they'd found it.

I can't lie - her life is a mystery to me. Everything is in bits and pieces.

But this is what I do know.

I know that she was the second-to-last born in her family, out of eight children. I remember she told me a story of how strict her father was once.

I know she married my grandpa Ludias, though I don't know how old they were at the time. I've seen the one photo from that day though - she looked beautiful and so young.

I know they were still in the Philippines when they had seven children, my mother being the firstborn. One died after falling and hitting her head. Not too long after that, my grandparents moved to the United States, bringing their young family with them.

I know they moved here to Stockton, where I am at the moment. They eventually bought the house that I'm currently sleeping in. After I was born in 1988, they nearly had a new grandchild born every year for a while.

I know she had a falling out with my grandpa, and I haven't yet asked what it was about. I don't know if I'll ever have the courage to.

But I also know she never took off her wedding band, despite all the anger she felt towards him. And I do know that they reconciled before she died. He came to see her in the hospital Saturday afternoon, and they talked for a while.

I know that my grandma worked hard for everything she had. She had a work ethic that isn't evident in a lot of people anymore, myself included.

I know her family loved her. I've seen my mom's sister and brothers, as well as cousins I don't remember meeting before now. They're all here for her.

I know that she's in a better place. I'm not exactly the most religious person, but I do think she's gone on to a better place where the cancer isn't plaguing her anymore.

And I do know that I'll miss her. I know that I'm not going through my mother must be going through - I can't imagine that, losing my own mother - but it still hurts.

I've done quite a bit of crying since yesterday morning, and I'm sure the crying will continue through the week during my impromptu break. I've yet to e-mail the editors about why I'm not going to be at work this week, though I did leave messages to give them the basics.

But it's things like this that make me remember that there is more to life than work and success and getting ahead in life. There's family and there's love. And while I do want to be successful someday, I can't let that get in the way of being there for my family and having one of my own someday.

That's what I learned from her, you know. And I'll always be grateful I did.