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When I read or hear about a centenarian, it always reminds me of my grandmother Leila. Even though she wasn’t one.

Leila Myrtle Jones – later Leila Myrtle Jones Horne, later Leila Myrtle Jones Horne Byrd – was born June 26, 1899. On June 26, 1999, she would have been 100. Had she lived six months beyond that, to January 1, 2000, she would have lived in three centuries.

It was a subject that came up regularly through the years, especially as she got older.

Someone would declare that Leila would outlive us all. She would roll her eyes and say, “Lawwwrd, I’ll be surprised if I’m still here a week from Sunday!”

Leila didn‘t live 100 years, and she didn‘t live in three centuries. She died at age 94 in the early morning hours of October 25, 1993, at a retirement home in Lawrenceville, Georgia.

Her eyesight was gone, and she got around in a wheelchair, but she was mentally sharp and tart-tongued to the last.

On the night of Oct. 24, she listened to a baseball game on the radio, then went to bed. During the night, she died of heart failure.

We know she died quickly, because one of the nurses saw it happen.

The nurse entered Leila’s room on her regular rounds. As she did, Leila suddenly sat up in bed, wide-eyed, staring straight ahead, looking surprised.

After a few seconds, she sighed, closed her eyes, and slowly slumped down again, her back against the headboard. The doctors came quickly, but she was gone.

We take people for granted. Especially the ones we are closest to. We forget that everyone – every aging grandma, every far-off cousin, every friend from long ago – has a unique life story. Sometimes, their stories are surprisingly noteworthy.

I was always close to Leila. I often told her she made the best fried chicken in Georgia. But I never looked her in the eye and praised her for being the first woman in our family to earn a college degree.

I bragged on her biscuits, but I never said I admire her immensely for being a single mom who ran her own business through the Great Depression.

Leila was a great lady. Her blackberry cobbler was the best on the planet, and I told her so. But I wish I had said more.

For years, Leila never missed a Braves baseball game. She listened on AM radio and later watched on television. After glaucoma took her eyesight, she went back to radio, and still never missed a Braves game.

The Braves were riding high in those days. They had played in the World Series in 1991 and 1992, and they hoped to repeat in 1993.

But they didn’t make it. They were eliminated in the playoffs. The Toronto Blue Jays went on to beat the Philadelphia Phillies for the championship. They did it in game six, on October 23, the night before Leila died.

Probably, the game she listened to on the radio that night was a rerun of the final Blue Jays/Phillies game.

It’s a comfort that Leila got to hear one last baseball game before she died. It wasn’t a Braves game, but it was the last game of the World Series, and that’s pretty good.

Leila Myrtle Jones Horne Byrd (1899-1993)