My last grandparent passed in February.

Ada Laurie Bryant (“Nanna” to me and my cousins) was a woman of wisdom and grace, radiant in every sense of the word, right to the end at age 103.

Nanna was both an aficionado of and a participant in the arts. She enjoyed performing in community theater during her younger years, and she took me to my first play when I was a kid: an off-Broadway production of “Annie” in Philadelphia.

She took up drawing and painting when she was in her 50s, and she had quite a knack for it. Several of her works adorn my walls, including large pencil-drawn portraits of me as a teenager and of herself in 1973.

My very favorite childhood memory is from a late-summer night at the big family home in Princeton, New Jersey. I don’t recall how old I was — somewhere in the upper single digits — but I was staying there for a couple of weeks while my parents took some much-needed vacation time. Grampa was snoring loud enough to blow the windows out, and the combination of heat and humidity was unbearable. (There was no central air conditioning.) I couldn’t sleep, and neither could Nanna.

So she did the only logical thing she could do: She beckoned me downstairs for Milano cookies and milk, and then took me for a midnight swim in our cotton nightgowns! It was glorious: The fireflies were out, the woods behind her house were alive with nighttime noises, and the water was just right.

I started to panic a little when my nightgown clung to my legs, restricting my ability to kick; but Nanna smiled and said: “Tonight, my dear, we are mermaids!” And so we spent the rest of our time out there swimming with our legs together as if we had tails, engaging in mermaid adventures.

After I slid back into my bed sometime after midnight, pleasantly exhausted, I slept quite peacefully with my damp hair keeping me cool.

Best. Night. Ever.

Nanna’s 104th birthday would have been this coming Monday, April 22 — the date that also marks my mother’s death a year ago. It’s gonna be a rough time for me, but I am trying to focus on the joys rather than the sorrows.

Helping me through it will be my fuzzy support group at home, including one new dog: a 10-year-old pittie mix that I’ve renamed Grace. I adopted her from PAWS in March, and she is a sweetheart — but she has no physical grace whatsoever, hence her name.

Just one example: Instead of lying alongside me in my big chair, like Rose does, Grace prefers to sprawl crosswise — with her head on one arm of the chair, her feet on the other arm and her midsection across my lap. I can’t even imagine how that could be comfortable, but she loves it. Rose looks at her sideways, but still manages to create a space for herself each evening. Even the cats have adapted to their rambunctious big sister: Last week, for the first time, they all joined us on the chair for a movie.

I take both dogs to the beach as often as possible, and they love it; though, like Rose, Grace won’t go near the surf. So when my brothers took us to Luther Burbank Park on Mercer Island recently, I was flabbergasted when Grace dove into Lake Washington right behind Harold (their black Lab) to go after his ball. Over and over again, she chased him into the lake and back. It was a joy to watch! Next time, I’ll know to take an extra towel along.

And no, this old mermaid will not be jumping in to swim with her anytime soon. Brrr.

Kat Bryant is lifestyle editor of The Daily World and editor of Washington Coast Magazine. She’s preparing for next week with chocolate, tissues and funny movies. Reach her at kbryant@thedailyworld.com or on Facebook at Kat Bryant-DailyWorld.