so it is.

My grandma died this weekend. Saturday night, at about 10:15. A few hours after I left the nursing home. I wish I had stayed. My dad was there, by himself, when his mom died, and somehow that feels wrong to me. But the thing about living in the nursing home that my grandma was always afraid of was dying alone. That was the one thing that she really, really didn't want and so I am glad my dad was there. He spent Thursday night there on a sofa, and my uncle spent Friday night, and Dad was going to spend Saturday night.

I miss her already, in a way that I'll never miss my grandfather. I had very different relationships with them. My grandma's family was her whole world. Her kids meant everything to her, and in her eyes they were pretty much perfect. Approaching that, she adored her grandchildren, and that includes me. It sounds conceited to say that she used to light up when my brother and/or I would visit her, but it isn't. It's just that her family was so precious to her that visiting members made her whole day. I don't think anyone is ever going to love me as unconditionally and think of me so highly as my grandmother did. She waitressed until she was well into her seventies, and she used to keep all of the change from her tips and take turns giving it to me, my brother, and my cousin. I think the container full usually came to around $15, which seems like a small fortune when you're six.

She was the kind of grandmother that I wish everyone could have. We used to spend a lot of time in the summer out at the lake. She was a terrific gardener - she had one of the greenest thumbs of anyone I've known. I never used to eat fruit, hardly ever, but I liked her raspberries. I have an afghan that she crocheted for me years ago, and I loved it so much when I was little that I used the colors in it as the color scheme for my bedroom when we first built our house. She taught me to crochet, and I wasn't bad at it, but I haven't even tried it in so long that I know I've forgotten how now. She was a great cook, too, and she never failed to cook too much. She didn't care for leftovers though, so there was seldom any chance of leaving the table until she'd coaxed you into having a second, or even third, helping of just about anything.

Her cookie jar, at least in my memory, was never empty. Usually it was full of either molasses cookies or chocolate chip. I used to lie to my parents in the summer and tell them I was going up to the house to go to the bathroom when really I was going into the empty kitchen to sneak a few more cookies.

I really think she's in a better place now. She was tired, and she didn't like living in the nursing home, although she loved most of the people who worked there.

Church was hard on Sunday. It was therapeutic, but then everyone's condolences came after the service, and it was hard to hear them without bawling all over the place. I continue to cry in random spurts, but they seem to be getting a little shorter, which is good. I haven't done much sleeping either. But it will come eventually.

The funeral is Thursday evening. Any thoughts and prayers for my family, especially my dad and aunts and uncles, are so much appreciated. It has been hard enough losing two grandparents in three months; I cannot imagine losing both parents in that time frame.