Grandma has officially been gone two years. It’s been two years living in her house without her. Two years of questions that I think she’ll know the answer to, and realizing she isn’t here to answer them. Two years of solo visits to the graveside to leave a flower or just sit and cry. Two years to work through the guilt.
The month before grandma passed away I was dog sitting for a friend. I stayed in the friend’s apartment for a few days and had a little staycation. I came home to Grandma’s long enough to unpack, repack and go to my parents’ house next door. I was so tired I didn’t even chat much with Grandma. I laid down in my bed and then left again. My parents were going on a trip and I was staying with my youngest siblings.
Long story short I got sick with pneumonia and ended up staying for a couple weeks at my parent’s house while I recovered. Even when I felt better I wasn’t allowed to go home, just in case. We didn’t want to get Grandma sick. The day I came home Grandma was moved into her bedroom where they had placed a hospital bed. She cried out in pain while they moved her from one bed to another. Grandma was always in pain.
Grandma had been on hospice for several months, but that last month she took a hard turn. My aunt said it was time to call everyone to come say goodbye. My aunts and uncles all came to town and had their last moments with grandma. I was able to tell her I loved her, and sit with her at night while my aunts and mom took turns dozing. I don’t think anyone really slept that week.
One night we all sat in her room, surrounding the bed, singing hymns. Grandma was hardly able to open her mouth for a drink of water or dose of medicine, but she sang along to the hymn, “I Know That My Redeemer Lives”. It felt irreverent, but I took a video.
We all lingered around the next couple of days. I volunteered to pick my sister up from school and take my cousin to taco bell for a snack. I left around 2:45 p.m. and when we got back at 3:15 my mom met us outside to tell me Grandma had passed away.


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