The Pod Got Smaller

After hours of reading smutty Danielle Steal novels and chatting about nothing to make sure Grammy only heard our voices, and not the constant beeping of the many machines that surrounded her, the doctors turned everything off. She was slipping into her "pain management" phase which only gave her about 10 minutes more of eyes open and one word comments. Everyone was talking with the doctors, and I sat beside her. I was sobbing and held her hand. I pleaded to her and the nonexistent people around me to let her hear my words, "I love you Grammy, I just love you Grammy." I said this over and over until, she finally spoke back to me, "I love you and Morgan." That was it, she said nothing more. Her last words were about her love for my sister and I. Unknowingly, Dave was in the doorway listening and instantly sat beside me and Grammy. We watched as she slipped into an awkward paced breathing, but a calm finality. Her last words were of love. Love that I cannot explain. She was a grumpy lady, and me, a straight forward smart-mouth. She loved that I told her to "shut her face" and she would smile and say, "Boy, you've got a mouth on you." I would make fun of her age by telling her "depends" jokes and she would crack up. We had a special kind of relationship where she didn't have to play the victim, or be passive-aggressive, or play all sides. She was real, herself, and I am so glad that she shared that with me.

We are a small group of people; a small family of 6. On this day, one year ago, we lost one of our own, and now we are 5. I miss her so much my tummy hurts.

Cheers to you Grammy and I love you as well...