My husband’s grandmother passed away last Friday. I was out of town when he called me, standing in the middle of a Kroger grocery store in Indiana to be exact. He wasn’t going to call, but his brother (correctly) suggested that he should let me know, even if I was on “vacation” for the weekend. I took in the information, asked him a million times if he wanted me to come home and, after he assured me I should stay, put it away. I just shut it off in my head. I thought about it, but couldn’t react to it. I went through the rest of the weekend, accomplishing what I was there to do, spend time with my friend who I don’t see very often and finish my Bachelorette scrapbook.

On the drive home I thought about Grandma Porter, all of the times I got to spend with her, what a truly classy lady she was, how I always enjoyed her stories and how she always made me feel like I was family, even 6 years ago when I was B’s “new” girlfriend. I still didn’t react though, I just thought.

Her memorial service is tomorrow. Starting at 9am and going until 2:30pm. I’m nervous. I’m afraid the emotion that has been sitting in reserve will spill out and I’ll be a big mess. I’m afraid that the things I haven’t “dealt” with yet will flood over me and some one is going to have to mop me off the floor. I’m also afraid that this won’t happen, I’ll stay composed and the emotions will be held in reserve again.

I don’t know how to cope with this one. I can still hear her voice telling stories in my head, almost as if she’s right there next to me. I can see her face, and her wide smile. She had such a soothing tone, so soft spoken and so full of love. I keep feeling that if I had known the last time was the last, I would have given her a bigger, tighter goodbye hug.

Cross your fingers for me that I make it through tomorrow retaining some form of composure, but letting myself grieve too. I hope my husband can do the same, I don’t think he’s completely dealt with it either.

My grandmother passed away last week. I flew to Florida to attend her wake and funeral. I was accompanied by my mom, who hasn’t flown in 10 years and was scared beyond belief. We made it though, without incident I might add.

It was a tough weekend. I was happy to see my grandpa (Papa) and my Aunt who I haven’t seen in five years, and spend some time with my (step) sister. It sucked that it came this way, but life has it’s subtle reminders for you. Take time, or live with the regret. I get to spend the rest of my life wondering what kind of relationship I could have had with my grandmother (Gramme) had I picked up the phone and called or written a letter. All I have are the memories of an 8 year old girl, blurry though they are, they’re special to me.

The grandmother I remember was not the frail body I saw this weekend. I don’t know what they did to her, but she was not there. I’ve never done well at funerals. I don’t handle bodies very well typically. This time, however, I was ok. I cried and hugged family, but I also said goodbye, something I can’t normally handle. I’m so grateful I could do it this time, I think I really needed it.

After the wake and funeral, we shared stories and memories of days that have long passed, it was nice to wake up in a house that I had only a childs memory of, and it was still the same. The furniture, unmoved, pictures still hung in the same place, the toast and tea for breakfast, everything just like it “used to be”. Though, I am older now, I reverted back to feeling like I was that little girl again.

It was the hardest trip home I’ve had to make, I cried more in the last 4 days than I have in months. Real, genuine tears. I have promised myself I will not let years pass by again before my next visit and I will pick up the phone and call my grandpa more often. He’s such a sweet man, I miss him already…

On my way to Orlando Airport yesterday, my husband called with some grim news of our dog. Apparently he couldn’t move the back half of his body anymore and was dragging himself around. The prognosis was a herniated disc (most likely). He’s on steroid therapy for a few weeks and they are hoping it will heal itself and he’ll be fine. If it doesn’t work, it means surgery and no guarantee that it will help at all. The thought of having to put that poor puppy (he’s only 7) to sleep breaks my heart, but it hurts more to see the sadness that has consumed my husband. Rocky is literally one of his best friends.

Let’s hope this is the end of my thunderstorm and I get to see the sunlight soon.