She left this world for the next.

She’s gone.

I’ve started this entry more than once. Yet, I haven’t finished it. Writing it down. Saying it. Finishing it. That makes it real. Then she’s really gone. Forever. They’re really gone. Forever.

My heart aches. How do you say goodbye to someone who’s been with you for your whole damn life? That song. Those lyrics. Sum up my life these days. How could you leave us all behind? There’s so much to say, but so little time.

The time is over. It’s done. I was blessed with 41 years with my Grandma. Yet, it wasn’t enough. It’ll never be enough. She wasn’t just my grandma. He wasn’t just my grandpa. They were my parents. My mom and dad. They raised me the best they could when I had nobody else to raise me. They taught me my morals and work ethics. They taught my integrity and to work hard for what you want. They taught me how to love, how to give yourself to others unconditionally. They taught me old school values. They showed me what love was and how you deserve to be treated by your spouse. They were my whole life. They loved me when I didn’t love myself.

It hurts. So much more than I thought it would. I’m thankful she isn’t in pain anymore. She isn’t confused. She’s reunited with the love of her life who she spent nearly 6 long months apart from. She wasn’t ready to go. I wasn’t. I never would have been.  But losing both of them in 2 days shy of 6 months. Heartbreaking.

As I sit here typing the tears fall so hard I hear them hitting the comforter. Like rain on a roof. My chest aches. My brain wants to just forget. Live in denial. Stay so busy I can’t remember.

---

She was doing so good. So fucking good. Then she fell on 2/15 and broke her elbow. My mother – God I hate her – convinced her to get surgery or she’d never walk again as her arm wouldn’t be strong enough for the walker. She’d of never walked again anyways as after 6 weeks of recovery she’d of been too weak and out of shape. But what do I know. They did the surgery later that week.

She never bounced back. She laid in bed. Sat in her chair. Those first couple of weeks after surgery. Miserable. Not wanting to eat. She just laid there. Sleeping. She’d wake up when I came. Wake up even more if I brought “her” dog. Those days she’d smile big. She’d take a few bites.

After two weeks she quit eating. She knew she wasn’t healing right. She knew this wasn’t the life she wanted to live. Her memory was mostly gone. She remembered me. The dog. But barely knew my mother. She told me she loved me every single time. But her will to live was decreasing. Daily. Anyone could see this – but my mother.

Week 3 they wanted to begin Comfort Care. This is essentially the nursing homes version of hospice. Switching to liquid meds every 2 hours. Keeping them comfortable. Knowing with this med dose they probably won’t wake up much. If at all. I agreed. It was time. This was no life to live. My mother wouldn’t agree. She said yes. Then declared to only give her meds when my mother decided she needed them.

I was going every single day to sit with her. While working 70 hours a week. I’d go after work at 9:30 and stay until after midnight. Talking. Holding her hand. Demanding meds while my mother just sat in the corner on her electronics. She never sat by her. Just in the room. Like she wanted to say she was there but didn’t really want to be there.

I talked to the wall a lot. Knowing she could maybe hear me. I argued with my mother a lot about medicating her. About the signs that showed she wasn’t comfortable. I came on a Saturday after she’d finally started the liquid morphine Friday. My mom announces she was asleep because of the meds. She’d never wake up again. Because I had insisted on the meds. She was now dying because of me. I looked at her and said – She was already dying. Now she’s dying comfortably.

We still had to fight about the meds that week. My mother was still going 8+ hours without them when they were to be every 2 hours. If we give them to her like that she’ll die faster – Lady this is no quality of life. She wants to die. I know her wishes. She drilled them into me my whole life. She didn’t want this.

Finally, on a Monday I spent the night with her. The end was nearing. I could tell. I gauged meds and got a good schedule going. Two hours was a little much. 5 hours was far too long. She needed them more and would need them more frequently each day. The dumb lady kind of followed my directions after that. Kind of. I still had to show up repeatedly each day. Every break I got. And remind them it was med time.

That day we for the whole night and day together. I talked. A lot. I worked from there. I played her church music. I held her hand. I told her it was okay. I told her stories from my childhood. From current events she was missing. I watched her suffer and knew we had to end it. I silently begged God just to take her no matter how much it hurt me. I told her everything I wish we could talk about.

I went even more that week. Managed meds. Held her hand. Told her I loved her. I was exhausted. Barely holding on. Yet doing everything I could to be there. My boss was getting worried about me. I was too exhausted to be worried about myself.

She made it through the week. Each day I thought it would be her last. 3 weeks without food. She’d forgotten how to suck and swallow. She was so skinny. She looked like a holocaust survivor. Her eyes would open but she wasn’t there really. She couldn’t speak. She’d move her arms like something was wrong. Make uncomfortable noise. It is one of the worst things I’ve ever watched. We treat animals more humanely putting them down then making them suffer like this.

Sunday, 3/23/25, I went and spent the day. I made sure she had meds every two hours. My mother left and let me be there alone. I held her hand which she gripped so tightly still. She held my hand tightly until the end. She loved me.

I sat there that day and said the words I didn’t want to say… I told her it was okay. She’d lived a long life full of love and it was okay to let go. We’d be okay. I’d take care of my uncle and make sure he was cared for the rest of his life. I’d make sure the dog was happy the rest of his life. We’d hurt and I’d be sad but it was okay to let go. It was time. She could go be with Papa again. I told her I wish I could be there for that reunion. That it was going to be amazing. They were never meant to live their lives apart. Told her how much I missed him and how someday I’d join them too and couldn’t wait for that. I talked about my childhood and how lucky I was to be loved by her. I cried while I talked. Cried while I said my final good byes. Knowing this was it. Knowing she just needed to be told it would be okay.  Knowing the end was soon. So soon. Finally, I just asked if she’d take care of my beautiful daughter. I could take care of the people here but I needed her to meet Annabelle. To just love her in the new world she was going to and to tell her how much I missed her but how lucky she was to get my grandparents for eternity. I told her I loved her and I was sad but it was okay to let go. To relax. I brushed her hair away from her face. Played with it like I did as a kid. Reassured her.

My mom returned eventually and commented her breathing had changed. I hadn’t even noticed but yes the Agonal breathing had begun. I knew it wouldn’t be long. At that moment I knew her soul had already gone and it was just her body finishing up. She was gone. Completely gone. Just her physical body remained.

I left that evening. Knowing I’d never see my Grandma again. My mom called shortly later to tell me she had passed. She was gone. No, she’d been gone for awhile. Just her body quit.

And that’s it. She’s gone. She’s out of pain. She’s somewhere fabulous with her beloved husband and my perfect baby girl. With all the loved ones that passed before her.

---

It’s been rough. I cry the most at night and the weekends. I miss her. I miss my Grandpa.

The weekends get me as I still have the thoughts I need to get to the nursing home. It’s too much free time. I’ve spent a year filling every ounce of free time sitting with my grandparents in the nursing home. Now I have endless free time. It’s awful really.

It’ll get better. Someday. Both are pain free and somewhere better. That’s all that matters. It just hurts.

Will I ever hear “I love you” again? My own mother has never said it that I can remember. I have no serious relationship. The only person that always told me how much she loved me was my Grandma. That’s probably one of the things that hurts me the most. No hugs. No I love yous. Nobody looking out for me. I’m officially alone in this world. And it fucking sucks.

I always told myself when I was exhausted juggling it all someday I’d miss it and not to complain. Well, I was right. I miss it. I miss them. So much.

And with that. I’m a sobbing mess. Yet again. This is why I’ve avoided this entry. It fucking hurts.