She was released from the hospital earlier in the day after being in for almost a week with pneumonia. My grandfather came by three times that day to check on her, and the first time she was really grouchy, so he said he'd let her rest. He came back twice, and both times she was sleeping. Eventually they realized she wasn't breathing and began CPR even though she was DNR. My aunt walked in at that point. All in all, her heart gave out.
Her funeral was beautiful and fit for my Grandma with a rainy day and tons of flowers. She would've wanted as much drama and love shown as possible. She loved attention and for people to take care of her. We made several jokes about it, but nonetheless, that was my grandma.
I feel so badly for my grandfather. He's lived alone now for seven months since she's been in the nursing home, but he's gone to see her every single day and sometimes twice a day. He said several times that she's better off because she was so sick. On Wednesday he was reading the paper and saw her name and just broke down into tears. He would think of something that he needed to tell Grandma or take to her and then get choked up. After seeing her on Wednesday in the funeral home, he was in a daze. He stared off into space and said, "Her blush was too dark." I went up there to talk to the funeral director about it, and upon seeing her...I just can't describe it. It didn't feel real. She didn't look like my grandmother. She was cold. Her glasses were missing. Her face was almost skeletal. Her lipstick was a tad too pink. Her eyebrows were too dark. Her face was too relaxed. She was too thin. She just wasn't right.
Before I realized what I was saying, I called out, "Please, Grandma, wake up." I touched her hand as if to startle her. I kissed her forehead and left.
She's no longer sick. She's at peace.
I love you, Grandma.
August 2004
June 2008 
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