Healing...

I spent the majority of today searching. Ostensibly, I was searching for whooping cranes. And, I guess I sort of was. But why? Because there is something about their majesty, and their call (the sound that I believe to be one of the most wild a person can hear), and their rarity... makes me feel a little closer to God somehow. I would guess it's because those things are something they share with our God... He's the most majestic. He's the wildest. He's so rare - there's no other, ANYWHERE.

But I wasn't just searching for them... I was searching for a connection. A connection with God. A connection where comfort flowed in. Because now, more than in the past three months in many regards, I need comfort. Comfort and reassurance... God, and God alone, knows why exactly this is. Today, while standing at the top of a 30 foot observation tower, I had the privilege of watching two weather fronts collide and brew up a storm. Thunder rumbling constantly, lighting flashing from cloud to cloud, bands of rain racing across the marshland. It played out in front of me like a theater, a production put on just for me, by a God who took a moment to say He's there and He does care.

In spite of all this, I feel somehow empty and alone tonight. My husband is here with me. And I love him so much. I'm concerned I've let him think I don't want or need him... or that I've made him think he doesn't have anything to offer... or that I've taken our marriage for granted. It's weird... I want to curl up on the couch and just talk and snuggle. But I don't know what I'd say. And I'm scared that if I reveal what's really inside, and my husband does what he so often has lately (listens with compassion, and then in a desperate attempt to avoid the pain in himself and to avoid causing me more pain, starts joking around about things unrelated), I'll get so angry with him. Besides, I'm not even sure what is inside.

I leave with this... very early Sunday morning, I dreamt about Gramma. In the dream, we were alone together. I was talking to her, and she was talking to me. I remember almost every question I asked, but none of the answers. I was asking about death... did she know before she died that she was dying? Was she scared? Was she excited to see Jesus? Did that excitement over ride the grief of leaving us? Did it hurt? Did she see herself? Did she know how she was going to die?

Today, as I drove the 75 miles to the wildlife refuge, I thought repeatedly that she would have loved to go on that trip with me. By the time I got there, most of the excitement of the day had worn off for missing her. And I would have loved to have her there. To talk, to laugh... hug... share the beauty of God's world with each other. And I wish I could ask her the questions that burn in the back of my mind.

Only Dreaming...

I dreamt about her last night. First time in quite a while. In the dream, she was watching us, and talking to us - and laughed and smiled, but I don't remember what she said or what she sounded like. My whole family could see her and talk to her. At the end of the dream, I said to her, "Gramma... I wish you were still alive. I don't want to take this trip all alone." That made her look so sad. And then I woke up.
I'm glad God designed us to be dreamers. Because while I have no illusions about this particular dream being from Him (it definately wasn't), I'm grateful to have seen her. Even though it wasn't her... I don't know if that makes sense at all. Anyway, now I'm off.

Lessons...

On Sunday, we learned about help at church. What about it? We learned that if you need it, you need to ask for it. Ask, and then ask, and ask, and ask until you get it. Perhaps my God had me in mind when He had my Pastor teach on this...

The thing is, I don't know if I actually do need help. In many ways, I really am okay. I'm not depressed, I'm not having any issues with suicide or anything else like that. And while yes, I do wish that I had someone to talk to, someone who would just listen... someone who is a woman, a woman older than me, someone who is Godly and of an upright character... someone trust-worthy, Spirit-filled, gentle (but firm when needed)... someone like the ladies I listed previously... I don't know what I'd say. What does a person say in a situation like that?? "Um... I'm sad." ??? I am sad. But I don't think that's bad. I don't think that it's bad to miss her. The part that I think isn't quite as it should be is how much I cry. And how, no matter what the day holds, I think of her no less than every 15 minutes or so.
I act like I'm doing okay, maybe even like I'm doing great. I say I'm doing well. I try to tell myself that too. And I don't actually know if I am okay... although that really makes no sense, does it?

Nothing...

Nothing much to say tonight. I did want to say thank you to whoever it is that read yesterday's post and left a comment earlier. It's strange - it does help to receive encouragement like that. And it's all something that I DO know in my head - and in my heart. It's just that so much of me is saying NO to the idea that I'm not at fault here. I've been praying a lot the past week or so - asking God for help. Asking Him to help me either get over this absolute conviction that I killed this wonderful and amazing woman, or else help me to be okay with that. Although how anybody could be okay with that, I just don't know.
My heart aches right now, but in the end, I KNOW that eternity awaits me. And I am so excited for that. I wish I didn't have to wait...

Charades

I feel like I'm living one endless charade. One where what I'm portraying is someone who's doing very well, and has it together, is happy, is okay. Yes, in some ways, I AM doing very well, and I DO hold it together... And there are moments of happiness... and I'm sort of okay. But really, I miss her so much. And I feel like I should be okay now - or at least be better than I am. Be happy. I feel like I shouldn't be crying when nobody is looking. I feel like I shouldn't spend so very much time thinking about her. And yet... none of it is so. I ache inside. It's like everything good is tempered with sorrow. Yesterday, we had an Easter celebration at my uncle's house. It was good to see everyone, but I felt like it was an empty imitation of what it used to be like. And that's not right - not even close. The true meaning, which is Jesus, is still the same.

Questions

I have questions. My doctor will answer some... like should I be worried about the dizziness? Is there something I can do to lessen or eliminate it? What about the balance and clumsiness issue? The nausea? Maybe I've just got a bug, I don't know.
The questions that really matter... they can't be answered by my doctor. I want to know about heaven. I want to know what the people there see and/or know about those of us here. I want to know if it's okay to talk to God and ask Him to let them know things - and also, if it IS okay to ask, what about Him doing it... will He? Does He? How's it work?
If my focus is on God... and I believe it is... how come I miss her so much? How come I can't bring myself to talk to anybody about it? There's so few people I'd even consider... My Pastor, but I don't know about that - seems like it's not something I should take his time up with... or Pastor Quam, maybe... Edie, for sure... Shawn... maybe Lynn, but just a little. Jeanne, perhaps, a little - she has a light-hearted exterior, but she loves God and she loves people... I just don't know. There's plenty of people who would be willing beyond the ones I mentioned, but I just can't see doing it. And I don't know what I'd say anyway... In some ways, I want to move on and not miss her so much, not cry so much. In so many other ways, I'm not ready to do that. And even if I was - there's so many reminders, I don't think it would happen anyway.
Found a good song today - I like the words a lot. And it's good to listen to. Here's the words:

Bring The Rain
~MercyMe

I can count a million times
People asking me how I
Can praise You with all that
I've gone through
The question just amazes me
Can circumstances possibly
Change who I forever am in You

Maybe since my life was changed
Long before these rainy days
It's never really ever crossed my mind
To turn my back on you, oh Lord
My only shelter from the storm
But instead I draw closer through these times

So I pray
Bring me joy, bring me peace
Bring the chance to be free
Bring me anything that brings You glory
And I know there'll be days
When this life brings me pain
But if that's what it takes to praise You
Jesus, bring the rain

I am Yours regardless of
The dark clouds that may loom above
Because You are much greater than my pain
You who made a way for me
By suffering Your destiny
So tell me what's a little rain

So I pray
Bring me joy, bring me peace
Bring the chance to be free
Bring me anything that brings You glory
And I know there'll be days
When this life brings me pain
But if that's what it takes to praise You
Jesus, bring the rain

Holy, holy, holy
Is the Lord God Almighty

Plans...

I don't know if I'll follow through on this, because it is a little selfish. And it is also a bit sad, a little pathetic... but it's really what I want. On Mother's day - I want Derek to take his mom out for lunch. And while he's doing that, I want to go to Gramma's grave. By myself. With a little potted plant and a little digging thing, and plant a flower. I don't know if it would live or not... but that's what I want to do. Mother's Day, for me, is the day that I buy a little potted flower and give it to Gramma. And talk to her. And tell her how much she means to me. That I love her. That I couldn't have gotten through my childhood without her. That I owe her more than I could ever repay. That try as I may to be "unique" I'm really just like her. Even the annoying parts - which, though they may be annoying, aren't bad. I can't think of anything bad about her. I know she wasn't a perfect person - had her share of flaws. But really, she's the best woman I've ever known. She's shaped me into who I am - did the best she coulud to make sure I turned out okay. And really, that's what mothers are supposed to be. I've got a mom. I've got a relationship with her that I cherish - a relationship I wasn't sure I'd ever have. Gramma didn't replace her... but, to quote something she wrote in her book to me..."My mother couldn't take care of me & for some unknown reason, neither could yours. I know I can not take her place, but I also know that I loved my grandma as a mother and God made it enough."
That's the best way I know to put it - I loved Gramma fiercely, and in many ways, loved her as a mother (not in PLACE of a mother - just AS a mother). And God made that enough. He made that MORE than enough.
And I just want to spend at least a while on Mother's day with her. I know it's not with her, not really. But if I am there, at her grave, by myself... in the country, where it's quiet and I can really hear myself think, maybe I'll hear something better and more important - God speaking to my heart. Comforting. Encouraging. And maybe He'll help me through, help me know what to do. And maybe, while I'm there in honor of her and in hopes of having God help me... maybe God will let her know that? Maybe she'll see... or maybe He'll tell her... I'm not sure how all that works, but I know there's nothing wrong with asking God to tell her that I love her. And there's definately nothing wrong with asking Him for help and comfort.

When?

So, over all, pain decreasing today. But the localized, sharp pain on the right (deep pain, not surface or muscular) is more intense. Taking two lortab will knock it out, but I can't be doing that much longer - I really don't want to get hooked! I know it's only been a week, but I wonder when that will ease up?

Tomorrow, I go to interview/try out? for a job. As a nanny. For a little boy. I THINK he's five months old, but I'm not sure - I could be wrong on that. I'm hoping this is a good fit - I really would like the extra income ($200 a week isn't a LOT, but it is when it's the compensation for basically hanging out with a little kid for three days). :)

Anyway, I have to go to bed. I'm not really wanting to - I wanna stay up and do mindless things to keep from thinking or feeling, so that I don't miss her, I don't worry about finances, I don't consider that I've been a pretty lousy spouse the past few months... but, I'll go. I'll get past the racing thoughts. And I'll sleep.

Sad night...

I don't know if it's just extra emotions from the painkillers, or from fighting infection (and all the sleep that comes with doing so) or what, but I miss her more than normal right now. I wish so much that I could talk to her. I tried to talk to my husband about it tonight - but all he did was jump in with talking about how cute she was and stuff like that. And laughing about his memories of her. How can I talk about how much I miss her, how much I hurt, when that would take this away from him? I LIKE that he remembers her that way - I LIKE that he's not so upset about it. I LIKE that he can smile and laugh when he thinks about her. I wish it were that same way for me... but it's not. I AM happy for her - and I KNOW she's in heaven, and I know that's for the best (at least for her). I know it's selfish, but I'm sad for me. I don't HAVE any close friends, other than my husband. No women that I can call and talk to about stuff like this. Especially missing the fact that she used to be my advisor. When I didn't know what to do - I could ask her. I don't HAVE that anymore. With anybody. And not only does that hurt, and not only is it hard - I also NEED someone like that. I NEED a Godly woman, one of faith, one who is older, one who is wise, one who is gentle, easy to approach... one who is the sort of person (or at least has some of the qualities) that I want to see myself be. And I don't have it. Selfish though it is, that's one of the hardest things right now.

Clarity

Gonna re-visit the entries regarding my surgery. To say it went well is an understatement. As was explained again today...
The extent of the endometriosis was a shock to the doctor. Not because it's such a horrible disease, but because I am really quite young. And because this is one of those .5% of cases where the complications of the disease could readily become life-threatening. The implants surrounding my ureter would have caused major issues, causing me to possibly loose the kidney (or my life or the life of our baby) had I had a progressing pregnancy, as the flow of urine was obstructed. Had the disease gone undiagnosed for another few years, same problem. One ureter was very bad, the other not quite as bad - but getting there.
Meanwhile, I'm hurting a bit more today in a localized spot on the right. As I think about reasons why, one thing jumps out at me... the implants behind my uterus and to the right were located very very close to a nerve. Meaning that any irritation and/or bleeding would affect that nerve. Meaning that as it heals, there will be more localized pain. Meaning I am no longer worried about that. (Well, the fact that the doctor said as much might play into the not worrying a little too).
There was endometriosis on my uterus, on my tubes, on my ovaries, on my bladder, on my ureters, and my large intestine (as well as abdominal lining, apparently) that she removed. Also, there were a couple small spots on my diaphragm and small intestine, she didn't touch those because they were small and would have been VERY difficult to remove. A lot of adhesions were found, as well, and she released/cauterized/cut those.

As of today, I've got an early infection trying to start in one of the incisions, and possibly a bladder infection. So I'm starting on antibiotics (Ceflax) which will take care of them. If the cultures come back as some unusual strain of bacteria, may add another antibiotic, but the doctor thinks that's pretty unlikely.

Relief

To be honest, I'm relieved. For starters, this surgery should have a VERY positive impact on my fertility. AND it will help each cycle not to be so very miserable. As in no more throwing up, sleeping 16 hours at a shot, and so on. And, to be honest, one of the biggest sources of relief is the fact that this IS NOT all in my head. I've been told by numerous people that our "fertility" issues are there because I need to "just relax" or because it's "not God's time yet" or because we are doing it wrong - wrong position or wrong time. Yes, people have actually said that. Who? Not telling.
Anyway, I still really, really miss Gramma. I wish she was here to celebrate with us - to celebrate this milestone that makes it much more likely that we'll conceive our miracle soon. Wish I could call her up, talk to her on the phone... wish I could hug her, tell her she was loved. Make her something. Write her something. Anything for her...
It's late, though. 12:30 AM. Waiting for the Lortab to kick in... as it is right now, my belly is too sore for sleep. Soon, VERY soon, it will ease off, and I'll have my six hours of relief. Then I'll take a Tramadol and that will hold the edge off enough to sleep a couple more hours, and then I'll take the second tramadol later on (about noon) and that'll see me through the afternoon. I'm HOPING not to need any more tomorrow night, but if I do, that's okay too. I'd like to go down to church tomorrow and talk to Patti about the surgery, let her know how well it went... but if I am all dopey, no can do. We shall see - the pharmacist thought that with the Tramadol I might be able to drive... That would be a bonus.

I feel bad for Derek... he wiped out on his bike today. I haven't checked the bike over, I hope it's not hurt. He'd feel awful if it was. It was a silly mistake on his part - bad angle to cross railroad tracks and down he went. Skinned up his knee and hands, and got a bit of a scrape on his elbow and chin and chest. The way he was whining earlier, I think either he's way over-tired and feeling pain more than normal, or else he's probably got some stuff still in the scrapes. I'll have to have a better look tomorrow - perhaps dope him up with one of my lortab first... We shall see. Meanwhile, he's sleeping peacefully, and I'm grateful.

Had the surgery.

I had the laparoscopy done yesterday. Turns out I'm NOT just a wimp - there was extensive endometriosis (Stage 3), and the doctor was quite suprised - says usually it doesn't get this extensive until later in life (early to mid thirties). She was able to remove a lot of it with a blade, and most of the rest with a laser. There were a few spots she didn't touch, but they were very small and located too close to other structures to be worth the risk. The doctor believes this will not only positively impact fertility, but that it will also drastically improve the monthly symptoms I used to battle.

I'm not INfertile... the correct term is SUBfertile...

Anyway...

Friday is the day I go in for surgery. If I DON'T have endometriosis, I don't know what my problem is... my periods have gotten progressively worse each cycle for the last two years. Before that, I didn't HAVE periods more than two or three times a year, so I wouldn't know if they got worse then... This one, I can hardly eat I'm so sick to my stomach, and I'm SO tired (sleeping 12-16 hours a night, with an afternoon nap), and my pelvic area isn't just crampy - it hurts, a lot. Told Derek that if I didn't KNOW this was from my period, we'd be in the emergency room until it was figured out. I'm so bloated that I wish I had maternity pants - just so I could have something nice to wear in public that didn't cause even more pain. Each time I take a deep breath, my diaphragm hurts all the way across, and pain shoots through my shoulders. I'm dizzy.

Basically, everything that would indicate endometriosis is there... but what if I don't have it? What if I'm just a total and utter wimp? What if it's all in my head? What if it's not all in my head, but they tell me it is? What if they find some reason that the only thing that will ever work for us is IVF? We can't do that. For one, we can't afford that. Although I could find myself more work and generate money specifically for that, I guess... but second, we can't do that because there isn't anywhere around here to do it. Closest is Rochester. Driving there each day for scans, staying overnight for retrieval, staying for 72 hours of bed rest after the transfer... we can't do that. Just can't. Not won't... can't.

I think some people question the idea that we are doing this so soon after Gramma's death. It's been 49 days. Not even a full two months. But back in probably September, or maybe as late as November, we discussed this. And again in December. Before that VERY brief pregnancy... the one with gradually darkening positive HPT results, the negative blood test at 3 weeks 5 days, the dark positive at 4 weeks 1 day, the negative HPT at 4 weeks 3 days, the bleeding and cramping at 4 weeks 4 days... Anyway, that's off topic. We'd discussed that if we had not successfully attained pregnancy, we'd discuss the surgery in March. It's March. Derek and I need to keep living our life. It's not a dishonor to Gramma... in some ways, it's an honor. It's saying "We love you enough, and you taught us enough, and helped us enough, that we can be strong. We can keep going."

And when our little Aileen is born, and Grampa is there to meet her... and her daddy is there and whispers the first words she hears after birth "Jesus is Lord. He loves you, and He always will. Daddy and mommy love you." That will honor her, too. Something she wrote in her cancer journal was that she wondered if she'd get to meet her great-grandkids. On earth, her answer is no... she never did. But in heaven... she's got a head start on the rest of us. She's with Anna now... knows her better than we ever did.

Anyway, that's it for tonight.

Memories...

It's 1:30 AM, Friday the 9 of March. 37 days since she left earth. I was going through e-mails from her, and I found one that simply says... "As the Bible says, "LOVE NEVER FAILS". As long as God remains at the center of your life, nothing will ever be too hard to get through." Another says, "I wish I could comfort you, but there is not a thing that I can say that would be the right words. So I will pray for the Spirit to dwell in you and bring comfort to you. I love you both so much. God is good even in the bad times. His timing is not always ours. Love, Gramma." I hope she's able to see how much her words, in spite of the fact that I cry as I read them, are such a source of comfort right now... it's like she wrote them for this time, even though it was almost a year ago that she wrote them.

Class.

Tonight, I had creative writing class. We were asked to write some "flash fiction." Here's mine.
___________________________________________________________________
Ian stole Sebastian’s lawnmower. It’s not that he was trying to be mean, or had anything against him... he just wanted the lawnmower. In the preschool world, that is grounds for immediate action. So he took it. Like Ian, Sebastian was subject to the thoughts and motives that govern preschool. Sebastian did the most logical thing he could think of, but his teacher’s response was less than enthusiastic. As he looked over her shoulder and saw his dad entering the playground, she sternly said, “Sebastian, we do not run over our friends’ heads with lawnmowers.”
___________________________________________________________________
This morning, Janie showed up for daycare wearing the frilliest dress I had ever seen. Her friend, Carly, seemed unjustifiably fascinated with it. Before lunch, the kids like me to read them a book – and Carly enjoys it more than the rest. But today, she looked concerned when I started, and by page 5, looked ready to explode. Concerned myself, I stopped and asked her if she had something to say.
“Yes, I do. How come Janie looks like a president today?”
I must have looked confused. She clarified, somewhat impatiently, “Her dress. It’s a president dress.”
___________________________________________________________________
Ian screams. Not just when he’s scared or hurt – he also screams when he’s upset or happy. So hearing Ian’s screams behind me on the playground didn’t concern me… at least not right away. After eight in a row, I turned to ask him to stop. He stood, arms pinned to his side, howling. Shaw stood facing him, slapping one cheek, then the other. Shaw does not do well with loud noises. They prompt a violent reaction in him. “Shaw, stop!”“But he’s screaming!”“Do you think if you stop hitting him, he’ll stop screaming?”
“Well, maybe!” he answered brightly.
____________________________________________________________________

Afraid

It's so weird... in so many ways, I'm afraid to be okay... and I'm not sure why. I don't LIKE being miserable - and yet I am afraid not to be. Partly because I feel like I'm SUPPOSED to be, and partly because I guess I'm afraid that if I get all happy again, something else bad will happen. I'm well aware that that's ridiculous, but here I am anyway.

I am working on a couple long term projects - first one is that I am writing books - one to my husband and one to my child(ren), so that if something did happen to me, they'd have that. Sounds morbid, but really... it's not. Gramma did that for me, and although she didn't write much, it's so precious to me. I don't want anything bad to happen to me, EVER, but if it did... I want those left behind to have these.

The other project is that I am making a dollhouse for my future daughter (or if I'm too slow, for my future granddaughter). :) It's almost cathartic to work on it.

Today, I took my final two Lortab - which means tomorrow I'm totally without any serious pain relief, meaning that tomorrow, the knee HAS to start improving.

Hesitation...

After trading e-mails back and forth, my family doctor has suggested that I should talk to someone before this "gets set too much"... He might be right, but who's to say? There really aren't many people that I would talk to anyway. Derek talked to someone who we typically get along with quite well about how to help me shortly after the accident - and I ended up getting a big lecture about how it was time to move on (this was a week afterward) and to quit being sad and how I was just having a pity party... and "don't you DARE start feeling sorry for yourself." I guess there's merit to that, but...
Yes, I do feel a bit sorry for myself. Not as in "woe is me, pity me, poor poor Jenna" though. More as in... "I miss her. She was so much a part of me, and part of my life... and part of my plans." And yes, I depended on her and I'm feeling a lot like I've been turned loose without an advisor. I know that ultimately, all insight and wisdom and good comes from God. But He's used her for so much of that in my life. She, really, was the ONLY one other than Derek that I have ever talked to about so much... things like hopes, dreams... hurts... frustrations... dealing with infertility, wondering what to do next, how far to take it... faith... hope... the Bible... heaven (we talked about Heaven and the rapture and such a lot).
There isn't another woman that I know that I am even remotely that close to... especially not one old enough to have the wisdom and experience to help me through. One that gives good hugs, doesn't mind tears, and understands that expressing uncertainty or questioning what to do doesn't mean I have lost faith in God... one that isn't afraid to address any issue...
Gramma and I had a special, special bond. Her mom died when she was very young - she remembers it though. She had so much hurt tied in to that... it helped her understand me. And it helped her understand why, no matter what happened between my mom and the rest of the world, I loved her. And I needed her.
She had a miscarriage - and it hurt her so much. And that meant that when we've lost kids, she was able to comfort more effectively than other people. She had the same love for children that I have (I'm pretty sure I got it from her), and so she understood how in spite of the cost, in spite of the risk, in spite of the pain of loss, in spite of all of that - we keep pushing ahead with fertility treatments. She understood that deep longing for a child of our own.
I talked to her about everything... and it's not that I can't talk to Derek. I can. And I do. About everything. But he's not a woman. He's not a grandparent. He hasn't raised two generations of kids, been through the Depression, hasn't had the experiences and gained the wisdom she had. What I'd really like to be able to do is talk to HER about all this. But I can't. And while there are a FEW people I would be willing to talk to, as the good doctor has suggested, I wouldn't know where to start. One of them simply doesn't have the time, and has things far more important than listening to me. Another is not really in a position to do so - it probably wouldn't look good. A third is the doctor himself - but he's an MD, and how much counsel could he provide? A fourth tends to recommend an approach that I just can't do right now. A fifth seems unapproachable, and there's no solid basis for that. A sixth, while I would be okay with talking to them, isn't in a position to do so because they have other responisibilities, and if I did talk to them just as "friends"... it might help, as would most of the others... but I can't bring myself to do so.
All that to say... I wish there WAS someone I could talk to about this... someone who it would be appropriate to do so, someone who I trust, someone who shares the same stance faith-wise, someone who will either understand or else admit that they don't, someone who will be supportive and gentle... and someone who has the wisdom to actually HELP, not just listen.

Sleepless

I should be asleep... I took two lortab (5 mg) three hours ago... and it did take the edge off the pain in my knee. Ordinarily, it would alsoknock me out. But tonight, it's as if I'm stuck on being awake. I need God's help like I don't remember ever needing it before. I will finish this off, and then maybe edit some images, and then will try for at least a little sleep - I've gotta get up five hours from now. :(

Final Good-night

Today, I'm writing about when Grampa said goodnight to Gramma for the last time... and I'm writing about their last kiss... and the last time he saw her.

The morning of January 31st, she stayed in bed while he showered and shaved. He came in to get her up, and kissed her on the forehead. I've seen these moments in years past, when I would pretend to be asleep between them. He'd bend down, stroke her hair so softly... then he'd kiss her forehead and whisper, "Mornin', ma..." and then go downstairs to eat. This morning wasn't any different. Except it was their last kiss.

They left my house at about 12:45, maybe 1:00... they went to wendy's to eat, and decided they would skip going to Penny's to buy t-shirts for grampa. A couple weeks before, I had taken pictures of the bald eagles down on the river. Gramma wanted to see it for herself, so Grampa took her down to the park before leaving for home. They watched, and she counted 31 of them. They left town...

About 2 miles out, the road begins to wind. Around the first left hand turn, and you pass a greenhouse on the right. At that point, Grampa looked over at Gramma in the passenger seat. The van they were in was the first brand new vehicle they'd ever purchased. Grampa insisted they pay the extra money to literally surround the passenger (normally Gramma) in airbags, to keep the love of his life safe. When he looked over at her, she had her head back on the headrest, and her eyes closed. He says her face looked so peaceful, and she seemed to be sleeping soundly. He glanced only briefly, but it was the last time he saw her alive. The picture will be burned forever into his memory, I'm sure. The next turn, combined with snow, rain, ice, wind, and a milk truck took her from us.

Because of the fact that Grampa was in the hospital for several days, her visitation didn't happen until February 6th. It wasn't as bad as I'd expected... I mostly got to sit with my knee propped up, and my best friend from school was there - she got there early, and left late. What a wonderful friend she is... I wouldn't have handled it very well without her.

After everyone left, we ("The Family") had some time alone with her. Grampa wanted us to have pictures with her - And, not because we wanted to, but because we love him, we did as he asked. Last of all, he wanted a final picture of the two of them. I took it, and then he turned to tell her goodnight. That final picture, the one he doesn't know I took - I hope it turns out. The expression on his face, the tenderness in his stance, all of it was there.

First he looked at her for a while, and whispered... I'm pretty sure the words were "I love you... I'm so sorry." All of me wanted to go to him, comfort him, but I knew that what he needed was to have these last few moments alone with her.

Finally, he reached for her hand, but seemed to pull back at the last instant, and settle for simply caressing her skin. It was covered in makeup to hide the bruises, but he didn't see that - he saw the hand he'd been holding for over 50 years. He stared into her face. I'm sure they did the best they could, but the morticians didn't have her looking anything like herself. It was like she'd had a really bad facelift. The makeup to hide the bruises was so thick, it looked like she had tiny pieces of tissue paper glued to her face. Her eyes looked like they'd been stretched all out of shape, and were slanted up... in short, it looked NOTHING like her. But I guess kindness, love, compassion - those things can't be seen on a dead face. After staring a few moments, he turned to me and said "She looks just like she's asleep... so peaceful." Then he turned back to her. Stroking her hair, like he'd done so many mornings, he bent and kissed her forehead. He cupped her face, and whispered, "Goodnight, Ma. I love you. I'm so sorry... so sorry. You're so beautiful... I miss you." Tears were flowing down more than just his cheeks. He kissed her again, and said "Goodnight." That, more than anything I've witnessed myself, spoke of what love is supposed to be. To look at what was left of her, and say she was beautiful, and to bring himself to touch her, and even kiss her - the most moving, sweetest, saddest, best and worst moments of my life. And it made me realize that I've never seen, never heard, never read a sweeter love story.

The next day, we put her body into the ground. After everyone else had left, and my husband and I, the other grandkids, and their children were all that remained, grandpa stroked the casket as gently as though it were her face. He softly whispered "Goodbye." And walked away, alone. It was cold, below zero... snow was blowing in a clear sky.

Who's to blame?

Something I haven't managed to share with anybody I know is the guilt and certainty with which I firmly believe I'm responsible for her death. When I mentioned it to my husband, he assured me it wasn't so. When I mentioned it to one of the ladies at church, she told me to get past that and said "Don't you start feeling sorry for yourself." Which is sound advice, but I don't need to hear that. I don't feel sorry for myself... I feel sorry for everyone else who's been impacted. Yes, I am sad about the loss, and I wish more than anything that I could reverse time and do things different, but I also know I'll be okay. Anyway... back to this being my fault...
She wanted to take care of me that day after my knee surgery... and I told her no, I didn't need her to. Of all the things I could have said... that hurt her. I know it did. I went so far as to try and persuade her not to come. How could I do that to her? She was happy taking care of people. It's what she did. After the surgery, they came over to our house. I wanted them to stay, but didn't want to make them feel ackward or like they "had" to stay, so I encouraged them to go. After they left, I had this VERY strong urge that I needed to pray, and pray hard, and pray NOW. What did I do? "God, thank you for my grandparents. I love them." And popped in a couple Lortabs and went to sleep. So much that I ignored. If I had asked for one last hug... shared one last story... prayed for safety, and kept at it till I had peace... shut up about the eagles so they didn't go see them... talked more about the eagles so they spent just another two minutes watching... asked them to do something for me (anything)... convinced them to stay home. I don't hate myself, but I surely don't like this. I don't like thinking I killed her - the woman I loved more than I can say.