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My Grandma died last night. 

She’s been dying of cancer for the last four months. The doctors had no idea, when she was diagnosed, whether she would be around for a month or for six.

We all knew it was about to happen when we got called on Thursday. She’d finally stopped eating and drinking. She wasn’t speaking anymore. She smiled once at my Mom, when she entered the room, on Friday. But that was it. She just slept, mouth open, barely breathing. 

When my Mom found her last night, she looked completely different than she had in the past week. She died with a smile blooming over her lips, “like someone had just kissed her awake”, according to my Mom. And she was clutching my Grandpa’s old flannel shirt. Mom said she looked radiant.

It’s hard to grasp the fact that she’s gone. I’m not down there. I won’t be until the funeral. But it’s still hitting me. I’ve been looking through old photos today. I keep tearing up when I see photos of her and my Grandfather. I can’t help but think that he came and kissed her awake and said, “It’s time to go.”

When my Grandma was coming to terms with her death, she said she had a dream that she and Don, my Grandpa, met on Virginia Beach and took each other’s hands. They waded out into the water, and still holding hands, swam off towards the horizon.

We’re all so very glad they’re finally back together.