We got word yesterday that my Grandma is in the hospital, and she is end-stage heart failure. No one but God knows how long she has left, maybe days, maybe weeks, maybe a month of two. She probably won't leave the hospital, unless it is under hospice care to go home. I guess it didn't really sink in initially. But dad, being dad, couldn't tell mom what was going on, so I did it, and it hit me hard and fast.
My grandma is dying. Who used to smack my hand when I would lick my fingers when we would bake together. Who taught me how to make cinnamon rolls, cinnamon Bow knots, homemade bread, and most things that are yeast-y and need kneading. Who made the most calorie-laden, sugary desserts and called them 'Salads'. Who cooked with butter and eggs and sugar, even though neither she nor grandpa needed the fat and calories. Who took baths with me when I was very small. Who used to do some of the most incredible needle working. Who was amazingly judgemental and rather manipulative. Who was super hard on my mom. My Grandma, who was amazed that mom and I were both very good at crocheting. I didn't get her story on video. I wanted her to tell me about her life, about when she and grandpa met, where they lived, who she was.
When she passes away, and when grandpa either says it's ok, or passes on as well, I will get her china hutch. It will make me cry for weeks, because every time I see it, I will think of her.
I don't have a good prayer, because what I want is for more years with grandma. I want her to meet my kids, be at my wedding. I want more time. Amen.