I dont know how

to not have my grandma. I dont. Every time I see a picture (there are 6 in my house alone) I imagine her in her house in Carrollton. But, she isnt there and then, I feel this gut-wrenching sadness, deep in the pit of my stomach. How can this have happened so fast? How come I wasn't prepared for this? How come death is so hard for me? How can it be so final?

Fifteen things I miss already

15. Her calling me Jen-Jen and GG
14. Love you more
13. Coca-Cola, especially her open one in the fridge
12. Her never-ending Mt. St. Helen's reading list
11. All the cards and letters she wrote while claiming to never write cards nor letters
10. Imagining her drinking a cappuchino and eating a donut everyday
9. Spending the night at her house and watching TV lounging on her arm
8. Splitting dinner with her every time we'd go out
7. Ability to talk to her for hours (and of course, everyday calls on the way to work)
6. Scrabble games
5. Her unending quest to cure me of my skin ailments
4. Her unending ability to make me feel better
3. Dropping to my knees to hug her in her reading chair
2. Having someone who genuinely cared to have me around as much as possible
1. Feeling unconditionally loved

Even as I wrote those 15, there are so many more, so many little ones, so many deep ones. 35 years with someone. The angst in my head is overwhelming. People keep telling me, "She lived a long life." Very true, but she wasnt done. Her body told us that as it just wouldn't go, wouldn't stop. It fought and fought. It doesnt matter now though, her "not time", became her time. And no comment about the length of her life or my luck in having her around so long makes me feel better. Actually, it makes it worse. I knew her longer, better, with all of the knowings of a child growing up with a daily role model who was loving, smart, caring, sincere, and whom adored you with all they are. Only those who have had that and lost it can understand how absolutely terrifying and disparate it is. Most children grow up and leave their parents, some with a quick step and others more laden, but I never left. From the day I was born she loved me and when she looked at me as I sat in that hospital day after day feeding and sitting with her, she told me again and again in her eyes how much. I will never be the same.

My Grandma, Helen Edith Palmer Cooper

left the Earthly world on October 6 at 93 years old, 35 of those years spent with me. I came to Dallas thinking I would be there 3 days, until she got the medication going for the respiratory infection. Instead, I spent 12 days with her, lifting her oxygen mask just enough for her cappuchino or milkshake, caramel apple slices, or hot fudge sundae. I sat with her for hours, talking about everything and nothing, watching TV with her, painting her toes and holding her hand, hoping with all I am that she would get better despite the specialists showing me x-rays and displaying no hope. I cried, and repeated over and over and over that I loved her and it wasn't her time. But, in the end, I watched her get mass amounts of morphine and anxiety medication, watched her not get enough air to breathe. I watched the person I loved most in this world suffocate, unable to get a breath, longing for my Gpa and her best friends Brownie and Sue, long passed. It is them in the picture.

And now, I am changed. Heavy and laden.

I feel broken and lost, as if there is a giant hole in my heart that is eternal. She loved me and I felt loved. That sentence says it all. There are so many people in one's life who you are said to love and who say they love you, but very few actually live the part, love unconditionally, with the intent of the entire being. My grandma gave me that. She was always happy to see me, hear me, and to be a part of my life. She was the most understanding and wisest person I know. She was my heart and I am broken.

In the last year I have lost 2 of my most vigilant fans, my most ardent followers. I have lost the ones who held my heart safe, protected it and loved it, loved me for nothing more than I am, but more than I am. Mitzie Mouse and Grandma made me a better person. They loved me and I them.

The following song was sung by a dear family friend at Gma's funeral (which I didnt attend). BJ told my mom that Gma requested it after it was sung at my Gpa's funeral. So, I am attaching it. I do know that all was well in my Gma's soul as she was a charasmatic light in the world and will be missed eternally.

Sitting with Grandma

Yesterday we got the worst news ever. After battling pneumonia for the last 3 weeks (she got it after her fall), Gma's lungs are almost completely filled with infultrates and her prognosis is grave. I personally saw her xrays with her lung specialist. Made her feel sad to show me, I could tell she knew what I was seeing and understood what we were up against. She gave Gma maybe 2 weeks unless there is a dramatic change. Made me cry all night off and on and when I saw her this morning, I just wept. I cant even describe the depth of my sadness, nor my fear for my family should she leave us, which unless there is a miracle, she will. Even my dad was at the hospital today. And I, well, I feel like I need to be there. I dont want to see it, but I want her to know that someone is there with her always, that she is loved so much, and that when she struggles to breathe and I lay a hand on her head or her hand, I think she remembers. As an asthmatic myself though, watching someone suffocate is so scary. Gma is so scared too. I can see it in her eyes. She is petrified of not being able to catch her breath, that feeling of being underwater wherein you wonder if you will make it to the surface in time. I dont wish that on her. One thing about going in a catastrophe and acute issue is it is quick.

As I sit here at 1am alone in the room with her, her body twitches and all I find myself doing as her leg moves or her hand begins to sew in her sleep, is watch the O2 and BP stats to make sure she is staying in the 90%. Then I can return to my computer to work.

People try to say the right things, you know. The one that is getting me right now is, "You are so lucky to have had her so long!" Yes, I am and no Im not. I mean, if I didnt really know her, like was true of my paternal grandparents, the pain wouldnt be so bad. So, yeah-Im lucky, but the pain is much, much more intense. I feel like I am losing the one person who loved me for being me, for just who I am. Grandparents are wonderful that way and now, I am possibly going to not have any.