My grandmother is dying. There’s all kind of medical explanations but the bottom line is it’s just her time. Her body is worn out and is giving up the fight.
I’m going to miss her; I do already. Funny how you can miss someone who is right in front of you. She was there today in front of me, asleep in her hospital bed, and I missed her.
The drive to see her was about two hours through curvy mountain territory, and it was just gorgeous! The fall colors were starting to show through, the sun was shining gloriously, there was so much nature to be appreciated. The kids were at their Granny’s, so I had the luxury of quiet. The drive was just … so refreshing. However I soon felt bad for enjoying life — nature and freedom and beauty — while my grandmother couldn’t, while her life was slipping away. I’ve felt that way a lot since John died, that I’m doing something wrong if I laugh or do something fun. Survivor’s guilt, they call it.
But then I got to thinking: I wonder what my grandmother was doing when her grandmother died? She couldn’t have been driving through the mountainside like I did (no cars), but I imagine she was living her life, whatever that was at the time.
Death ends one life, not them all.