Watching re-runs

Friday was my grandma's memorial, and I will blog about that later, but just wanted to post this now. So all the family was here and we were all at my parents house yesterday. My mom, uncle, brother and I were having a conversation about heaven when my uncle said he wanted to watch re-runs in heaven. We all looked at him like he was crazy. I've watched enough re-runs of I Love Lucy and Gilligan's Island here on earth, I don't need to spend eternity doing it. Then he explained that he meant re-runs of our lives. To watch your kids grow up again, to watch your own childhood again, and see your parents and grandparents grow up. Even to watch historical figures, ever wonder what Abe Lincoln was like as a kid? Find out now. Or maybe even Jesus himself as a child.
I realize that no one here on earth knows what heaven is like, but I'm with my uncle.... I hope at least part of it is spent watching re-runs.

Now I want a Mac

So I'm working on the slide show for my grandma's memorial, a good friend who does sound and A/V stuff for a living is helping me put it together. We were doing it today and he was using a program on his Mac, I think it was iMovie, anyway it was amazing! And so much fun and looks like you can do so many things with it. I'm not getting a Mac, but I totally want this program. Why can't PCs do this too???
ps: I'll post the show after the memorial, I don't want any one to see it before then...

How are you doing?

Everyone keeps asking me how I'm doing, and I know that they all mean well, but it's such a silly question. I mean do people want the real answer...I'm just kinda numb, and sometimes I forget about it, but then I remember and cry again? Am I supposed to say that I'm doing ok? (Which would be really weird given the circumstances.) I know people don't know what to say, and that they really do care, and they mean well. I just didn't realize how many times people say that, myself included. And now I wonder how many times people just say they're fine even when they are not, because that is the standard answer to the question.
PS: Right now, for me, the answer would be, I'm hanging in there. Getting done what needs to be done, trying to be there for my mom, planning the service, and some moments are better than others.

I don't know how to say this

My grandma passed away last Sunday night. As hard as it is to write about this, I want to get the details down on "paper" so that I never forget it.

All last week she kept getting progressively weaker. Tuesday we called family and they started making arrangements to come out. Thursday morning our pastor, who has known my grandparents for 40+ years, came out to see my grandma. She asked him if we had a memorial service would he do it. And yes, she said if. Crazy lady. After he left, we told her again that her kidneys were probably failing and asked again if she wanted us to take her into the hospital. She said, very firmly, no. She knew what was going on and wanted to be at home with her family.

Thursday afternoon my brother came in from Utah to see her. She was laying in her bed and my mom walked into the room ahead of my brother and said someone was here to see her. She saw that it was my brother and said "Oh, Jay!" with a big smile on her face. She was excited to see him. That afternoon my great aunt and cousin (my grandma's sister and her son) came in from Arizona to see her. I know my grandma was glad to see her sister one more time.

Thursday night she was really weak, and kept asking when my uncle (her youngest son) was coming in. We kept telling her that he was flying in early Friday morning and would be here when she woke up. Friday morning my job was to go pick up my uncle and cousin at the airport, when my mom texted me to hurry, that the timing would be close. Little did we know how wrong we were.

Friday she was still awake enough to talk, not to hold a real conversation, but to say a few words here and there. Everyone was there. All of her kids, and all but one of the grandkids (he lives in Virginia and just couldn't get out here). We all took turns sitting by her bedside and talking with her. Friday afternoon hospice came out and we got her started on that. They were wonderful, and I definitely wouldn't want to do this without them. They left medicine for pain and shortness of breath. Mostly just to relax her.

Saturday morning was just bad. She was struggling to breathe and asking how much longer. We just kept medicating her. My grandpa sat by her bedside for hours, talking to her, holding her hand, stroking her forehead. It was absolutely heartbreaking to hear him encouraging her to take that last step. We all told her that we loved her, but we didn't want her to be like this, so we told her to hurry and run to her eternal reward. Her breathing was so labored and shallow that we really thought it could be any moment. But she was a fighter, her heart was beating strong and just wasn't ready to give up yet.

She wasn't really responsive at this time, except when my grandpa was talking to her. She would become so relaxed and her breathing would become easier. We think she knew he was there, and felt safe with him. He said "my baby loves me so much, she just doesn't want to leave me." And we think he was right.

She hung in there all night Saturday night. Sunday morning was the same thing, really shallow, labored breathing. But her heart was still beating strong. Again my grandpa sat by her bedside for hours. He kept asking for one more smile. Around 5pm something changed. Her breathing got even more shallow. We called the hospice nurse out and she said it was imminent. So we all gathered around her bed. My grandpa sat by her head, my mom and uncle were each holding a hand. A couple cousins and I, and my great-aunt were rubbing her legs. And at 9:25pm she finally gave us one last smile, took her final breath, and finally took that step into heaven.

We were all heartbroken, but had our spirits lifted by that last smile. We know that she saw were she was going, and the faces of all the loved ones who went before. That last smile was for us, to let us know that she made it, and to reassure us that we will see her again one day.

My grandma and I after my high school graduation