I’m not even sure where to start. This was not supposed to happen, especially during the holidays. I feel as though you knew this was coming. I am not even sure how to move on without you. The daily phone calls of you needing stuff printed, or answering emails for you. Or the at least twice-a-month call about you wanting a new car even though you own two. You were always available to watch the kids, and you sure did spoil them rotten. Anytime you needed a place to stay after a procedure, or after one of your many falls, you had a room at my house. That room will forever be Nana’s room. I am not sure what to do with your room now. The sheets are still pulled back from when we brought you to the hospital. I still have your clothes, medicine, cell phone, and CPAP in your room. If anyone comes over I shut the doors as I do not want anyone touching a thing. When everyone goes to bed at night I like to lay there for a little while just so I can feel close to you.
You were such a stubborn woman, yet very organized. You had one heck of a year traveling, which is all you ever wanted to do. You made it to Alaska and Hawaii this year, and I finally took you to the beach with my crew for Easter weekend. We had a great time and even enjoyed Easter service on the beach.
You were taken from me way too soon. How am I supposed to go on without a mother and the kids with no Nana? I just keep thinking about what could have been done differently. The day you left us was filled with a bunch of coincidences. Your time of death was great grandpa’s birthday, the day was the day I planned to give birth to my boys, the TV had an old western playing for your dad, and your room number totaled your age.
I hope you are enjoying heaven with my baby Alex, your parents, grandparents, and best friend.
Until we meet again at the Pearly Gates, I know you will be watching over us. Hopefully guiding us along the way. I love you and miss
