Hey there, lovelies.  A quick update and an explanation as to why I have been quiet this week, and why I will continue to be so through the weekend –

My grandmother died Tuesday morning, around 4:30.

I remember Monday night, my mom called and said they were having her admitted to the hospital, to be praying.

Nobody in my family ever dies quickly.  There are weeks and months of sitting in the waiting room, the entire family alternately crying and laughing and yelling with each other while the doctors work around whatever is eating away at the person hidden in the hospital’s labyrinth-like halls.

I guess that’s why I’m still in shock.  When my mom said they were taking her to the hospital, I assumed we’d still have time.  We’d still have the waiting room period.

I didn’t realize that we already had that period, the waiting as our loved one gives in to the sickness.  It had just happened in a different place.  It had happened in a big, empty house in the middle of a lazy road instead of in a maze of white-washed corridors bustling with life and saturated in death.

Everyone keeps crying.  Everyone keeps going to the house and telling stories and talking about her, but I haven’t even processed that it happened because it was fast, because it was sudden, because it was unexpected.

Except it really wasn’t.  She’s had health problems for years, with rounds of medication to be taken at specific times on specific days; there were yellow bottles lined up next to the mail on the dining room table and days spent at the hospital for radiation treatment when the skin cancer came back in a different form, in her brain.

Her hair fell out.  Her vision, which was already imperfect to begin with, got worse.  She lost weight, leaving skin sagging from her chin and arms.

I remember, vaguely, when I was little and we would go shopping for books.  We’d get a few and go home, to her house, and read in her bedroom until we fell asleep.

I remember coloring horses and princesses in front of a Disney movie or Where the Red Fern Grows or Homeward Bound.

I remember baking our favorite cookies in preparation for the County Fair, because I was entering them in the contest and I was so excited.  I was excited to be making things with my grandma and I was excited to enter the best cookie recipe ever and, later, I was so, so excited to call and tell her about my blue ribbon walking out into the sun from the cold building the contest had been in.

I don’t know what else to say.

I miss her.

Cancer sucks.

That’s all I’ve got.



  1. Oh Jami … I want to pull all of you close & give you great big hugs. I’m sitting here, crying for you, your family, your loss …. It hurts & regardless of the words filtering through my brain right now, nothing I can say will make it any easier. Just know I love you and if you ever need to talk to somebody outside of your immediate circle, all you have to do is get in touch. Many many hugs!!!


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