Two years ago today, I mustered every single ounce of courage I will ever have in my entire body.
Two years ago today was a Saturday and, in the morning, I was standing in my kitchen, listening to George Michael's "Faith" on repeat, making treats for Elliott's fourth birthday party, that we were having in the evening. I was dancing and singing and playing with the boys when the phone rang.
It was my mom.
She called to tell me that in the night, my grandma's spirit had left her body. That she was on life support at a local hospital. That my grandpa was keeping her body going so we could all come and say goodbye.
I started to cry. I collapsed onto a chair. I sobbed into Ross for what felt like an eternity. The boys and I had just been to visit my Grandma two days before. She wasn't doing well. Sick to her stomach. Couldn't breathe. When we walked into the house, she was sitting on her red bar stool, leaning against the kitchen sink, sipping a diet coke. She still had her pajamas on. While we were at her home, she did the best she could to laugh and smile and show us that she was happy we'd come to visit, but you could see the pain in her eyes.
When it was time to leave, I asked her if there was anything she needed me to do for her. As always, she said no, that coming to visit was enough. The boys and I got ready to leave. Wyatt gave her two hugs that day and I swear she squeezed my hand tighter than she ever had and told me that she loved me. I told her that I loved her, too.
The day my grandma passed away felt like the end of the world. But, at the same time, life never even stopped for a breather. The birthday celebration for Elliott went on that night as planned. The week between her passing and funeral went by in a blur and now, two years later, we are still going on. Still living. Still remembering.
I think about my grandma every single day. She is infused into my every breath - my entire being. Isn't it amazing how one person can be so influential? It is. Yesterday we were hanging out at my mom's because it was a holiday. I'd just changed his diaper and Quinn was lying on my mom's bed. My mom came over to talk to him and his eyes brightened as he cooed at her. We talked about how my mom thought that Quinn looked just like Wyatt at about the same age, in a picture of my grandma holding him on her back deck. My mom turned to Quinn, his bright, unblinking eyes locked on hers and she told him that even though Grandma didn't get to hold him on earth, she surely got to hold him and give him hugs in heaven before he got here.
There is definitely a reason babies cannot talk to us on earth. They would spill too many of the secrets of heaven, telling us about the people and experiences they met and had before they were born. I'll tell you what though, that baby was sent to me by the grandma's in heaven, and watching his bright eyes yesterday, he knows that they are watching down on us here on earth.