My grandma died a week ago Tuesday. I haven’t really been sure how to address this in the blog (I’m still unsure, to be honest), so I’ve been putting off posting about it. This grandma was the one I really grew up knowing—she and my grandpa lived five minutes away from us; my other grandparents lived a few hours away—so the blow has been quite hard.

Though we had an idea that there would be trouble in the long-term (she had some heart problems) we didn’t expect it to happen anywhere near as soon as it did. On the positive side, she died peacefully and without pain; the other death she was looking at would have featured neither of those things. Nevertheless, it’s been a long, long week; moving forward has been quite difficult.

In the meantime, we’re left dealing with all of my grandparents’ worldly possessions—mostly the cruft of life. And while a bit of it is nice, there isn’t a single damn thing you wouldn’t trade in a heartbeat to have your grandparents back. It’s really a raw deal, if you stop to think about it.

…

I’ve never been terribly religious, and I’ve never really bothered trying to pin down what I think happens when we die. The closest I’ve ever gotten is a basic application of my general rule: assume the worst, hope for the best. If there is a heaven, though, then my grandparents are finally reunited—and should be taking care of Cricket, Maxi, and Dusty for us.