I ment to post this back on the night of the 27th when I was hit with it but forgot. So here it is now, late yet no less meaningful.

As a side note my Grandma's favorite instraments were a piano and violin. I don't have any pics of her handy so it will do for now.
*********************

Today, 1986, my bestest friend ever died. Her name was Grandma. She lived alone till I came to stay with her. She taught me the basics of cooking, of gardening, of faith in Jesus, of life. She had a hard time doing those on her own anymore so I had the honor of helping her.

At night I slept on the floor near her chair, where she slept upright because of emphasima, just in case she needed me. The morning after Christmas, she did. I did my duty, my job. The next morning, today, 23 years ago Jesus called her home.

I've never been closer to anouther in my life. I eagerly await the calling so I can see her again. To hug her close. To feel her love. To be comforted by her arms.

Though she didn't know it at the time, she saved my life. It was her who pointed my soul down the path to redemption. And while it was a few years and many scars later till I found that redemption, I did so only because her lovingkindness had guided me, and fed my faith along the way.

Sure there were other players, but it was hers that was always faithful, always true, always there.

I'm trying to express in typed word what my torn heart, my sorroful soul, my tear stained pillow feels, and I am failing. So without further effort I'm going to get up, blow my nose, and try to sleep.