Lost my "home," my grandma.

Lets just start of by saying I am using her old email username "frosty moo." Quite odd, but she lobed snowmen and cows. If you went to her house, it didn't matter what season it was. You would walk in and see snowman on the floor and cows on the shelves.

You know those sweet old people that don't curse, don't yell, nice to everyone, makes friends everywhere you go? That was my Mimi. My Mimi and I started getting close during my childhood because my parents were always fighting. fighting. fighting. I found that when I went to my mimi's house, I felt a sense of relief, a weight lifted. By the time I was in high school, I spent the night with her twice a week. My parents got divorced and she was the one that helped me through it.

When I graduated high school, I moved in with her once we learned she had Endometrial Cancer. She was okay. But, she was overweight and had diabetes which caused her a lot of pain. Every week she went to treatment for hours on end and finally we got the call, she was cancer free.

Fast forward to November 2017. I was getting ready for bed and gave her goodnight kisses. She insisted on four kisses. 2 on one cheek and 2 on the other. Whenever I would wake up in the middle of the night, I would always go check on her because one night I heard a loud noise and found her face down on the floor with an alarming low sugar. This night though, I didn't wake up. I heard my alarm and walked into the living room where she slept on her recliner. I could tell something was wrong. My mom happened to be dropping my nephew off to me and I asked her to help. After the roll call, "Is her sugar low? Is she just in a deep sleep? Is she playing a joke on us like she normally would?" Nope. I called 911 for the first time. We soon found out she had a stroke. I remember my dad asking the paramedic if he thought she would make it. My dad said to cut the crap and give it to him straight. The paramedic looked at us and told us it was a very small chance she would survive.

I went in and out of the hospital for a month. I slept there some nights. I called rehabilitation centers, in home care, hospice, etc. I watched her regain control of half of her body. I watched her struggle to talk, but no words would come out. Her vocal chords were paralyzed. I watched her get better and then suddenly get worse. On December 15th, I was in the room with her. She had her eyes opened (which rarely happened) and I could tell something was wrong. She pointed at the ceiling. I knew my Mimi. She was a stubborn pistol. She didn't want to be bathed anymore, she didn't want to live a life that she couldn't live. I asked her if she was trying to tell me she wanted to be with Jesus. She shook her head slightly. I grabbed her hand and she squeezed it four times. I realized when she went to the hospital when ever I would talk to her, she would always squeeze my hand four times, kinda in place of my four kisses. She wasn't going to fight anymore. She was ready. On December 17th, 2017, she took her last breath at 4:44 AM. I got chills when I realized the significance in the time. 4. my four goodnight kisses.

My Mimi was my best friend. She was my inspiration, my support, my rock. We were close. I always had people tell me how envious they are that I have such a great relationship with my grandma, because it was stronger than most granddaughter/grandma relationships.

Since her death, I have gained 55 pounds. I eat everything. I cry myself to sleep every single night. I have nightmares. When I wake up, I sometimes start to get out of bed to check on her before I realize she's not here anymore. I clutch my pillowcase. A pillowcase made of all her nightgowns, "MOOMOO's" she liked to call them. I spray her perfume on my case and fall asleep, hoping to see her in my dreams.

I. AM. LOST. When will the pain be gone?