"It's over..."

Those were the words my Dad so vividly remembers hearing from his father at 12:15am, November 19th, 1997. My Grandma Berges had been diagnosed with brain cancer and it claimed her life in a matter of months once it took residence in her physical body. She was an energetic, loving, fireball of a lady that couldn't be tamed when it came to her grandkids or the places she and Grandpa decided to travel to. My Grandpa Berges followed her in death in June of 2002 - and oh, what incredible memories we will forever have of he and my grandmother together and a wonderful many more of him during the years after she passed. I continue to miss the two of them so dearly.

I have taken that pain and desire for their presence and have transfered it to Kyle's grandmother, Marian Schei. I have spoken about her so recently and I am writing this evening to say, once again, that "it's over". Grandma had been unconscious for the last two days and had received no nourishment - liquid or otherwise. She was given about 24 hours just yesturday evening minutes before I put Katie down for bed and Kyle and I sat down to enjoy our Valentine's dinner. She, being the stubborn lady she has always been, held on tight until between 5:00PM and 5:30PM this evening. In a moment she just stopped breathing and what I'm sure was a quiet moment for those in the hospital room was a moment where all of our lives outside continued as they had only minutes before - grocery shopping, going to get a movie to watch, carrying Katie on our shoulders, checking out... and then the phone rang.

You know, everything shifts at that moment. Everything is so quickly put into perspective - the grocery lady who seems in a bad mood is just in a bad mood and you don't have time to be self conscious about whether or not it's something you did on your way through her line... the price on take-out, which you so rarely indulge in, is surprisingly not a factor in what you decide to get... and the smile from the guy in the car that let's you 'go' even though it wasn't your right-of-way seems almost TOO nice but you don't have the time to think about it really... you just 'go' without more than a courteous flick of the wrist - without a smile or nod and maybe, just maybe, with a catch in your throat and a well of tears forming above each of your lower eyelids. NOTHING really matters for a few moments except that you exist and you just need to find your way through the crowd so you can get somewhere safe, shake yourself into reality, and begin the mourning/healing process.

Katie's in bed, Kyle and I have finished our take-out, and he is working on a Sudoku puzzle while I blog. We will sit down and watch a movie as soon as I'm finished. At least I think we will. It may surprise us when we sit motionless for a few moments how impactful the last couple hours have been - and we may find ourselves crying and talking until we can't keep our eyes open. That would be good, too.

Once again, God bless you, Grandma. Thank you for the moments we shared and I can't wait to share them with our son. I'm sure Katie will tell them best.