Dottie with an ie

This journey has been grueling. But as we approach the end, I can't help but question what else I could have done. Was she happy? Could she hear us? Did she know we were there?

I haven't been here in a while. Writing I mean. Perhaps it was denial. Maybe even hope. But my first reaction when I heard we needed to get down to the nursing home was to write. I don't like to talk. I would probably cry and you wouldn't be able to understand me and it would get awkward. So I like to write and draw. And if anyone reads what I write, I'm okay with it. If it's just for my own soul and therapeutic relief, that's fine, too.

Grammy stopped eating last week. I knew that was a sign of the end from all that we've been through with Grampy, but it didn't register in the same way. It didn’t hit me. Grammy and Grampy always had opposite afflictions; her mind was slipping away and his body was failing him. People can say she hasn't been here for a long time, and it's true, she hasn't, but she’s still here. And I didn’t expect this. Not this fast.

And I miss her. I miss her and she's not gone. I miss her calling me to ask where the hell everyone is. I miss going to church with her and being introduced to the same 15 people every Sunday as her ‘beautiful granddaughter’ that's a 'schoolteacher'. I miss her calling and asking how to spell words because she couldn't find it in the dictionary and she was writing a letter to her friend who she talks to weekly. I miss her extravagant pins and how she had a pair of earrings for every occasion. I miss her telling me how peanut butter was a pick-me-up. And even though I probably really don't, I miss her calling me to ask why her TV isn't working or what button to press on her phone until I realized after 3 minutes I needed to just go over and do it in-person.

As we sit with her to say goodbye, we hold her hand and tell her how much we love her and that it’s okay to let go. That Grampy and Doug are waiting for her. That her mom can’t wait to hold her again and Merle and Bob will be smiling when she gets there. Her sisters will laugh with her and her brothers will look out for her like they always have.

Mom tells her it’s time to go and gram asks where we’re going. When we tell her Heaven, she responds without hesitation, ‘you think so?’

I told her that it’s beautiful where she’s going. And that she will finally have her mind back. Through her labored breaths, she clearly says, ‘thank you.’

I asked her how I would know she was with us and then I looked up at her wall and saw the rainbow she painted. She can’t write her own name anymore and they spelled it wrong, but I love everything about it. I’m surprised she even did it; she refuses every time they ask her to participate in arts and crafts. But I’m so glad she did. It’s perfect. Ashley called dibs, but having a picture of it is just as good.

So for now we hold on to every memory we have and we wait. And we look for rainbows. And if she decides she doesn’t want to be a rainbow, I have no doubt in my mind that she will do whatever it takes to let us know when she is here.