My Grammy is on my mind today.

My Grampa passed away when I was a senior in high school, only a month or so before my paternal grandfather, lovingly known as Pepaw, left this world. It was strange. I had never experienced the pain of anyone close to me passing away before the deaths of these two great men. I can remember going to the funeral home when friends of mine had lost loved ones throughout our childhood--grandparents, parents, a brother. All of that was incredibly sad, yet when my Grandfathers passed away, I don't remember feeling a whole lot of sadness for myself, just everyone else they'd left behind in their journey to eternal life.

Shortly before Grampa passed away, my mom's family was made aware that my Grammy was in the early stages of Dementia, which is essentially a precursor to Alzheimer's. We were fortunate that the progression to Alzheimer's began slowly and that even today she's about as healthy as a 90 year old woman with Alzheimer's can be, besides the memory loss, that is. We've also been fortunate that my grandmother has not become violent as her disease and age continues to advance, as is often the case Alzheimer's patients. She lives comfortably and happily in an assisted living home, and continues to report that she loves it there and that the "food is great!" despite no longer knowing where she is.

This woman has never had, nor do I believe she will ever have, a mean bone in her body.

As hard as it is on my mother and her siblings to sit in the painful everyday reality that Grammy no longer remembers where she is, that it's her house in which we congregate for special occasions and holidays, and most heartbreaking, who they are anymore, this amazing group of women never ceases to surprise me with the ways they band together to selflessly and courageously take care of my grandmother. Never mind that they all have their own family and work responsibilities and health concerns of their and their immediate family's own. They somehow figure out how to balance their responsibilities, take care of Grammy, and manage their grief all at the same time. I don't know how they do it, but I am continually inspired by the perseverance they have exhibited throughout this difficult journey.

Because I'm many miles away from home, I've not had to help with these responsibilities. In fact, I'm almost certain I haven't even seen Grammy since Thanksgiving of 2012. Almost two years. Though I've called, sent a couple of cards throughout my time at seminary and also some pictures with descriptions and dates on the backs of them for the photo board that hangs in her living room at her apartment (She used to think that was the greatest gift she had ever received.), I would be lying if I did not say that there is guilt and heartbreak and sadness that dwells within me for not making the appropriate plans to see her over the years. Shoot, I'm scared to even call and talk with her anymore because I don't know how she'll react to not knowing who's on the other line, and I'm not sure I could handle her not knowing in the first place.

Used to when I would call and remind her who I was that same ol' Grammy that I had loved all my life would pipe up and say, "Of course. Hello, sweetheart, how are you today? What have you been up to at school?" I miss those calls, and I'm ashamed to say I don't call anymore. Because I haven't been around the past couple of years, I haven't had to experience my grandmother, the one who loved me more than life itself at one point in her life, look me in the eye and say, "I'm sorry, but who are you?" Though I hope to see her before she leaves this world, that particular moment will be one I will have to breathe and pray deeply to get me through it.

I refuse to end this blog on a sad note (since you were so kind enough to read through the ramblings in my head this fine afternoon), so I will leave you with some of the happiest memories I have of my Grammy and our time together:

My Grammy has the sweetest eyes, and though my mom's have more strength/passion/fire/sass behind them (I get that from her :) ), they're basically identical.

My Grammy loved to read more than anyone I had ever known. Seriously, the woman would go through two huge novels in a matter of a week or so and not bat an eye. I loved our trips to the library.

She would take me to the local country club swimming pool and throw things for me to dive after.

We always played games--everything from card games to Chinese Checkers--and it never failed we would laugh our way through them.

She would drive anywhere from ten to forty minutes down the road to watch me play sports growing up.

She was (and is still, I would imagine) so calm. You couldn't help but be at peace when in her company.

I loved helping her in the kitchen. She was always doing, baking, cooking something in there, and I loved helping her with (and sometimes sampling)  all her hard work.

We used to go on dates to Waffle House, and I refused to eat at any other Waffle House because it "just  wasn't the same" without her there.

I loved listening to her tell me stories as we sat together and flipped through old photo albums (The woman was a champ at picture organization--names and dates on every Polaroid print.).

Most of all, I just loved the way she loved me. And the rest of her family. Her hugs were the most gentle and sincere of them all, and she definitely knew how to make sure everyone in her presence know they were special, cared for, and loved. What a gift this woman has been to our family. My life is even more of a gift because of her.