Death is final

Death is final and when I say that I mean the life here on earth is forever gone. It's permanent. As in forever more.

The only thing that keeps me from going insane is knowing that Grandmother is a beautiful soul in an earthly shell and the second the shell shuts down she will be with her Father. The one that she has loved and faithfully followed always. It will be beyond glorious, nothing our small minds can even begin to imagine. And she will be perfect and perfectly content.

Tonight, or I guess I should say this morning my tears have finally started flowing in a way that doesn't hint of a let up anytime soon. I've cried on and off since Friday morning, but quickly fended them off.

Not now.

Now I'm in pain thinking of the things that will never be again.
The really bland cookies she makes. Not sure what she does to them, but we eat them all up anyway.
Always being able to count on the ingredients for a Dr. Pepper Float to be on hand.
The best scrambled eggs in the world.
Hugs at the front door.
Her ability to talk for 30 minutes without having to stop to take a breath.
"Sit down here and talk to me" as she pats the couch cushion. And then not being able to get a word in edgewise.
Her way of pronouncing alcohol "alkeyhall" and tacos "tacas".
Her clothes hanging on the line.
Knowing that she starts her days praying for every single one of us.

In those ways death is very final. The day to day things. The things with skin on them. Those will be gone. Forever. And I don't like it one bit. That's where I am right now. Trying to come to grip with this final part. I hate it.