Never ever

If I believed in God, maybe this would all be easier. Maybe not - but, maybe so.

If I believed in him, I suppose I'd believe I would see her again. I'd see her, and my mother, and my dad. And all those people I miss so much.

But I don't. And I won't. The last time I saw my grandmother is probably the last time I'll ever see her. I'll never hold her, kiss her, watch her fall asleep in the big chair again. I'll never again see the look of delight in her eyes when she was happy or excited about something.

Does she know how much I love her? Does she know what I remember?

I remember when she came to babysit a chicken-pox-ridden Joey for a week so his dad and I wouldn't have to miss work. I remember her coming out here to New Mexico, from Illinois, on a day's notice to take care of Joey and Quent so I could honor my bedrest for Aaron to not be born too soon. I remember the year she bought us tires for our car, when we couldn't afford it. I remember the gift she gave me when I graduated college, something I didn't even know still existed: a photo of my mom and dad and sisters, all of us together. I remember all the times after my mom died when I sat and cried, and she found me and held me. I remember crawling into her bed when I was too scared to sleep alone. I remember taking her to Wendy's, to see Joey at work. I remember my 40th birthday, when she got me a cake for an impromptu party.

I remember her getting mad at me for making out with a boy in a car outside our house at 1 a.m. I remember the awful arguments we had when I was young and naive. I remember her canning and freezing and making pies and teaching me to bake and feeding my body and soul.

And I remember rushing home when she was first sick, fearing she wouldn't live through the weekend. I remember holding her hand for hours, certain she was leaving us. And I remember the grief she went through losing her second child, my favorite uncle.

And I know that her belief in seeing her beloved husband, her children, her family and friends who have already died, is bringing her comfort. And I am as glad of that as I am sad that it won't actually happen.

And I am so very, very said that she is nearly gone, and that I will never, ever see her again.