I still cannot stop thinking about the death of my grandmother.

My grandmother died three months ago in a very strange, almost suicidal way. She had been living in a cabin in Florida with no air-conditioning or kitchen, and what little she did have she'd spend it on alcohol. After ignoring her medical problems for months, it finally turned into sepsis and overwhelmed her immune systems. We were told by some affirmative action hire doctor that we had six months, then the week after she had a month. On Monday, we were told it may happen next week, Wednesday we were told she needed hospice care. That following Sunday morning she was dead. It was strange to see someone who had raised me die scared.

When the hospice nurse came in on the preceding Monday, and asked what was going to happen, it had me floored. The almost profane innuendo of whether my grandmother was ready to die or whether we were going to pay for a risky treatment was insane. When my grandmother looked at me, tired and scared, I had to walk out, and I regret that profoundly. We as a family asked for more time, and we were told we could wait till noon. My mother came out and asked me to sit with my grandmother, and oddly lucid she said she was ready. I don't think she meant it, but I think she wanted to be tough in front of me as best as she could.

I think about her every day.

I am grateful for my grandfather, who reads the Bible with me and is a spiritual guide. I am grateful that my last words were said out of love. I'm grateful I got to blow her a kiss when I last saw her. I pray for her, and I pray I get to see her again. I hope that wherever she is, she is happy, and resting.