My Granny died yesterday.
I was flipping through Facebook on my phone while I waited for Poppy’s dance class to end. Lots of first-day-of-school pictures, a bear crossing a parking lot, people drinking Starbucks or wanting Starbucks and celebrating birthdays and selling roosters and losing jobs.
And a request for prayers from one of my cousins, because her aunt had just died. I’m not condemning my cousin for putting it on there. Facebook has become our wailing wall. I wrote about Granny’s passing, too, and I’ve taken comfort in the condolences people have left there.
It was jarring, though, getting the news like that, and driving home afterward was difficult. I’m feeling a little detached today. A little floaty. A lot unfocused.
Granny was sick for a long time, and she’s only had brief moments of clarity for the last several years. I think she might have recognized me briefly the last time I was there, but I’m not sure. She was always busy, always moving, and I can’t help but think that confinement to the nursing home and, eventually, to a wheelchair must have been terrible for her.
She is surely better, happier, released now.
I’m concerned about my mom. She’s been going to the nursing home every day for years, caring for her mother. She seems to be handling it well today, but I’m worried about what will happen next week when there aren’t any arrangements left to make.