Life has interrupted blogging. My wonderful grandma, who has been like a mother to me, is on her deathbed. 11 years ago this week, her husband - the wonderful man I called Grandpa - died. Years ago, when I went to visit his grave, I got such a sense of loneliness. I told him that he'd have to be patient; we girls weren't done gabbing yet. The grave no longer looked lonely; he knew what we were like.
This evening I visited Grandma. She's sleeping, unconscious, free of the chronic pain that has plagued her for years. Her kidneys are shutting down, making her fingers swell, and the wedding ring she asked for last week is cutting into her ring finger.
I felt like visiting Grandpa's grave on my home. I spoke to the lone name on the headstone, the name that has been alone for so long, waiting for a second name to fill the gap underneath his.
"She'll be here soon," I said. "It won't be long now. Receive her. She's coming soon to be with you again."
Suddenly I realized why Grandma had asked for her wedding ring. She told me that she wanted people to know she was married. And she is. Her husband is waiting. He's been waiting a good while for his beloved wife, but now the wait is over. She'll be with him soon.