My grandma died about 2 years ago. She was a proper English woman who loved her cigarettes and tea. She lived about 2 hours away from us, but we'd either go up and visit her or she'd come down and visit us relatively often. She was quick, smart, and opinionated; she was never one to beat around the bush...especially when it came to the French. Sometimes we would grumble when she came over because it took us days to air out the house of her cigarette smoke, but I always loved hearing the stories she would tell (on rare occasions) about the dances they would go to during the war (WWII) and how her and her friends would have to walk home in their heels because the bus service stopped running.

I don't know if I'd say we were close, but I loved her. My sisters and I visited her in the hospital several days before she ended up dying. She was a ghost of the woman she used to be. Staring off aimlessly, unable to speak. We tried to put on a strong face for her and be encouraging, especially for my mom's sake. We all went outside and then my mom brought us in one at a time to speak with her. As my mother brought me in for my turn, she told me "You were always grandma's favorite" or something like that. I'd always heard my mom compare me physically to my grandma (blonde hair, blue eyes, small, slender body type), but that comment surprised me. I'd always tried to show my grandma the respect she deserved, spend time with her, and give her hugs after our visits, which I guess is more than some of the other grandchildren (especially my cousins). That made it hurt more when she died.

Next to her bed, I tried to show her as much love and compassion as I could by talking with her and holding her hand. I don't know if any of it got through, but I know she knows now that I tried. My mom said it was hard for grandma to die; she fought it. She wasn't religious at all, but my dad said once he told her what the other side of the veil was like and my mom promised to take care of her younger brother (grandma always felt like she needed to take care of him, even though he's in his 50s), that she finally slipped away. That night, I cried myself to sleep. But, in the middle of th night I thought I felt her bony, wrinkled fingers touch my arm and say 'It will be alright.' At the time, I thought it was my husband, but he said he didn't do that...he just let me go to sleep. I know it was her.

I don't know why, but I felt incredibly close to her today, like the veil was thin for us today. I have felt a renewed sense of missing her. I miss not being able to go visit her. I miss her not coming down to visit. I miss her tea drinking...not the smoking since that's what killed her. I wish I had asked her to tell me more stories about her younger days. I wish that some day her temple work will be completed and she will accept the gospel, but I'm not sure if she will. She was a pretty strong-willed lady, but who knows? All I know, is that I love her, respect her, honor her, and miss her now than I can ever remember.