One year and a week ago I drove down to California to spend some time with my Grandmother.
And after the most traumatic, emotionally draining weeks of my life, I sat beside her in my parents' living room and witnessed her very last breath.

The fact that I was in California last year around this same time under very different circumstances has been in the back of my head as I prepare to leave for my parents house in the morning.

I've been back twice since my grandma died.

Both times I looked into the living room and, although the entire room has been gutted and redecorated, I saw that hospital bed, and the chair I was sitting in, and the look on her face when she took her last breath.

This time I'll be there in the same room exactly one year from the day she died.

I'm still sad.
Sometimes the trauma of the hospice weeks still haunts me.
Tonight, I sat down and read all my posts on here from those days surrounding her death.
And I cried.
I don't usually go back and read things I have written, I'm not sure why I did it was like ripping off a scab.
The Grey was particularly moving to me.

I suppose in someway reading my own stories from that difficult time was kind of like leaving a patch of the wall unpainted, so I can reflect on where I was then and where I am now.

I recently read this quote that I find so appropriate.

"Death is no more than passing from one room into another. But there's a difference for me, you know. Because in that other room I shall be able to see". Helen Keller










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