I had planned to write a mildly entertaining entry about my experience trying to buy U2 tickets last Saturday.
Alas, that will have to wait.
Instead, I have to write one of the saddest, yet most joyful entries of my "career" at D-land.
My Grandmama, Halcie Lea Bickley, passed away in her sleep at 6am this morning at the well-lived age of 95.
She had been in a nursing home for, I can't remember exactly, about a year, I think. Somewhere around there. She had been somewhat out of her mind for most of that time. She was usually relatively lucid when we visited her, but talking to her was almost impossible because she could never operate her hearing aid because of her arthritis. All we could do was hug and cry. She hated that life.
She asked my father one time, "If God wanted me to live so long, why did he make it so hard?"
She was ready to go. She had apparently stopped eating a couple days ago, and was mostly sleeping. One of the senior nurses at the home said that it was likely that she was just "shutting down." So, this morning, at 6am, the shut down was complete. Apparently, she just stopped breathing.
God, if you're listening, that's how I want to go.
It's sad because Grandmama was always my favorite. I loved my other grandparents dearly, but Grandmama was always the most fun. My mind is flooded with memories today, almost so rapid fire that I can't single them out. I will miss her dearly. But, then, she hadn't really been around for a while. Not like she was.
It's joyful because I know in my heart where she is. She's in the arms of Jesus right now. She's dancing with brand new hips on the streets of gold. And I'm pretty sure that she can hear just fine.
Sigh. Jesus, give her a kiss for me.
I'll talk about U2 tomorrow.