Tears

Yesterday -- Was it only yesterday? -- my dear, dear Grandmother passed away. I was not surprised; she had took a turn for the worse. And since I had an idea it was coming I guess it wasn't so bad for me. After all, I know she's in Heaven for she was always a devout believer in our Savior.
  Yesterday was also a big music day for us and since we couldn't cancel, we went ahead and did the performances{two in all}. It wasn't until after my brother and I played our Calliope House/Cowboy Jig duet and the MC of the Fine Arts Fair stood and said that our Grandma would be proud, that her absence really hit home for me. And the MC telling us that... I couldn't stay in the building anymore. By the time I got out to the truck I was flat out sobbing. I know I have that song on my playlist "Cowgirls Don't Cry", but I guess if that's true, I'm not a cowgirl because I cried like I never had before. This is the first time that someone really close to me has passed away. And I miss her, I miss her so badly! The rush of memories was indescribable as I cried in the truck, at times for lack of a better outlet for my emotions, punching and kicking the seat. Not out of anger, but out of raw grief. I repeated the memories out loud as they came to me. No one was around, and even if they were, what did I care if they heard me?
  The ones that stood out most were the time my brothers and I painted her deck just last summer in the hot sun while she sat in a chair and told us funny stories of when my Dad was a teenager, or when she was teaching me to paint; when I was little and we went to the park and played games and then stopped by the movie store to rent a "horse movie!". She and Grampa came to all my soccer games and we always went to the Purple House {a purple snack shed on the fields} to buy a candy. And Sundays, every Sunday, up till January, we would have a special Sunday dinner.
  There are so many more memories that I hold dear. But... I really wish I had asked her about her life growing up on a farm during WWII. And her Dad: he was a story just waiting to be written, being a stowaway from Ireland on a ship bound for freedom in the United States. And of course her mother who died when she was only three. There's so much I wish I'd asked her, but I wrongly assumed that the chance to learn about her past would come of its own accord. I cannot stress enough how important it is to ask your grandparents about their lives before you no longer have the option. Likely enough, they'll be willing to tell you everything.

My cousins are all flying up tonight for the funeral and vigil tomorrow and Friday. I'm to play Oh, Danny Boy, a song my great-grandpa used to sing to Grandma when she was a child and one she loved dearly. I wonder if I can play it at all.

I am already tired of being on the verge of tears, I want to be happy again. I want everything to go back to normal. I want my Grandma back.
 I told God last night, God, I know your time is perfect, and that Grandma is much better and happier where she is now, but Lord, I already miss her so....
 I really don't know how I'm going to get through both services. I wish there was only one.

 I beg that you pray for my entire family. Especially for my Grandpa. He has not been without Grandma for any long period of time in sixty-five years. I am comforted by my Lord and his wonderful creations, horses. Whom I am sure he granted special, you could say, "powers".

In memory of my dear Grandma 

July 1925 ~ May 4th, 2010

 {these tulips were her favorite}