2 weeks ago today you left this Earth to begin your pain free journey with Jesus. I'm forever grateful to be one of your granddaughters, to have been loved endlessly by you. I miss so many things. I miss your smell, the way you looked at nanny, the way you would light up when I walked into the house, our texts with your emojis; and so much more. 

It feels like it was 10 minutes ago that I checked for a pulse knowing in my head that there wouldn't be one because you had taken your last breath about 2 minutes prior. I watched your chest rise and fall for the last time and gave you a few moments of just silence to enter Heaven peacefully. Still, when I put my fingers to your wrist, I hoped and prayed there would still be a faint heartbeat; I was heartbroken when there wasn't. I did exactly as you asked me to when we talked about your passing a few days prior, I made sure nanny was surrounded with love and have made sure she is supported throughout this. 

Having hospice nursing experience is a blessing and a curse when your own family is the patient... Every time I walked into the house, I was assessing you and your surroundings. I was monitoring your medicine, your vitals, your mental state... I knew you were slowly leaving us weeks before it happened. I knew the night before too. I refused to believe it. I still do, to an extent. I have this expectation that you'll be in your room on the computer when I walk down the hallway, or that I'll hear your random whistling coming from a different room. I look through our text messages wishing there would be the 3 little dots, meaning you're typing to me; but I know deep down they won't show up anymore.

How do I accept that you're physically gone and not coming back? I know I am strong enough to handle this because I am a part of you; but some days I have my doubts. How do I process this "properly," without going into a full-on depression and mental breakdown? I am normally the strong one in the family. I keep them going when they don't think they can. I've been distancing myself from everyone except my wonderful husband, who you adored so, so much. Grief comes in waves and lasts forever. I'm just not sure how to weather the storm.

I have dreams of you often, most nights actually. I dream that we are outside in the shade on a nice sunny day, your favorite place to be. I can hear birds chirping away and the silence is just so calming. I hope that's what Heaven is like for you. Oddly, there is no conversation other than you telling me "It's okay, I'm okay now sissy." before I wake up. I have some peace knowing that I can sleep and hear your voice. I pray that never goes away. I pray you never go away. I'm terrified of forgetting what you smell like when you have aftershave on, what your laugh sounds like, or even worse; forgetting what your smile looks like.

I'm searching for anyone to help me through this. I'm even looking into counseling, something I never thought I'd need. You were and are my absolute best friend (other than nanny), and I need help getting through the grief. I love you a bushel and a peck & a hug around the neck, Mr. Sir. It's all okay now.