In which I am grateful for what I know to be true

At 10 p.m. last night the phone rang.  And I knew what it was.  Danny paused the movie we were watching and answered the phone.  I held my breath analyzing his side of the conversation.  He seemed all business and yet solemn.  But I knew.

Picture of Grandma lifted from my sister's blog post.

My grandma passed away.  She was the only grandma I ever knew.  I hadn't seen her since my grandpa's funeral in 1999. 

• Grandma would insist on putting vitamin E on my mosquito bites.  She told me the mosquitos loved my sweet blood.
• Grandma would take her dentures out for the grandkids' pure amusement.  I'm fairly certain she never glued them in. 
• When Grandma came to visit, she'd do our laundry for us.
• I remember being amused at how loud Grandma could snore.
• I love how she affectionately called Grandpa, "Daddy."
• Grandma and I wrote letters to each other from about the time I got married (almost 13 years ago) until about 2 1/2 years ago when I was pregnant with the twins and stopped writing so often.  She wrote on a legal pad with a black sharpie most of the time.  Sometimes it was blue.  Once it was red.  On occasion she'd include recipes or newspaper stories in the letters. 
• Grandma would tell me during every phone call how proud she was that I married a return missionary. 

Just a week and a half ago, Danny and I talked about getting a plane ticket for me to go see Grandma one more time.  Grandma never met Danny or any of my kids.  But since Peach and I are joined at the hip, and Peach-aged folk fly free to Hawaii, it would be the two of us.  That was the plan. 

But it was too late. 

I know she's happy with Grandpa again.  I know she can see and she can walk.  I know that families are forever and I will see her again one day.  To her, it may seem like a short while, to me perhaps a lifetime.