I took the kids to say goodbye to their grandma tonight. She is basically asleep most of the time and can’t talk or see anymore, though she did squeeze people’s hands in recognition here and there. Her kidneys have shut down, so it is just a matter of a small amount of time now. It was heartbreaking to see her lying there, so lifeless and fragile, but the upside is that we will all be glad to see her out of whatever suffering she may be going through.

My three older kids spent the majority of the time sitting next to her on the bed, holding her hand, crying and telling her what a great grandma she is and how much they love her. Logan brought his Leapster along, so he was entertained enough during the visit. He understands, as well as an almost-six-year-old can, that she is going to die soon and some days it saddens him greatly, but he seemed more frightened of her tonight than anything. She certainly didn’t look like the grandma he remembers. He did hold her hand for a bit and whispered, “Grandma, it’s Logan,” in her ear.

I can barely wrap my mind around the emptiness her loss is going to leave. While it’s comforting to know that she’ll be in a better place, adjusting to life without her is going to be incredibly difficult. It’s amazing how far-reaching the circles of one person’s life stretch, how many people that life touches and how unaware we are of just exactly its impact until it’s gone.

I suspect that it’s the little things that will inspire the most tears as we adjust: Family gatherings without her family-famous crispy chicken strips, never-to-be-replicated taco meat and the constant sight of her in the background, walking around with one of her infant grandchildren while the rest of us eat; the way she made everything around her peaceful and serene; her teeny, carefully-tended summer strawberries that exploded in juicy sweetness beyond description in one’s mouth; how she pushed her grandchildren in the swings for hours in the backyard, singing songs to them; the generosity and sweetness of spirit she showed to everyone she met; the way her house always felt like a second home, with space, love and necessities in abundance.

I feel so blessed to have known her for all the years I did, to have the many memories I do and most importantly, to have had modeled so well the way a woman should be in spirit and demeanor. I said it before, but it must be said again: This world will be a much sadder, emptier place without her.

Go in peace and love, Carmen.