My grandma suffered a serious fall two weeks ago, hitting the back of her head hard enough to cause a small internal bleed. Normally that would be bad but recoverable. However, as the doctor at the hospital quietly explained to my mother, what would "just be a small bleed" to someone else is a devastating injury to someone with a brain atrophied by Alzheimer's Disease like Grandma's.

My grandma is dying.

The Time Comes

I haven't been able to be there as much as I should. Duties at home make it difficult to be with her alone and she's in no condition for me to bring the little ones. But this morning I had the feeling I really needed to go be with her. My mom called about an hour after I told Ben I thought I should go and told me I might want to come. Funny, how we know these things sometimes.

When I saw Grandma about a week ago she napped the whole time I was there. I read to her from a favorite book and didn't feel right doing something melodramatic like saying goodbye. It wasn't time yet.

Today it was.

I've been present for death before. I cared for Ben's grandma until she died. I was there just before and just after my Nana died. With each of them, there was a look and a sense that made it clear what was happening. I saw it again today.

She was so incredibly frail, nothing more that skin and bones, lying so still in the bed I checked to see if she was even breathing. It's as if the spark of life has just been fading out of her. When she heard someone in the room both her hands went up like a person falling and trying to catch her balance. She's had a hard time with touch lately, like an autistic child. I took her right hand as gently as I could, expecting her to pull away. She calmed and held my hand, rubbing my thumb with hers. Her eyes never opened.

I think that's when I started to cry.

What Do You Say?

I'm a very matter-of-fact person most of the time. I handle death by facing it head-on and saying I know it's coming and that's just how it is. But when it comes right to the point, the magnitude of what death really is hits me every time.

Death is a catastrophe. It's a thief. It's the greatest enemy we face and we are all going to lose to it, even if only temporarily for some of us. It's not really something to fear in one sense, because it's an enemy we know ultimately loses in the end. We're going to be alive again.

But in the meantime...the tears have not yet been wiped from every eye and Death means that nowhere on this Earth will this person who has always been in my life exist anymore.

There was no one else around and I sat by Grandma on the bed, holding her hand and wondering what on earth to say. What do you say to your grandma when you know it's probably the last opportunity in a lifetime you're going to be together?

"Grandma, I always thought you and I were nothing alike," I told her. "I always thought I took after Nana. But lately I've realized you passed on a very important gift. You taught my mom that God is a person. You gave Mom the beginning of the faith she passed to me. I will always be grateful to you for this. I hope I can pass it on to my children."

There Is Hope

I got out the book of Revelation and started to read it to her. The very last chapter. The part where the Book of Life is opened and Death finally gets thrown into the Lake of Fire - "Death, Grandma. Not people. Death. It's Death that will be tormented for eternity. That's the real end of the story" - and those whose names are found in that Book will be with God.

"In some places, it's customary to give a blessing on a day that's coming soon," I told her. "A blessing that says, 'may you be clothed in white and your name written in the Book of Life'. If I can give you one blessing, Grandma, it's that your name will be in that Book."

Grandma and I have never agreed on theology beyond the idea that there is a God and his son Jesus is the Messiah. She wanted to convert me to Catholicism when I was younger and while I didn't blame her - of course a grandmother wants the grandchild she loves to do what she believes to be right - I wasn't convertible.

It doesn't matter now. She can't argue with me. I can't convince her.

But I still had time to give her my blessing. I do not know what that blessing will do. But it's my hope for her.

Be at peace, Grandma. And may your name be written in the Book.