I'm in bed, and my grandma is next to me.
Her breathing is slow and steady, and she is on her third day of sleepfulness. She hasn't been out of bed except to use the bathroom.
Her moments of clarity are fewer and farther apart, but when she is clear, she reaches out, gives a hug, touches my face...
She is so thin right now; she wasn't big to begin with, but every time I go into her room and touch her, she seems to have lost even more weight, mass and inches.
We expect her to pass sometime this weekend. We're doing everything we can to assure she is comfortable and maintains dignity. My grandpa has been the best caretaker he can be, and he has had to make some tough decisions. I told him that right now, for me and Wayne, this point that they are at seems so far away for us, but I'm sure to him it all came upon them too quickly. I keep telling Wayne different things I want if I die in the manner my grandma is dying: candles, music, family together, food cooking, massage, holding, touching, talking...I want to have vitality surround me as I pass, so I know I leave a legacy that will continue.