Remembering

I've never shared this story with anyone, except for some of the people that lived it with me. But, even then, they don't know what exactly I felt and what I experienced. I don't know why, but I feel the need to share this. It's taken me 5 months to write, because I wanted to make sure I wrote it in the best way possible. I tried to cut out all the unnecessary parts, and turning my emotions into words was harder than I expected. I hope I can convey this well. It's not an easy thing to talk about, especially because I don't deal with death well.
I have a knack for remembering dates. So this last week has been pretty hard on me as I have re-lived each event that occurred in 2012

April 12th, 2012.
I had just gotten off work. I pulled out my phone and read a text message from my brother:
"Do you know what's going on with Grandma?"
That wasn't what I wanted to read.
I hadn't heard that there was anything wrong.

The doctors said she had six months to live.
This wasn't right. It couldn't be. Not now.

April 13th, 2012.
Everything was going fine. Life was the same as what it had always been, except for some sad news I was trying to push back in my brain.
Just don't think about it.
6 months gives us time.
7:00 PM. A phone call from my mom.
"Kirsten, I think you need to come down. They don't think she's going to make it through the night. You need to say goodbye. You need to understand though... she's not coherent. She's kind of in a coma. She won't know you're here."
Traffic never seemed slower.
The hour between Ogden and Salt Lake City seemed to be an eternity.
I prayed to God that she would live until I got there. I cried and prayed, prayed and cried.
Please let her stay. Please don't let her die. Not now. Please, not now.
All of my immediate family was at the hospital, except my older brother, who was attending school in Logan, Utah. My parents, my older sister and her husband, myself, and my two younger brothers crowded around my grandma's bedside. My mom said we should say our goodbye to grandma. I guess either no one wanted to, whether they just didn't know what to say, or just didn't want to have to say it... I'll never know. But the first goodbye said was mine.
She wasn't awake. She really wasn't there in a sense.
But I still told her my fondest memories of her.
The times I spent with her while my mom was a single mother working to support her two kids.
The time I went and woke her up in the middle of the night because I was afraid of tornados.
I told her more than I can remember, and more than I care to share.There was so much I wanted to ask her, so much left unsaid.
But at the end I told her I loved her. I bent down and kissed her on the forehead... and the most incredible thing happened.
I watched her mouth form the words "I love you too". I watched her try to kiss me goodbye on the cheek, just like she always had.
She did the same thing to each of my family members, even my older brother who was saying goodbye over a cell phone.
That night she snapped out of the coma. She was back to being Grandma. Just tired and weak. I had the opportunity through some very interesting events to be able to be the last person to really talk to her that night. I told her again what I told her while she was incoherent earlier in the evening.  I even got to ask her one question that meant more than I ever would have imagined.
What is your favorite song?
'I Often Go Walking', a song from the LDS Primary Children's Songbook. She explained that we need to hold onto those songs, because it's the simple things in life that count.
We talked and laughed and I left thinking that it would all be fine, and that she was getting better.

April 14th.
I went home to Ogden. I had taxes I needed to do and finals to study for. Grandma was doing better anyway.

April 15th, 2012. 6:00 AM.
A phone call wakes me up. It's my mom again.
Kirsten, she's really going this time. If you don't want to drive back down I understand. You already said goodbye, and she's not coherent.
I don't know if it was the exhaustion talking, but I said that I would stay up in Ogden. Half of me said that it was ok, she'd snap out of it again. But 15 minutes went by and I had to leave. I would never forgive myself if I wasn't there when grandma died.
I drove that dreadful hour that seemed to last forever. No one was expecting me to come. I was wearing pajamas, I had never bothered to change. I don't suspect anyone in a hospital cares whether or not you look acceptable to the public eye. My older brother had been able to make it down from Logan. We were blessed to be together completely as a family.
There she was, once again totally disconnected from the world around her. My grandma, who had been so full of life and love, not even aware of what was going on around her.
It had turned into a vicious cycle.
Around 10:00 AM she snapped back.
This was the final time.
We all gathered together, all the extended family that was present, and we listened to her give us her last words of advice.
"Be yourself because you are wonderful."
There was a lot of family there, a lot of commotion, and it was hard to hear her. She said "There are things in life you're going to have to fight for..." But no one heard her. At least no one seemed to, except me. When someone realized they had missed something they asked her to repeat herself, but she just shrugged it off, said it wasn't important.
So I said it again for her.
She said there are things in this life you're going to have to fight for.
Silence.
My grandma turned and looked at me and said "like what?"
And I knew. I knew the words she wanted me to say. Because it was what my grandma always stood for.
We have to fight for what we believe in, even when everyone says you're wrong.
She looked at me and smiled.
"Exactly."

Luana Ruth Miller Johnson passed away in her sleep at 2:00 PM April 15, 2012, holding the hand of her husband of nearly 61 years, surrounded by three of her seven children.

I sat in the hospital waiting area next to my older brother. He sat with his head down, resting in the palms of his hands. I reached out and put my arm around him.
I'm alright, he said.
I know... but I'm not.

She worried that she had done nothing with her life.
And that makes me so sad.
She couldn't see what good she had done in this life, she had no idea how much she changed the world.
She left behind a legacy of love and compassion.
She left behind a granddaughter that would give her entire world just for one more day with her.
There's not a day that goes by that I don't think about her.
It's been a year. One long year, one short year. I think it depends on the day. Some days it's ok, and life is normal and good. Other days it hurts more than I can stand. I cry because I don't know how to live without her, even after an entire year.
I was told I had 6 months. I had 4 days.
I'm not bitter. I'm thankful that I had 20 beautiful years with that woman to love me unconditionally. I love you, Grandma. You knew me better than I knew myself. I'm only now starting to realize just how well you had me figured out. I hope I'm making you proud.
Until we meet again, I love you forever and always.