Dying is no fucking art

I watched my grandmother die.  Watched her shallow breathing and her skin shine and everything that goes with it.

I sat with her dead body and I cried. There was nothing artistic about it. It was grim and horrible.  

Whether I like it or not, she raised me into the man I am today and, to be frank, I'm not a bad guy at all.  Sure, I've made some whopper mistakes, but who the fuck hasn't? Isn't that the point?  Live and learn?

I didn't realize how much of a comfort it was to call her and talk.  To know that if I ever did anything stupid, I'd have a place to stay.  She was a huge part of this little world of family that I have and I'll miss her.

She had a rough life too and it ended in pain.  So much pain...and I'm glad that the pain is gone.


God our Father,
Your power brings us to birth,
Your providence guides our lives,
and by Your command we return to dust.

Lord, those who die still live in Your presence,
their lives change but do not end.
I pray in hope for my family,
relatives and friends,
and for all the dead known to You alone.

In company with Christ,
Who died and now lives,
may they rejoice in Your kingdom,
where all our tears are wiped away.
Unite us together again in one family,
to sing Your praise forever and ever.

Amen.