My mom called an hour ago to tell me that grandpa died about 3:00 this morning. She said she didn't want to call that early and risk waking up the kids. I didn't tell her this, but what's strange is that I was already awake then. We have a motion sensor downstairs because last summer one of the kids liked to get up in the middle of the night and sit outside. He hasn't done it since about October. At 3:00, the receiver beeped in my room, meaning the sensor had been triggered. I got up, went downstairs where the dog was sleeping, drapes all pulled and everybody in their beds, breathing deeply. I sat on the stairs for a little while, listening to the hums and ticks of the house before turning around to go back up to bed.

I laid in bed for a good 30 minutes, thinking about my grandpa, which has been the case for the last several weeks every time I wake up. Growing up, he was a second father to me, when my own (then workaholic) father was not around. He was a dad to a lot of kids: 9 of his own, 42 grandchildren, and 13 great grandchildren. Up to this point, many of my thoughts had been, "I wish he'd just go already. He's suffered so much...." But now, knowing he's really gone and that I have to face the funeral home this week, my heart hurts and I want to see my mom. That won't happen until Wednesday or Thursday they say, so in the meantime, I have this cozy blog. Now that really makes my heart hurt.