Grandma Joyce

I got a rough phone call the evening of the fourth of July. My dear grandma had been put on hospice just two weeks earlier and had fallen that morning. By evening she'd slipped into a coma. I called my cousin frantically not knowing whether I should come say my goodbyes or wait until morning. My cousin told me she'd keep me posted and I reluctantly went to bed with my phone by my side.
 I made it down to her place by 9am. She was in bad shape. I held her hand and talked to her. Told her it was okay to go and that we loved her. Anyone who knows my grandmother knows that she was a short, sweet, stubborn British woman. There were many times when the Vail seemed thin. I knew that her family was there. I know they pleaded with her to go. But she wanted only one person in particular to take her home. Her mother.
We felt the presence of them a few times that beautiful wet morning as she'd take what seemed like her last breath. Only to gasp as if telling them no and continue on for a few more hours. We watched many beautiful miracles leading up to Grandma's passing. Finally after what seemed like a life time of watching her struggle to breath and refuse to leave a silence came over the room.
 This time the presence was different. I leaned over and squeezed Grandma's hand. She's here isn't she? We all replied as Grandma's face went calm. We told her we loved her and it was time to go home. She squeezed my hand and was gone.  Grandma we love you and your legacy will live on.