Last night, my Grandma Mary, the one I reminisced about so nostalgicly a few posts ago, passed away in her sleep. This loss feels overwhelming to me, she's the only grandparent I've lost that I was never disillusioned about in any way. She was the same amazing woman from the day I met her to the day she died, always embodying the qualities of grandmotherhood that legends are based on. She was always accepting, and never once, ever, did she make me feel like I wasn't her very own natural grand child. I can't imagine there was one single person on this earth who didn't adore her. I remember spending the night there on some occasions, and the big green swing in the backyard, and how we'd sit on it in the afternoons. I remember the frozen mugs she kept in the freezer that we'd make slushies in, the silly surfer figure on the wall, the clown paintings, the board games, going to sunday school with her when she still taught it, and mostly an environment of serenity and unconditional acceptance. I feel wounded in a way that I can't quite express, and I feel like the world has lost a real jewel, the same sort of loss it incurred when Mr. Rogers and Mother Theresa died. I'm doing everything I can to go down for the funeral. Right now I feel somehow lost, like I need to be there with the rest of my family, remembering her, and grieving for her.