Ripped back to reality..

Okay here I sit, twenty four hours after learning that my mother died. You want to talk about being ripped back to reality. There I was, making it through the day worrying about the little shit and BAM. My 69 (which was mighty fine in her time-her exact words) year old mother died. She turned 69 less than one month ago.

She has three children who love her very much, and many others that call her Mom who will miss her too. Six grandchildren that love her more than life itself, hundreds more that call her Nana and numerous great grandchildren who learned to say Nana before they did Mama or Dada. Nana was the shit, the end all be all. She'd roll on the floor and play with them. She'd jump in puddles, watch cartoons and eat junk food with the best of them.

She truly lived for the grandbabies. They were everything to her. The greats made her life worth living, she kept saying if not for those babies, I wouldn't still be here. I am sorry she won't have the pleasure of meeting her two great grandbabies that are currently growing inside her granddaughters. But they will know about their Nana, the good, the bad and the ugly.