At 11:00pm, I didn't know what to do. I'd come to my mother's house early from work, without even a change of clothes. Grandma was finally sleeping, but there was no telling how long it would be. Did I go home for the night and risk being away when I would have wanted to be there? Or throw together a bag and come back to stay the night? I opened my purse to look at the time on my phone, and an old fortune fell out. It read "You are almost there." I got chills all over, sped home for my toothbrush, and returned.

At 1:30am, the house had cleared out. I sat with my laptop in the living room, trying to distract myself, stay occupied. I wrote my entry.

At 1:54am the machine stopped.

At 3:00am, the hospice sent someone to pronounce her dead. I thought, What a shitty job that must be. He spoke softly.

At 4:00am the man from Rose Hills arrived and began asking questions. I can see how this might disturb some people. But I actually found it amusing.

Cause of death? Oh, heart failure, renal failure, fluid in the lungs, and probably cancer too. Yes, it took ALL THAT to kill her. When she was taken to the doctor's the day before she died, she said to my Aunt, "No one's fooling me, I know something's wrong. They brought me here for a reason!" After examining her, the doctor concluded that she'd had several heart attacks, which may have contributed to the dementia she'd exhibited as early as last Friday. Heart attackS. Several.

Any previous surgeries? I laughed out loud at that one. Even I know that grandma had been sliced and diced in so many ways that you could take a stab and name any procedure--just guess one--and she'd probably undergone it.

It took five doses of morphine to induce sleep.

You'd never think it, looking at the frail little person she'd become. She was deceptive, that way.

Thursday was the last day she was out and about, the day she saw the doctor. After the doctor, they took her to dinner at a Cuban restaurant in Downey. They offered her soup. But she wasn't about to have any pansy-ass soup. She wanted a Medianoche sandwich. One of those monstrous, heartburn-inducing, artery-clogging creations made with pork, ham, cheese, egg-bread, pickles, and mustard. It turned out to be her last meal. I think maybe she planned it that way.

At 5:00am, it was all over. And something else began.