On Sunday morning, Grammie called. I was asleep. Cole tried to wake me, but at 1:30 a.m. my brain mixes dreams and reality. At 1:42 a.m., my Mom called. Cole got me to answer. Any call at 1:42 needs answered. Even in my dream state, I knew what that phone call meant. Grandpa was no longer in pain.

My Grandpa, who battled Hairy cell leukemia for nine years, no longer called earth his home. I could hear the words coming from my Mom’s mouth before she said them. Between the sobs and my lack of alertness, I really only remember two things from our 3-minute-and-35-second call. Grandpa was at peace, and Grammie was right by his side until the very end.

For years now, my brain has dreaded that call — the call where my Mom choked out the news to me. While I listened and missed my Grandpa, I knew he was in a better place. Bodies just can’t live forever, and that’s how God made us. Death is never fun or easy, but without faith, I’m not sure how you deal. I love my Grandpa — my only Grandpa — but humans are frail. We can only absorb so many pokes and prods and weakness.

As he passed his last days in the Rapid City, South Dakota, hospice with Grammie at his side, his thin body knew it was returning to its maker. But through it all, you could see God’s timing — his perfect way to love us. My parents visited him the weekend before their California drive. Grammie and Grandpa weren’t going to let us stop the summer trip. They learned life is short and live it. They want that to be true for everyone. And when I talked to Mom after that weekend, she fell apart when she told me their 2 p.m. departure was hard. It was difficult to realize that might be the last time she saw him. That’s when I knew how bad it really was this time. Details were passed along about his condition, but not always everything. The clues from the last visit told me the end was near.

During the week, I called their cellphone looking for Grandpa. We chatted mostly about the weather, which is mostly what we did. Then he got ready to eat some lunch, and Grammie gave me the run down of activities: his MRI, her week whacking, his nice nurse, her Target hotdog.

My family arrived Thursday, which meant mostly updates through Mom. All the news was the same, along with the constant reminder to enjoy the trip. We continued on with the jam-packed schedule, calling Grammie to check in and tell them about the sights. After the call came on Sunday morning, Grammie wanted us to continue — making memories at the Winchester Mystery House, eating 79-cent tacos, racing the waves up the beach, and doing the Macarena while enjoying bowling and pizza. All things Grandpa watched us do from another place. He knew we were all together and happy, which is what he wanted. Any other time, we would have been scattered: Cole and I in Cali, Skye in Spearville, and Mom and Dad in Glade. God just thought us together was best. Grammie didn’t have us, but she had her friends, and Cole’s Grandparents just happened to stop by and stayed with her. She wasn’t alone. Since July 6, she’s had nothing but support, even if it’s Uncle Tom.

What happens next? Lots of tough decisions and tears. But, God knows how we will get through it.

My last call with Grammie couldn’t describe it any more accurately. We ordered In-N-Out Burger, and Mom called Grammie. A few minutes after she had walked out, I went to check on her. She was struggling, so I took over the phone. Grammie told me about the new fawn at home, Freckles she calls him, and that she was there with Grandpa. And of course, technology butts in. Grammie accidentally got me on speakerphone. After a few minutes of directions and “Can you hear me now?” echoing through the hospice room, we got back to a regular volume. But in those last hours, Grandpa heard my squeaky little voice trailing from afar, knowing Grammie would have help from figuring out what was next in life to how to turn off the speakerphone. Grammie wouldn’t be alone. He’d always be in her heart, and we’d always be a phone call away.