Picking Up the Pieces.

Have you ever sat and wondered, Why me?  Well that has been my mentality a lot lately. 
2 weeks ago today I went to do baptisms at the Timpanogos Temple for the first time.  I was so over come with joy that I couldn't keep it in.  Even though the day before my Grandma had fallen and broken her knee cap in 3 places.  I was worried sick but nothing on this Earth could stop my Grandma.  Hell, we got her a walker that night and she picked it up and carried it down the hall.  She was immortal.
A week to the day of her fall my mom and I were given the feeling of going to Payson to check on her.  By the time we got  there the police were waiting and the ambulance was on their way.  I laid beside her, holding her hand promising her I wouldn't leave her and that I would make pudding for when we brought her home from the hospital.  She never came home.
My life fell apart that night.
I felt like I was dreaming because this couldn't happen.  Not to my Grandma.  Not to my best friend.  I spent the night on her living room floor praying to hear her call my name from down the hall.  I begged that some how Heavenly Father would bring her back and she would stick her hands in the freezer and then place them on my bare back to wake me in the morning like she used to.  But she never did and I had to find ways to pick up the pieces of my life.  The more I cried the more I realized that my Grandma had raised me to be just like her. 
All I wanted to do was hike.  To make a cake or a pie or something and then run the dessert to a friend.  I couldn't just sit and wallow. Telling my Grandma to sit down was like telling a hurricane to slow down.  It just didn't work that way. And that fire was growing stronger in me. 
I didn't sleep for almost a week and to my amazement, I didn't slow down.  Yeah, I had a few moments that I tried to brush my hair with my toothbrush but that was fairly normal. 
Before the shock of her death faded I had to find other ways to pick myself up.  I am still struggling with this.
But Monday night, the night of the viewing had finally rolled around.  I had spent most of the morning crying at Grandma's casket. I didn't know seeing her would be so difficult.  Flowers were starting to be brought in.  Wreaths and plotted plants and beautiful arrangements were every where.  My Grandma loved flowers, she taught me every thing I know about  them.  I found peace in looking at and smelling the flowers. Hours had passed when my cousin came over asking who had sent  me flowers.  I looked in the corner and sure enough, there was a vase with the prettiest flowers and my name on the card.  I didn't know the name on the back of the card, neither did anyone in my family. 
A part of me started to believe maybe, somehow, my Grandma had sent them for me.  Just for me.  Every time I would start to cry, to break down, I would look in the corner and just smile.  At least someone out there still loved me.
This morning I had some down time and I wont lie, I'm scared of these moments right now.  So I decided to look up this person's name and email her asking how she knew me and why she sent me flowers.
As if I needed another shock she emailed me back.  She emailed me back saying she is my sister and has been looking for a way to contact me.  When she heard that my Grandma had passed she sent me flowers.
I have a sister.
I lost my best friend and gained a sister.
I haven't decided how to react yet.  I'm not sure if this is some sick joke.  I don't know how to handle this. 
I guess it's time for me to start baking.  Anyone want a cake? Or maybe a couple of cakes??