I was up at 2:00am and started writing a post. That one is a “saved draft” so you are spared from reading my musings about life after death. Today is just too rainy for that sort of conversation.
My grandmother passed away yesterday morning. She’d had a stroke a week ago last Friday and instructed no intervention in her living will, so she was ushered out of life. I’m intrigued by the correllary between birth and death, by how much the process of her slow dying was very like a protracted labour and delivery.
I’m sorry that I don’t have more of a eulogy in me right now. If you want to read the piece my
mother brother will be reading at the funeral, you can see that here. And no, I don’t believe he will read the italicized part, so there is no fear of anyone saying “suckful” at my grandmother’s funeral.
My parents had four children, and as I explained to my sister last night, they got the latter two by having the first two of us stay with my grandparents. We stayed at my grandparents at lot.
So much of my life was lived under my grandmother’s wing–especially the early parts, before my grandfather’s stroke. It’s hard to lose her, even though she was 96 and we’ve actually been losing her to failing health for awhile.
My sister was telling me about mom’s ideas for the funeral and I realised that mom didn’t know (or had forgotten) that grandma wanted “How Great Thou Art” sung. She had a plaque shaped like a hymnal, open to that hymn, that sat on top of their tv. I told her it was a pretty song and I liked the words. She told me she wanted it sung at her funeral. So I guess that’ll happen, probably.
When I was eight we went to Madison, Wisconsin. My dad had a Continuing Legal Education type of thing to go to and my mom had to spend a week living in a camper and amusing four children in a strange city. We went to the zoo, I remember, and stopped on the way back from the zoo at a Big Boy restaurant. I had gotten a piece of popcorn stuck in my throat at the zoo and remember whining about my jello. I couldn’t swallow the jello that was my “dessert”. (Jello is not a dessert, people.) The popcorn was the first of my chicken pox, and by midnight I was as sick as a person can be and still not be in the hospital. Fortunately that was our last day in Madison (at least I had okay timing) and so we drove home. I suppose. I don’t remember. What I do remember is stopping at my grandparents’ farm and being bundled onto the couch by the TV. When you are very very sick there is no thing in the world like having a mom AND a grandma take care of you…even if it is only for a few hours. I remember lying there and feeling like everything would always be okay.
And of course, it wasn’t. It never is. But in a larger sense the fact that there was a time or two that I could have that very restful feeling is something that fuels my faith and my living. I think it’s a reason I believe in God. And it’s the reason I believe that there is life after death and that everything is always okay where my grandmother is now.