A week ago yesterday I held the hand and kissed the face of my grandmother for the very last time.
Unfortunately, she had already died by the time I arrived at her home.
In any other moment of my life I would have thought it appalling to sit by a dead body for a few hours, but for some reason last Saturday it just seemed like the thing I should do.
My grandma had a stroke on November 15th. As soon as I heard the news and could get on the road I headed up to Bellingham to see her in the hospital. It was such a heart-breaking time. She lost her ability to speak, and she was clearly frustrated and probably scared. Tears ran down her cheeks as she tried so hard to utter words that we simply couldn't understand. I took the opportunity to pray over her and specifically ask God to give her peace. I spent a few hours at the hospital and then gave her a hug and a kiss, told her I loved her, and headed back home.
You just never know when the last goodbye will be.
Over the course of the week and a half from the hospital visit, she had many ups and downs. Though she never seemed to be teetering on the verge of death, she had some rough days. I checked in with my cousin the night before I headed back up to visit and she said that grandma was doing really well.
I packed a bag with a change of clothes just in case my aunt needed me to stay the night and help with my grandma. I also grabbed my iPad so I could show my grandma some funny videos I had recently watched online and show her the pictures of our Thanksgiving getaway. I hoped to dig out some of her old pictures and go through them as we passed the day, but wasn't sure how that would go since she couldn't really tell me anything about the photos.
Eli and I were on our way up to see her Saturday morning, about an hour from her house I got a phone call telling me she died.
It was pouring down rain.
The skies had opened up and released the floodgates.
I was crying, and trying to drive.
I was so sad, and so close, and it was raining so very hard.
Eli was beside me and silent.
He didn't ask questions, he didn't offer help, he just let me be.
And I drove the longest hour in the heaviest rain of all time.
When I got to the house I gave my aunt a hug and made my way in to my grandma's room.
And there she was.
94 years of life on this Earth.
And then she died.
I didn't have the privilege of growing up near this grandma, so I don't have a lot of childhood memories with her, but I treasure the many opportunities I've had to spend time with her over the past four years of living in Washington.
A few months ago a friend asked me to help her come up with an pen name for an article she wrote. I told her I have no idea what her fake writer name should be, but if I ever needed a fake name I would use my grandma's. Joyce.
She was adventurous, courageous, and loyal.
I hope that those characteristics live in me.
As we were getting ready to move from our house in Olympia up here, I dragged Matt out to the garage to sort through old Army stuff. We opened a box that had a bunch of letters and cards. We sifted through letters from me, various parents, aunts and uncles, siblings and friends, then we came upon a stack of identical notecard envelopes. In each one was a hand-written note on a notecard with an American flag on the front. 40 letters. Every Sunday for the duration of Matt's deployment to Iraq my grandma wrote him a note, and mailed in on Monday. No other person was more faithful in sending Matt encouraging words and prayer filled notes.
Someday I will tell her story as best as I know it.
Her trials were great, her adventures were many, and she laughed a lot.
My grandma... she lived courageously, chose adventure over fear, and was undeniably loyal.
Unfortunately, she had already died by the time I arrived at her home.
In any other moment of my life I would have thought it appalling to sit by a dead body for a few hours, but for some reason last Saturday it just seemed like the thing I should do.
My grandma had a stroke on November 15th. As soon as I heard the news and could get on the road I headed up to Bellingham to see her in the hospital. It was such a heart-breaking time. She lost her ability to speak, and she was clearly frustrated and probably scared. Tears ran down her cheeks as she tried so hard to utter words that we simply couldn't understand. I took the opportunity to pray over her and specifically ask God to give her peace. I spent a few hours at the hospital and then gave her a hug and a kiss, told her I loved her, and headed back home.
You just never know when the last goodbye will be.
Over the course of the week and a half from the hospital visit, she had many ups and downs. Though she never seemed to be teetering on the verge of death, she had some rough days. I checked in with my cousin the night before I headed back up to visit and she said that grandma was doing really well.
I packed a bag with a change of clothes just in case my aunt needed me to stay the night and help with my grandma. I also grabbed my iPad so I could show my grandma some funny videos I had recently watched online and show her the pictures of our Thanksgiving getaway. I hoped to dig out some of her old pictures and go through them as we passed the day, but wasn't sure how that would go since she couldn't really tell me anything about the photos.
Eli and I were on our way up to see her Saturday morning, about an hour from her house I got a phone call telling me she died.
It was pouring down rain.
The skies had opened up and released the floodgates.
I was crying, and trying to drive.
I was so sad, and so close, and it was raining so very hard.
Eli was beside me and silent.
He didn't ask questions, he didn't offer help, he just let me be.
And I drove the longest hour in the heaviest rain of all time.
When I got to the house I gave my aunt a hug and made my way in to my grandma's room.
And there she was.
94 years of life on this Earth.
And then she died.
I didn't have the privilege of growing up near this grandma, so I don't have a lot of childhood memories with her, but I treasure the many opportunities I've had to spend time with her over the past four years of living in Washington.
A few months ago a friend asked me to help her come up with an pen name for an article she wrote. I told her I have no idea what her fake writer name should be, but if I ever needed a fake name I would use my grandma's. Joyce.
She was adventurous, courageous, and loyal.
I hope that those characteristics live in me.
As we were getting ready to move from our house in Olympia up here, I dragged Matt out to the garage to sort through old Army stuff. We opened a box that had a bunch of letters and cards. We sifted through letters from me, various parents, aunts and uncles, siblings and friends, then we came upon a stack of identical notecard envelopes. In each one was a hand-written note on a notecard with an American flag on the front. 40 letters. Every Sunday for the duration of Matt's deployment to Iraq my grandma wrote him a note, and mailed in on Monday. No other person was more faithful in sending Matt encouraging words and prayer filled notes.
Someday I will tell her story as best as I know it.
Her trials were great, her adventures were many, and she laughed a lot.
My grandma... she lived courageously, chose adventure over fear, and was undeniably loyal.
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