Grandparents Day is for Remembering

The holes in her coat gaped open to the cold air. It troubled me, immediately. Why did my Grandma putter around town in a coat full of holes? Her home was never fancy. Cozy, yes. But nothing to speak of. Comfortable enough for the two of them and their guests, but they lived simply. A retired farmer and his wife, they had never known much, but they were cozy.

We left the house that day & I think I remember some adult discussion about the shame it was that my Grandma sent so much money off to help others in need. I remember thinking about it. Money in the mail, and holes in her coat.

And I thought about how my Grandma was a rough woman. She loved her Jesus so much but she wasn't always a tender, sweet woman. She was hurtful, and a bit harsh. I held myself at a distance from her...or perhaps my folks held me at a distance. At any rate, I didn't know her too well. I knew what I heard. And I knew this: she loved Jesus.

This was clear each time I was with her. She always had her Bible open, always mumbling things about God. When we would leave her house she always wondered aloud when Jesus would return.

Maybe it was good my hours with her were short, because my memories are few...and what I remember is her outstanding love for Christ.

I got a phone call the week she was dying. She was in the hospital, weak and failing. Should I go? Something in me didn't feel I had the right. She has five daughters, many grandchildren, all who had the right to be with her more than I. They knew her, served her and cared for her in a way I never had.

But I got in the car and drove. I walked into her hospital room and saw her sweet smile.

She was glad to see me.

I stayed on, unable to leave her. Each time someone would leave the room her eyes would follow. When you walked away from her side, her hand would reach up: "please, stay, stay with me here." She was so sweet and simple in those days.

And I stayed on. Comfort Care in the hospital gave her a bed and medication treatment, but it was up to the family to keep her comfortable and know what she needed when she needed it. She couldn't eat, couldn't drink. Her lips needed to be swabbed, she needed help to be comfortable. I could do some of the hard things in caring for her and I didn't want to leave.

Her days were spent in a sunny room full of family, daughters, granddaughters, grandsons and greats. We made posters to hang on the walls filled with favorite memories, pictures and a family tree. We sang songs, we prayed, we read her favorite scriptures again and again. We celebrated a life that raised five women who love God and raised children of their own.

The night vigil was mine or my mom's. The nights were quiet, the hum of machines and the soft sounds of her fighting breath. Until she finally quit fighting, she slipped away into the arms of her beloved, the one she'd known would come back for her. She was gone.

It was a gift. A gift that I was able to have, to spend those days with my grandmother. I look forward to seeing her one day again in Heaven, full of life, void of the criticism and pain.

Thank you Grandma, I love you.