This needed to happen
Grandma Betty is sick. We have known for a while, they gave her a few months a few months ago.
I love my grandma. She is the best lady. And I know everyone says that about their grandmas, but this is the real deal. She is everything I hope to be. Everything I hope to become as a person, as a woman, as a mother, as a grandma, as a friend and encourager and daughter of Christ.
I have always thought that when she dies, it is going to be sad because I am selfish and will miss her, but it is going to be the happiest funeral because she has lived her whole life in anticipation of dying. She has lived every moment with intention of being with her Lord Savior and when her time is up on earth she will go home to her true home.
Grandma is now in the nursing home, very sick and fragile. She lays in bed and cannot move much of herself, she is very weak (but perks right up at Jack’s little squeals, locking her eyes on him.) But she is praising God, still. She is contently waiting for her turn, waiting for her one way ticket to heaven, as she said.
This sounds so strange, but I couldn’t be happier for her. She is ready.
Through all of this, I cannot help but think of when my dad died. Grandma has had her funeral paid for and planned for years, but there are still a few loose ends to tie up. (It is morbid to think of her funeral when she is still here, but it is the fact of it all, there will be a funeral.) I have been asked to write her obituary, and I am honored. As the time of that writing is approaching, I have been thinking more and more about the days that were so hazy when we sat around the funeral home table and picked through 53 years of life to narrowly choose a one column synopsis. He was a good man. A father. A husband. A brother. A son. He was survived by…
I can remember it all so oddly clear. I felt entitlement. My dad deserved that whole paper. He deserved every page and every headline and every picture. But there was only so much room and the parts of him we left out seeped into me and made me ache.
I’m angry (at nothing at all) that dad isn’t here to mourn the loss of his mother. I am sad that she had to live to lose her son. I am envious that they will be together again very soon. And I am writing this because it has never been written before and my body has been too heavy with this all inside me.