A photo never taken.

It was Thursday.  Your first full day at the hospice house.  You had church friends visiting and singing hymns with you.  Your boys, Grandpa and I were in other parts of the building.  Just that morning we all were told that you would be with us a day, at most two.  So we were notifying people, trying to process and take care of business while your friends sat with you.  But then you asked for the three of them to say goodbye.  Every one cleared out of the room so you could have just those three.  I sat in the rocking chair not wanting to interrupt your time but not wanting to be away from any of you.  The moment was beautiful.

You lay in bed with "Billy" on your right gently stroking your hand, with Grandpa on your left holding your other hand as only a husband can while Jody sat at the foot of your bed caressing your leg as a mother does her sleeping baby or as a son does his dying mother.

I don't remember what was said.  I only remember the picture that I didn't want to interrupt with a flash.  I burned it into my mind for that day when it is my turn to say goodbye.

The day that I say good bye to my Strong man and my two boys,
I hope that they love me as much as yours do you.
I hope that I can say goodbye with as much dignity as you did.
I hope that as I lay in a bed like yours that I will have lived a life as full as yours.

Dearest Gram,

Soon I will come visit you to probably say my last goodbye.  Last night was when I learned that it's time for this chapter of your life to end.  You're ready for the next to begin I know, and I'm sure you're waiting with anticipation.  But Gram, I am not ready for this.  How does one say goodbye to somebody so close to there heart?

I can hear you whispering to me that we will see each other again soon, reminding me that we are just vapors here today and gone tomorrow, famous words written by James the brother of Jesus.  Boy did he ever know the weight of that statement.  A reminder that we have no control, but the Maker of the heavens and the earth does and a promise that soon you and I will see each other again as we both have a joyful and secure future.  Even still my "today" is going to be a long one without you.

Who will I call when I find myself in the middle of cooking and suddenly don't know what to do?  Who will remind me of Truths even when I sometimes don't want to hear it?  Where can I go when I just need to be in a place of safety?

You have asked me what it is I want when you and Grandpa pass from this life into the next.  There are two things:

1.  Your table.  That old white and gray speckled thing that hasn't been in style for most of my life.  But the memories, the lessons learned at that table are things I don't want to let go.

2.  I want your wedding bands.  When I said this you waved me off telling me how little they were worth.  When I insisted you were sure I could have those as nobody else would want them.

You're rings are a symbol, a promise to each other to walk life together.  That promise overflowed into my life.  You and Grandpa have been my anchor, the only thing in life that has been steadfast, unwavering.

I knew my place and yours as a child, and in those boundaries I found peace.
In your marriage I found hope for mine.
In your love for Jesus I found Truth.
In your stubbornness I was able to shape my own strong will.
In your constant giving to others I longed to be known as you were.

Tell me how do I say goodbye to one who is so close to my heart?  The pain stabs deep.

As each season ends a legacy is born.

Some legacies are wished to be forgotten by the ones who receive them and some just go down in memories possibly being recalled at family reunions, but others can hardly be forgotten.

"You will never know how to live until you are ready to die." written in Grampy's hand in the back of his Bible.

 

This past month Strong man's grandfather passed from this world to the next.  He was a mighty man.  He fought in WWII taking a bullet for his country and then continued protecting this country by securing our borders.  He lived up on a hill in a little town occupied by, at best 100 people.  When I met him at 89 he was still using the tractor and chainsaw.  (He defied time as his 89th year lasted for at least the first four years of my marriage.)  He knew everybody by name and most of those he knew tried to get a copy of his cinnamon bun recipe.  His character was one that most will never achieve and so was his generosity. 

 

But as many said their goodbyes, these accomplishments were not the outstanding memory.  The legacy that "Old Grandpa," as my boys would say, left behind was that he loved Jesus and he was compelled to tell every human being he crossed paths with that they should too.

When he left for the grocery store he not only made sure to bring his shopping list but more importantly he brought at least two pocket Bibles to give away just in case he had the chance.  And he ALWAYS turned that chance into a reality, not just when he was grocery shopping but anytime he left the house.  In fact he didn't even have to leave the house, any who would come into his home both friend and stranger could not say they didn't know of the Jesus from the Bible as they left.  Countless will walk through the gates of heaven because he took the time to tell them about his Savior, giving each of those people a small pocket Bible as a gift.  His faith and example to those of us watching is the most valuable part of the legacy he left behind.

This is the reason so many of us passed his name onto our sons. 

I don't know how it is possible but for my Strong Man, he was even more then mighty in character, more then generous, more than spiritually life saving, he was a "man of old," as the author of Hebrews 11 calls the old testament hero's.

 

Maybe it's because he spent summers up on the hill with his Grampy, as he called him. 
Maybe it's because he was with him so many times he paused as if nothing were more important but to give one of those Bibles away. 
Maybe it's because he heard those life saving words leave his Grampy's mouth over and over.

 

I'm sure it's in part the way Grampy and Nana read there Bible and prayed together everyday.
I'm sure it's in part because Grampy made sure to include him as a child and even as an adult into these daily readings.
I'm sure it's in part Grampy's insistence to always pray with him before they parted ways.

Before Strong man would consider me as his wife I had to spend a day up on the hill with him and his Grampy, looking for Grampy's approval of me...I'm sure of the moment Grampy thought I was a keeper.  It was when I solved the dilemma of cleaning the chainsaws hard to reach area's with a Q-tip.  And I'm sure Strong man new I was keeper when I assured his grandfather the lunch he made for us was amazing.  Still to this day I'm not sure what it was we ate, but it did have peas included; the one and only vegetable I hate to eat cooked.  Only later that day through conversation did Strong man learn I detested cooked peas.  Or more likely Strong man knew I was "The One" when Grampy invited me back and I was willing to return.  Shortly there after I found a diamond on my finger and wedding bells in the air.  As we planned we decided there was no better way then to start our life together with Grampy standing before the throne on our behalf and so with a 20 minute prayer limit, Grampy closed our wedding ceremony and birthed us spiritually into marriage.  Sweet memories. 

 

But even when these memories fade I pray his legacy will live on past my Strong man, into my sons who may pass it to there children, for many generations to come may his love for Jesus, his legacy only become stronger.
Simple reflection on the legacy he left behind proves he "gained approval through his faith."  Yes, I'm sure that if he had lived before the list of the "Men of old" was written he would surely be one of those men. 

I will cause Your name to be remembered in all generations;  Therefore the peoples will give You thanks forever and ever.

~ Psalm 45:17

Grief and lessons learned

This past month the first of my three grandmothers passed from this life into the next. She was the youngest of the three and the mother of my mother. While I have not yet experienced the death of my other two grandmothers I think there is something different about when your mother's mother dies. Having never experienced the death of my mother I am as a grown women and a mother myself finding myself watching her grieve.

Gram loved her flower gardens.

While I do grieve for my Gram Em. I mostly grieve the loss of the Grammy I knew as a child. The one who would take me to craft fairs and yard sales. The one who paid me to clean her house even though nothing really needed cleaning. The one whose campsite I would escape too as a teenager to shave my legs with a cup of water on a picnic table bench. This is the grandmother I grieve. Not that I love her any less as an adult, but because I am now sure that death is apart of life and that it is the natural way; grandparents die first. They have after all lived a full life.

Not a flower she'd allow in her garden...

We all knew her passing was near, but I had no idea she would go while I was on vacation. As I drove with my sister to the viewing, both of us childless for a few days, I asked many questions to find out all that I had missed. To learn how my mother was dealing with her death.  My sister's main concern was our younger siblings who are still in that stage of being spoiled by Gram and who give an unyeilding innocent love back to her.  She asked me, "how do we comfort them?"  I had no response none of our parents had ever had to burry there mother before.  I realized that in this process I was still the daughter needing to be taught by my mother in preperation for when I would be motherless.  Heavy thoughts, but a lesson I would use someday.

I'm sure some think I am a bit morbid to talk of Gram Em's passing in such a way, maybe even think that I'm cold hearted too.  I assure you that I am not.  I tend to be very practical setting my emotions aside when stressful situations come up, my mind still finds a way to grieve, through my dreams.  Since I was the size of sweet Laughter having to let go of my first sister, Rhiannon, dreams have been my way.  They taunted me for years after my sisters passing.  As I grew my mind was able to grieve and then move on.  With each death I have a better understanding of grief and I understand the love of the Creator a bit more.  As I wake from dreams of terror I am comforted knowing it is simply grief and my dreams will in time change as it always does.

May Gram rest in true Peace; the glory of Jesus.

And the LORD will continually guide you, and satisfy your desire in scorched places, and give srength to your bones, And you will be like a watered garden, and like a spring of water whose waters do not fail.

~ Isaiah 58:11

2410.  Nana and Grandpa to give me a place to stay for a few nights.

2411.  Pop (Grandpa B) to lend me his car.

2416.  Short conversations with my Aunt to bring some perspective.

2436.  Watching my mother grieve.

2437.  Sitting in the back seat of Dad's car covered in flowers for the funeral eating a chicken sandwich and laughing with Mom about how much Gram would want a picture of the scene.

2438.  Car conversation with my sister Eek.

"I rest in hope"

I have brushed shoulders with Death more often in the last 30 days then in the year before.  As I've spent hours driving winding roads spending those same hours in reflection of my own life and the lives of those I love most, I have slowed to admire and wonder at the lives that have gone before.

I find peace in cemetery's.  It's a bit odd I know.  Maybe it's from the many visits to my baby sisters grave.  It is after all my culture, as sweet baby girl died at only three months old.  I only know life with death.  Whatever the reason in these places I find rest, and clarity; A sharp contrast of the meaning of life and worthlessness.  I've found that often times the stones of remembrance have been set in the most majestic spots screaming the glory of our Maker while also giving the seeker a quiet place to hear.

This latest visit down home, a third in the matter of days, I stopped at the Chase cemetery.  It was a quaint piece of land.  The entrance closed with a chain hanging from the stone that marked the boundaries.  The boundaries the size of my living room.  The stones from the 1800's.  A life only remembered by the few words engraved on a timeless stone.

The last line: I rest in hope

All of them had words of peace, confidence, and rest.  May I be remembered in the same way.

We thought on Your lovingkindness, O God,

~ Psalm 48:9a

2283.  A country Cemetery.
2284.  Lasting words of hope.
2285.  A written challenge to live my life the same way.