At Christmas, I had the opportunity to spend good time with
her. Knowing that it would be the last time I saw her in person, I went
exploring through all the drawers and cabinets of the house, looking for
pictures or other treasures that might help me gain a fuller picture of her
life. I was delighted to find black and white photos, snapshots of her
childhood, of falling in love, of having kids. I was honored to ask her about
the photos and hear her stories. I was privileged to prepare lunches for her on
multiple occasions, knowing how many things she had done for me growing up. She
was impressed that I memorized her vitamin regimen and would bring them out
with her food. Wasn’t that hard, but made me feel good anyway. And that’s what
she always did. Made us feel good. Got excited about the smallest details of
our lives. Made us feel like what we did and who we were was important.
I was honored to help her walk, sit down, go to the
chiropractor, get her food or drink, even take her to the bathroom on occasion.
Privacy goes out the door as death approaches. The normal formalities and
facades are ignored as you walk with someone at the end of the path, and it
seems that a rawness, a realness of life is the reality. Every slow step. Every
breathe. Every heartbeat is something to behold!
I’m proud of my grandma for running the race and finishing
it well. And I’m proud of my mom and dad and sister for being with her every
step of the way, even at the final hour.
Grandma, you are loved and will be truly missed. Thanks for
your generous, selfless, joyful self. I hope I somehow inherit those qualities.
Today, I honor and celebrate your beautiful life. Miss you already.
