I'm sitting in an airport, reflecting on the last two weeks. Actually, I'm reflecting on the last 38 years (sinced that's really all I have to go on). Yesterday we said our goodbyes to Granny, my mother's mother. She had spent the last year of her life in struggle ... standing on the dividing line between her family members here and the love that awaited her in Heaven. My mother and her three living brothers were able to spend her last hours with her and allow her the grace that she needed to go home. Home to her husband, her parents, and her two sons who went before her.
My sister and I were blessed to be able to spend some of her last days with her as well, just a week before she passed. She laughed at stories of our youth and shared memories of growing up in Michigan and spending summers in Arkansas. And when she was too tired to talk, she simply gazed into our eyes and spoke volumes in love.
She passed last Saturday night, and my sister and I made our travel plans to celebrate her life within hours of her welcoming to Heaven. We spent five nights in the last room that my grandmother called home. I was uneasy at first, sleeping in her bedroom. Granny's hospital bed had been dismantled and her twin bed was placed in a corner of the room. Tracey and I shared an air mattress on the floor. I fell asleep surrounded by her treasured notes, photos and trinkets, and I awoke to the same sunlight streaming in that she used to enjoy.Mom and her brothers and sisters-in-law had the difficult task of going through Granny's belongings. I don't think I was alone in feeling like an intruder. There were countless tears and laughs at remembered items unearthed in boxes and drawers. I often wonder if, after my own passing, my family will learn things about me that they never knew. I was filled with amazement at the discovery that what we learned about Granny was nothing new. She lived as she loved. Every single item that she held onto--every card, Post-It-written "I love you" by a grandchild, every drawing--reminded us of her love for her family.
The pastor who spoke at her service spoke of her fierce love and her devotion to Christ. He may not have known her at her best, but through speaking with her family he knew her legacy. Today, as my sister and I were lugging our suitcases out the door of Granny's apartment to head to the airport, we were surrounded by love. Granny's love, passed through her children and grandchilden. It's common knowledge that most men have difficulty expressing their feelings. I've always been touched by the fact that my uncles and male cousins have never hesitated to tell me that they love me, just like my aunts and the girls. Each and every relative today sent with me their love and affection, so that I can pass that on to my family as well. How many people can say that?
Over the entertainment stand in my grandma's living room stood seven picture frames. One for each child--my mother's and her five brothers' families--and my grandparents. Yesterday and today I watched as, one by one, each photo disappeared, packed away with each branch of the family to be taken home. I was struck by the fact that there would no longer be one place for all of these memories. Mementos and history were divided up among six smaller segments of the family. Those seven frames will never live together on a shelf again. We'll no longer have one common place we can all call home. My eyes tear up yet again as I type this.
But this is where Granny's legacy--and Grandpa's, too--takes hold yet again. We'll all need some space after this week. I never would have guessed that so many adults could congregate in a two-bedroom apartment to honor a woman's life and enjoy some much-needed laughs. We will take some time to breathe, to process, to continue the mourning.
And we'll all be together again. Whether it's in Michigan, Arkansas, Louisiana ... even California ... we will honor our grandparents and continue their work of love wherever we are.
