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| Gramma with my family. 2003 |
It hasn’t even been two years since she passed away. We’ve already
celebrated two Thanksgivings, two Christmases without her. We’ve faced
birthdays and barbeques that seemed void and empty because she wasn’t there. At
first I thought life simply could not go on without her. I felt empty and
alone. It seemed there was a vast whole which nothing else could fill. I would
cry, I would get mad, I would question God: “I just don’t understand why You
had to take her like that! Why didn’t You let us say good-bye or hug her one
last time? Why did she have to go alone? Why couldn’t she have been found
sooner? Lord, I don’t understand how You expect us to just pick up and go on!”
Questions, questions, and more questions. All with a silent response; no
answers or profound moments of understanding.
Death is inevitable, isn’t it? Every person alive today will
die; there’s just no denying it, no escaping it. So why is it so hard to deal
with? These are the things I pondered, yet again, throughout our Saturday.
March 3, 2012. She would have turned 81, but she didn’t live past 79. Nobody
knew it was coming, Nobody could have guessed she would fall and be found like
that. Yes, she was my gramma, but she was more than a gramma to me. I grew up
in her home. I ate her meals and vacuumed her carpets. I did her dishes and
grew frustrated with her stubborn annotations. I watched her grow old, and she
watched me grow up. I knew someday she would leave us, but somehow I thought
she would live forever.
And the most difficult thing I now face- forgetting her. I
feel so guilty even putting it out there. I stare at these words and am
consumed with shame that I could ever cease thinking about her. But the truth
is, it’s happening. At first it was too painful and I purposed to set my mind
on anything but her. The tears were too many and the ache too deep. After a
time, it became easier. I found myself going a whole day without the shedding
of tears, and I was grateful. A day turned to days, days to weeks, and weeks to
months. How could I go months without aching over the loss?
I’m afraid of
forgetting. I’m afraid I won’t be able to close my eyes and see her face. I’m
afraid it will become impossible to recall the sound of her voice. I’m afraid
of forever losing the sight of those hands; hands that revealed not only decades
of demanding labor and unbearable loss, but moments of accomplishment and
perseverance. All those memories and years together; could they just disappear?
Saturday, March 3, 2012, I purposed to remember her. I
purposed to reflect on the rock of this family and not let the memories fade with
her aged body. I purposed to hear her voice and see her rocking in her favorite
chair. I purposed to laugh about her coffee; the coffee we referred to as ‘colored
water,’ about her Christmas tree buried beneath a blanket of ornaments, and
about her endless yogurt containers she refused to dispose of.
I giggled out
loud as I recalled that stick she half-hazardly shoved into the ground. The stick
that actually grew into a real, living plant; no one else could accomplish
this. I purposed to be thankful for turkey gravy only she could make, heaping piles
of newspapers stacked beside her chair, and the bountiful flowers she
surrounded herself with. I purposed to allow myself to simply feel- to feel frustration
at her stubbornness; frustration that she wouldn’t let us take pictures of her
and now we’re left with just a few. I purposed to recall everything I could
about her. And I purposed to never, ever let myself forget.
Grief is real. Grief is strong. Grief is sometimes unbearable.
But grief is also something I find myself clinging to; grasping after; grieving for. May I
always grieve her, and may my children be granted permanent memories of her-
memories that will last a lifetime.
How do you keep your lost-loved ones alive? How do you keep
the memories real and tangible? How do you go on with life and not let their
faces, voices, and unique personalities fade with time? How do you do it?
Meanwhile, a precious sister weeps over the devastating murder
of her dear friend. Children in Uganda are abducted and made into sex objects
and deadly soldiers. A husband and father faces death only because he chose
Jesus as his Lord and Master. 
Millions suffer starvation from lack of simple
resources I take for granted. Families are left with nothing more than the
clothes on their backs because of the effects of a deadly tornado. A man suddenly
loses his wife and newborn; in one day he is made a widow and single dad.
