Grandma, I know you’re in heaven now. I felt joy in my spirit in the last few hours of your life. I know you didn’t want to leave, but I also know it was hard on your body for the past 8 years, especially the last 3 years of your life.
We had seen you be so strong and independent most of our lives, that we didn’t think of your health as declining. In my mind, and I know the mind of others, I thought you were going to get through this and get better. I was just researching diets and vitamins for your health conditions. I was just talking about getting a new air purifier for your room to help with oxygen.
I didn’t know the last time you went to the hospital, would be your last time on this Earth. I didn’t know the last time I saw you in January when I went to visit you would be the last time I would hug you and say, “I love you!”. I didn’t know I would never get to write your story as I had been planning to for so many years. I was caught up in life, growing up, moving out, and the one who was always away chasing my dreams. I’d heard so many times that you were proud of me, but part of me wishes I had come down there just to spend the night with you or tried to call a little more often. Even as I saw you go from waking up early morning with coffee and to put an egg on the stove, to barely being able to walk to the other room without needing your breathing machine, you were always the strong grandma I had pictured you in my mind. My heart had known that you weren’t going to be here with us much longer, but my mind refuses to believe that you’re not here.
Grandma, you didn’t complain, but the little you shared with us was so powerful. When I was younger, I saw you as the mean grandma. I mean, both of my grandmas are stern older Southern women, but you were by far the one I was scared of. You were quick to correct, vigilant, and it seems like you saw everything. I mean everything. I will always remember how you threatened to make me mop the entire kitchen floor because I washed my hands and got a few drips on the floor. You also made me walk down the stairs and walk up the stairs again because I ran up the stairs and “kids shouldn’t run in the house. You should know better.” I also will never forget how you would visit our house and start redecorating things. My mom would be so annoyed, but she revered you, so she’s never complained to your face. I definitely didn’t like you coming in and imposing your way, but I understand now why my mom was silent. She learned to appreciate just having you there, instead of arguing about the little things.
I too learned that once I turned 18. Seeing you was like seeing my mom and dad. I would always ask about you. Sometimes, not often, I would call. You ignored a lot of my calls thinking someone else was calling you, but I know you loved me, you just didn’t like talking on the phone all day. Even as your health declined, life never left you. You talked about going to the beach again, getting out of the stupid town we all lived in because you were an LA girl, and finding a good church. A true California girl at heart.
I heard more of your stories and the things that slipped out when you had a little too much to drink, and even with a hard life, and a stern voice, you were as gentle as could be. To know how each of your stories ended with victory and triumph just affirmed in me the level of strength and grace I came from. The more I learned about you, the more of you I saw in my mom. You were no longer just my grandma, but a strong, courageous, graceful beautiful woman. A woman whose mission was to spread the word of God to so many people she knows. A woman who accomplished that and whose faith brought many lives to Christ.
While I’d rather have you here, I am glad that you are no longer in pain. I am glad that you are no longer worrying about if this time, you won’t make it out of the hospital. I am glad that your simple desire to be on the beach has been replaced with the moments in paradise with our heavenly Father. I am glad that while your body was an older woman, your spirit was like a child, willing, able, and eager to be in the presence of the Lord.
I love you grandma, and I hope you know that. One more moment would have never been enough, but I have peace knowing that God prolonged your life way back in 2012, just so we could have you a little longer. We got 8 more years with you grandma. I’m forever grateful to our Father for that. You truly are resting now. We’ve got it from here.
Grandmommy. I love you. 6/27/1948- 5/11/2020
This Girl's Worth 