And just like that, another life heads home. I got the call from my parents this morning that Granny Mary (my paternal grandmother whom I wrote about here
last week), passed away at 8:15am. She always loved church and it seems appropriate that she headed to God’s house bright and early on a Sunday morning. Right on time. We knew it was coming. But saying that final goodbye…nothing ever really prepares the heart for that.
I am ever more thankful that I picked up the phone last week and called her. She had to be prompted a bit to remember who I was and she had no recollection of Luke, but I had the chance to say four really important words, “Granny, I love you.” And I meant all four. She didn’t sound entirely like the Granny I remember. It’s my hope, though, that somewhere deep down she could appreciate those words.
Her life got me thinking this morning. I was nursing Luke when I got the call and he was all smiles. Happily drinking milk and I could hear the girls upstairs giggling as they built their dolly fort. Life goes on, whether we want it to or not, it goes on. And that is a blessed thing.
We spend so much of our time and effort worrying about the exterior stuff of life…things to buy, things to sell, things to wear, things to trash, things to donate. What about the interior stuff – the soul? How much time do you spend perfecting that?
Guilty, party of one.
Granny came into this world just like Luke, frail, dependent on another and ready to be loved…and she left just the same. This time, though, she got to head home.
Admittedly, I do not have warm and fuzzy memories of us all cuddled up in her kitchen baking cookies, reading bedtime stories or conversing for hours on the phone. Nope. My memories are of her “telling it like it was,” laughing at family reunions and calling me “sugar.” She was a force to be reckoned with and her tiny stature was a smoke screen for her big presence in a room. She was spunky. And tenacious. And opinionated. And loved.
Granny, I thank God that your suffering is over. It was hard on the heart to see bits and pieces of who you once were slipping away, bit by bit. I am thankful for the life you lived. You gave birth to my dad, who in turn, gave life to me. That is a beautiful thing.
I have a sneaking feeling that you’re up on heaven, telling God you’re worried that your Catholic grandkids might be headed to hell and lobbying for our salvation 🙂 I’m quite sure He has already learned to do it your way.
Rest easy tonight, as I’m sure you already are. And give Grandpa Toots a hug from me.