While writing my grandma's eulogy last month, I marveled at how this woman, who had for years been a fixed entity of grandma-ness in my mind, was now coming alive and taking on sights and sounds and colors and resonances I'd never associated with her. She was, right before my very eyes, becoming somebody's mother, somebody's long-lost lover, somebody's life-long friend...someone who would find a way to give her family the gift of her life even after her death.
My grandfathers, all three of them, passed away several years ago. When I leaned over to kiss my last grandfather goodbye, my unborn child kicked and squirmed within me, reminding me that life has a shape - and it is round. I've lost an uncle, friends, neighbors, a childhood crush. I've said goodbye to some and why to others. And sometimes, when the clouds part and join above me, I look up into the windy sky and say hello.
Losing my grandma was different. Sharing pictures of my daughter's birthday party with her, passing chocolate truffles around her hospital bed, and finally, blowing kisses into her darkened room from the hallway, my family and I weren't shepherding her toward the end of her life but letting her know that her life would go on. And in writing our memories and public goodbye, selecting just the right psalm to print on her memory card, and sifting through her neatly hung clothes to find the outfit she would rest in at last, I found a woman I wished I'd known all along.
After her funeral, as we sorted through her things, removing them carefully from places they'd belonged for years but would never be again, I found a book of poems and quotes sitting on a shelf in the corner. I opened it and read, "A mistake is evidence that someone has tried to do something." I closed my eyes, hugged the book to my chest, and told my family I'd be taking it home because I realized, in that moment, grandma wasn't done speaking to me.
Just tonight, ready to write a bit about her life and our loss, I picked up the book again. The inside front cover reads, "Wishing you every special joy, today and every day," and just below these words, "From:" followed by a blank space. She didn't have to sign her name to let me know that this collection of life's lessons on love and loss and faith and goodness is from her. She knows I have a lot to learn.
And so, grateful for the quiet moments this little volume of wisdom and pencil scribbles will bring me as my life goes on without her, I thank my grandma for showing me that grace is a choice, faith is a gift you give to yourself, and chocolate is as necessary as breathing.
~ Katie
Quotes from "Apples of Gold," compiled by Jo Petty, 1962
