I haven’t written anything about Grandma yet. This last week has been a blur, and there’s been too much to simplify into mere words.
My grandma died last Tuesday. And yet, really, she’s not dead or gone at all. She’s more alive than I’ll ever know while I can still type on this blog, and she’s only lost to my finite senses, not the infinite at all.
Her last couple days with us were spent in the hospital with her kids and grandkids gathered around her. The last 24 hours, she was asleep and didn’t fully wake up at all. We spent hours in the room with her reading Scripture, praying, singing, and talking to each other. I wonder what the nurses thought of us. I wonder if they’re used to seeing dozens of people crammed into a hospital room to hold the hand of someone who’s asleep and never going to wake up.
A few hours before Grandma died, I sat in the chair next to her bed and held her hand. Grandpa had left the room for a few minutes, and I was filling in for him. I remember sitting there, looking at her face, and wondering, “Grandma, where are you?” Her body was there, but it was like her spirit was . . . hovering. That’s the only word that fits. Hovering inside her body, enjoying her kids one more time, waiting for us to leave so she could go with Jesus to the place where time is no more.
A few hours after we left the hospital, that’s exactly what she did. I’m convinced she waited until we were gone because she couldn’t bear to leave with us still in the room with her. That’s how Grandma was. She wanted to make sure her kids knew she loved them before they walked out of the room. She knew how to make you feel at peace and happy when she said goodbye.
The funeral on Friday was epic. We took a group picture, and there were something like 67 of us, and that was just family members. I’m not sure of the exact number, cause the faces keep running together every time I try to count. While we were waiting for all of us to gather for the photo, we sang “Senor Don Gato.” You might call it a family song. It was pure spontaneity. I don’t suppose I’ll ever attend another funeral where they sing “Senor Don Gato.” The best part was, it was Grandpa’s idea. I’m sure Grandma was laughing with us.
We ate and talked for hours after the funeral. We took pictures and commented on the amazing chocolate cake. Back at home, all us grandkids packed the living room for a couple rounds of Mafia and - what was it called? - Four on the Couch? We talked for hours. We braved the wind and admired Central City’s sole tourist attraction, the bridge across the Platte. At 10:00 that night, I found my mom and cousin sitting in front of the TV, racing each other in Mario Cart.
This is my family. These are the kids that Grandma and Grandpa raised. This is our heritage, and it’s a beautiful thing. It makes me wonder what Heaven will be like. How long will our conversations last there? How many songs will we sing? How many rounds of Mafia can we play? “Therefore, since we are surrounded by such a great cloud of witnesses, let us throw off everything that hinders and the sin that so easily entangles, and let us run with perseverance the race marked out for us.” I know a little bit more about the great cloud of witnesses today. For a while at least, they’re almost constantly in my thoughts. Why? Because my grandma is one of them.
My grandma died last Tuesday. And yet, really, she’s not dead or gone at all. She’s more alive than I’ll ever know while I can still type on this blog, and she’s only lost to my finite senses, not the infinite at all.
Her last couple days with us were spent in the hospital with her kids and grandkids gathered around her. The last 24 hours, she was asleep and didn’t fully wake up at all. We spent hours in the room with her reading Scripture, praying, singing, and talking to each other. I wonder what the nurses thought of us. I wonder if they’re used to seeing dozens of people crammed into a hospital room to hold the hand of someone who’s asleep and never going to wake up.
A few hours before Grandma died, I sat in the chair next to her bed and held her hand. Grandpa had left the room for a few minutes, and I was filling in for him. I remember sitting there, looking at her face, and wondering, “Grandma, where are you?” Her body was there, but it was like her spirit was . . . hovering. That’s the only word that fits. Hovering inside her body, enjoying her kids one more time, waiting for us to leave so she could go with Jesus to the place where time is no more.
A few hours after we left the hospital, that’s exactly what she did. I’m convinced she waited until we were gone because she couldn’t bear to leave with us still in the room with her. That’s how Grandma was. She wanted to make sure her kids knew she loved them before they walked out of the room. She knew how to make you feel at peace and happy when she said goodbye.
The funeral on Friday was epic. We took a group picture, and there were something like 67 of us, and that was just family members. I’m not sure of the exact number, cause the faces keep running together every time I try to count. While we were waiting for all of us to gather for the photo, we sang “Senor Don Gato.” You might call it a family song. It was pure spontaneity. I don’t suppose I’ll ever attend another funeral where they sing “Senor Don Gato.” The best part was, it was Grandpa’s idea. I’m sure Grandma was laughing with us.
We ate and talked for hours after the funeral. We took pictures and commented on the amazing chocolate cake. Back at home, all us grandkids packed the living room for a couple rounds of Mafia and - what was it called? - Four on the Couch? We talked for hours. We braved the wind and admired Central City’s sole tourist attraction, the bridge across the Platte. At 10:00 that night, I found my mom and cousin sitting in front of the TV, racing each other in Mario Cart.
This is my family. These are the kids that Grandma and Grandpa raised. This is our heritage, and it’s a beautiful thing. It makes me wonder what Heaven will be like. How long will our conversations last there? How many songs will we sing? How many rounds of Mafia can we play? “Therefore, since we are surrounded by such a great cloud of witnesses, let us throw off everything that hinders and the sin that so easily entangles, and let us run with perseverance the race marked out for us.” I know a little bit more about the great cloud of witnesses today. For a while at least, they’re almost constantly in my thoughts. Why? Because my grandma is one of them.
(As far as I know, this is one of the earliest photos we have of Grandma and Grandpa together. I love how happy Grandma looks.)
