Saying Goodbye

Sunday afternoon and evening was spent at my parents ranch.

My sister and niece are in town from Georgia.

My sweet grandma (here holding Katrina on her first Christmas)

was not doing well.

In truth, they thought she was going to die before Easter last year.  And yet, here she was.

But this time, it felt different.

For weeks, she had been telling my dad, uncle, and aunt that she was ready to go.  That she saw Grandpa in her dreams.  That she was trying to get to him, but could not.

She was ready to go.  But, for some reason, held on.

Back to Sunday night.

We left my moms house and headed down the driveway towards home.  As we approached my grandmas house, I saw my uncle catching a breath of fresh air on the front porch.  Now, the unwritten family tradition states that, when driving past Grandmas house on the way home, if someone is outside, you honk, wave, and head home.  No need to stop.

Except that night.  I just could not drive past my uncle.  I got out and talked with my uncle for a bit.  And I knew it was a divine appointment.  He needed to talk, to work out his grief, to hug, to cry.  We both did.

After a few minutes, we went into the house so I could kiss Grandma goodnight.  I had not seen my grandma since Christmas.  She has been steadily declining each week, and every time we were at the ranch she was sleeping. 

There was still a glimpse of my grandma in those clouded, pain-filled eyes.  I told her about sharing her beadwork with the children at church, and the joy they found in her treasures.  I told her about Katrina getting her first hit in baseball, and dancing all the way to first.  She tried to laugh, tried to react.  But the combination of intense pain and morphine overrode her efforts.  But I still saw the glimmer in her eyes.

I kissed her goodnight and told her I loved her.  I helped my uncle place the washcloth back over her eyes, hugged him, and got back in the car.

At 4 AM, she passed peacefully from this world.  She was greeted by her husband of 72 years, her son who died of lung cancer when I was a child, her son who died as an infant, and her savior. 

I rejoice that she is finally home.  I mourn because she isnt here.  I rejoice because she lived 96 amazing years.  I mourn because they do not seem enough.

Today, I gathered with almost the entire family.  She and my grandpa had:

6 children

19 grandchildren

46 great grandchildren

16 great-great grandchildren

4 great-great-great grandchildren

That is quite the family tree.

So today, we took her favorite flowers, the poppy

and the Indian Paintbrush

and laid them to rest with her body and the love of her life.

We laughed, we cried, we sang.

We remembered all the funny stories.

We tried to remember everyones names (trust me, its hard with that many cousins).

And we said goodbye.