I’ve been trying to write for a week now, but I just couldn’t bring myself to do it. My grandmother died (or as we in the South say, “passed away”) last week, and I had to make an unexpected trip home to be with my family before Thanksgiving. It’s been hard on me, admitting that my grandmother is gone, and that life keeps moving forward, and that we are all inevitably headed to the same fate.
Not that I grudge my grandmother’s passing. She has lived with Parkinson’s Disease for ten years, and she was ready to” go be with Jesus,” as she would say. She is no longer suffering, and Grandmother Elsie has a new body that isn’t stooped. She can let forth her girly giggle and not have it obstructed by her face that had become a mask of no expression. She’s free, and she leaves all of us here with a little piece of selfishness in our hearts, wanting her back, but a little bit of relief as well, knowing that she is much better off.
I was thinking of memories of my grandmother during the funeral. I used to sit at the kitchen counter and drink “hot tea” while she listened to Dr. James Dobson. Oh, how I loathed the old fashioned organ music and the somber voice. Now days, I am thankful for the spiritual legacy she left my family. At nine years old, my grandmother realized that she needed to be in church. Her parents never took her, but she decided she was going to get up, get dressed and go. Until illness set in, and even after, she hardly ever missed a Sunday.
My Christian legacy is influenced by that day over 60 years ago. I can’t help but be grateful.