My heart hurts. It’s so unbelievably heavy right now. But I just know how much Gramma loved this blog, and I’m just foolish enough to think she’ll still see it. So I felt that if I could just get down what I’m feeling, maybe, somehow it will help some of the hurt.
I can’t even begin. Gramma. She was amazing. As we look back over her life, just one word comes to mind, SELFLESS. She lived every moment of her life for us, Dave, myself and especially her granddaughter, Charity, who was so precious to her. She was such a good, sweet-spirited, kind and quiet soul. She has such a close relationship with the Lord each day and the Lord showed her mercy to her final day her on earth.
We knew things had been getting worse with her cancer. She has no energy, unable to take her walks and this weekend, even struggling to eat comfortably, but never expected this, not this fast. Monday morning. This morning, like every school morning, Charity and I go about our regular routine. Things have been hectic in the mornings, so I set my alarm earlier than normal as to give us more time. Each morning, I get up, then Charity gets up following me and she gets dressed. After she’s dressed she heads down to Gramma’s for breakfast. I hesitated to allow her to go down this morning, because all weekend Gramma was in pain in her stomach and I knew she had an early morning appointment. But Gramma has urged me that it’s fine for Charity to come down, no problem at all, she sets her up with her food and does what she needs to do.
I never saw Gramma at home that morning. Charity came up at 7:30am as she usually does for me to do her hair and we proceeded with our routine. Hair, teeth and then off to school. Since I had gotten up earlier, Charity was plenty early for school, rather than running in at the last minute. I dropped her off, happy and continued about my day. She gets stressed out when her routine gets off. So she asked me, “Who’s picking me up?” I reassured her Gramma would be, as usual.
As I drove into the subdivision, I passed Gramma leaving for her scheduled cat scan. Usually I’m “flying”, running behind, headed back home to finish preparing myself for the day before I head off to work. But this morning, I was enjoying, going the speed limit, rather leisurely heading back home. I appreciate the Lord for that. As we passed our eyes met and we gave each other a wave. And I was thanking God for her, that wave, it blessed me. I was thinking how blessed I am to have her and that she fed Charity, even though I know she wasn’t feeling good, she had someplace to be, but even to the end she selflessly gave herself for us. Little did I know, that sweet wave Gramma gave me was the last time I would see her. I waved “good-bye” to her.
Oh, had I known the circumstances that would transpire after that. I would have stopped that car. I would have hugged her neck. I would have never let go. But God knew. He knew in His infinite mercy, she did not want to suffer. She did not want to be a burden to us as she worsened and would be unable to care for herself.
When Dave called me at work, broken, he explained the doctor had called. I didn’t want to believe it. I still don’t want to believe it. Honestly, I hate it. She was having her scheduled cat scan to see what, if anything her chemo was doing and they found her nonresponsive. They rushed her across the street from the oncology center where she was to the hospital emergency room and tried to resuscitate her. They were able to get a little heartbeat, but only for a second. Gramma was already worshipping around the throw! She wasn’t coming back. She was home free.
Oh, my heart. Gramma, I know how happy you are now and pain-free. But I don’t know how I’m going to do this without you. I LOVE YOU, GRAMMA. I know I’m being selfish. Everyday you helped me so much. You completely lived your life for this family. You exemplified the true ministry of a goodly mother in how you lived for your “children”. You never once treated me as an “in-law”. I was always “your daughter”. I love how when we moved here to Tennessee from Maine, people often thought you were my “real” mom, not Dave’s. You were our strength when we were weak. You listened to my rambling and raving, even yesterday, Sunday, as I babbled on and on about this crazy week, you listened caringly. Even agreeing to keeping Charity for a date night I wanted to have on Friday or Saturday evening. I would easily say, you care for Charity about 80% of the time, if not more. And my little C, how will she live without her Gramma? You are so good with her. And you do all those fun crafts and play office and school and take her outside. How am I going to fill those shoes? Speaking of shoes, how can I continue my 1/2 marathon training? You were such an inspiration. You and your 10 minute mile! I don’t think I’ll ever get there. I don’t know that I’ll be able to run again. I think of you and all your encouragement you gave to Dave and I on running and being healthy. I LOVE YOU, GRAMMA. I pray you know that, I pray you know how much you meant to me. I pray you can see my heart and the gratefulness we all have for the time we had with you. They told us 12 years ago, you only had a year. And we were blessed with such good years with you here in Tennessee, 5 years. But it doesn’t seem like enough. I want you back. I want you to see Charity cheer her next game. Her next girl scout outing. I want you to be there when we run the 1/2 marathon. I want you to see Charity start high school and all the memories she makes through the years. I want you to be part of them. I LOVE YOU, GRAMMA. I really wish I would have told you everyday. Dave assures me you knew. But I want to tell you again and again. I wish I would have spent more time down there, at your place, just being with you and hearing you talk. I have learned so much from you. I just LOVE you so much and want you back. But I know God had a plan and I guess I have no other option, but to accept that, though it’s killing me. My heart is so heavy. We now understand when you told about losing your husband, Dave O. The void. The emptiness. The place in your heart for only that loved one.
My only peace is that this life is just a vapor. We’re only passing through. It’s not about here, but there, there in heaven with the One who created us. And I can’t wait to be there with you and Him.
MOM, I LOVE YOU.
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