Grandma's Final Goodbye
My grandma died yesterday. She’s been sick for a while, longing for a place where she would be healthy and warm again. As hard as it is to say goodbye, it's time for her to go home.
Grandma lost her hearing from a stroke while I was in high school. She’s been communicating for two decades by scribbled notes and hand gestures though the past few years she hasn’t been able to read or write much. I can imagine her this morning singing with the angels. Basking in the beautiful music. Savoring the warmth of God’s light. And resting in Grandpa’s strong arms.
My grandmother was a confident, strong-willed woman. She raised four daughters, made the best strawberry jam I’ve ever tasted, and encouraged me to dream big as a writer. Every Easter, Christmas, and Fourth of July, she welcomed her nine grandchildren home with enthusiastic hugs and kisses, and then she’d faint from the excitement. Grandma fainted over and over again when the grandkids were there. And then she’d stand in her window when we left and blow kisses and wave and wave until we were out of sight.
Grandma’s home has been the one consistent place in my life. She’s lived in the same house since I was born, and I relish the memories—crowding into her dining room for brunch, scrambling across the grassy hill to find Easter eggs, laying under the Christmas tree to look up at the lights, climbing the giant tree in her backyard, playing Tiddlywinks with my cousins, and hiding away in the musty basement to read Goodnight Moon and Madeline.
The last time I visited Grandma, I sensed that it might be our final goodbye. Her great granddaughters may not remember her, but I’m grateful that they both got to meet her. And they both have a beautiful doll that she picked out especially for them to cherish.
I can still see Grandma’s face in the window, smiling and waving and blowing kisses. But now I’m the one blowing kisses as she leaves for home.
I’ll miss you, Grandma! Please give Grandpa a hug for me and tell Jesus that someday I want to join your side. We’ll sing together and tell stories without a pencil and paper and dance the Charleston down the golden streets like crazy kids.
Grandma lost her hearing from a stroke while I was in high school. She’s been communicating for two decades by scribbled notes and hand gestures though the past few years she hasn’t been able to read or write much. I can imagine her this morning singing with the angels. Basking in the beautiful music. Savoring the warmth of God’s light. And resting in Grandpa’s strong arms.
My grandmother was a confident, strong-willed woman. She raised four daughters, made the best strawberry jam I’ve ever tasted, and encouraged me to dream big as a writer. Every Easter, Christmas, and Fourth of July, she welcomed her nine grandchildren home with enthusiastic hugs and kisses, and then she’d faint from the excitement. Grandma fainted over and over again when the grandkids were there. And then she’d stand in her window when we left and blow kisses and wave and wave until we were out of sight.
Grandma’s home has been the one consistent place in my life. She’s lived in the same house since I was born, and I relish the memories—crowding into her dining room for brunch, scrambling across the grassy hill to find Easter eggs, laying under the Christmas tree to look up at the lights, climbing the giant tree in her backyard, playing Tiddlywinks with my cousins, and hiding away in the musty basement to read Goodnight Moon and Madeline.
The last time I visited Grandma, I sensed that it might be our final goodbye. Her great granddaughters may not remember her, but I’m grateful that they both got to meet her. And they both have a beautiful doll that she picked out especially for them to cherish.
I can still see Grandma’s face in the window, smiling and waving and blowing kisses. But now I’m the one blowing kisses as she leaves for home.
I’ll miss you, Grandma! Please give Grandpa a hug for me and tell Jesus that someday I want to join your side. We’ll sing together and tell stories without a pencil and paper and dance the Charleston down the golden streets like crazy kids.
posted by Melanie Dobson | 11:20 AM
1 Comments:
Oh, man....where's the Kleenex? I just had it a minute ago.
This post warmed my heart, Melanie. My grandma is with Jesus as well. I have memories of walking all around her house with a homemade willow fishing pole singing with her at the top of our lungs: "He will make us fishers of men..."
Loved the post. And, I enjoyed meeting you last evening at ACFW chapter meeting. Looking forward to getting to know you more.
-Kellie
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