A final farewell


Growing up I had the "picture-perfect" grandmother.  She was soft.  She had this short white/gray hair that held a tight perm.  She didn't wear a stitch of make-up but was still beautiful.  She sang church songs if she wasn't talking and playing "church" was a common occurrence at her house.  

She baked cookies and pies after making a full Sunday lunch, each item homemade.  I don't know if she ever even heard of Betty Crocker or Duncan Hines.  All her pants had an elastic waistline, even her jeans.  She'd give you a big hug when you arrived at her house, then it was back to the stove so the chicken didn't burn.  

On car rides she had this quiet hiss like sound that escaped her mouth.  I don't even know if she knew she was doing it, but it was sort of relaxing.  You could tell she was displeased about something by a look on her face, although I can't remember ever hearing her voice her displeasure about anything.  

She was the first person I ever saw wear a swimsuit with a skirt attached, and I remember wanting to wear one too.  She played in the pool in Florida with us, but she didn't want us getting to crazy because she couldn't swim and was a bit uncomfortable in the water.  

She gave me my first Bible.  Not because she thought I needed it or was trying to teach me, but because it was her Bible and I loved the colorful pictures.  

I moved to Wyoming in 2000 and shortly thereafter she had her first stroke.  It changed her.  Gone was the softness to her, as she began to lose weight.  Gone was the fluffy white hair, replaced by a straight cut.  Her ability to run along the car as we drove down her long driveway was gone, replaced by a wheelchair.  I returned to a grandmother that had changed.  My heart was broken.  

We moved forward and loved this new version of her.  She could no longer cook the Sunday lunches. She no longer could take care of or anticipate every need my grandfather had.  The woman that had taken care of so many her entire life needed to be taken care of.  That was hard to witness.  We all missed the grandma/mother she was, but clung to what we still had.

My children got to know her.  They were able to sit on her lap and hear the sound of her voice, although different then what I grew up knowing, they still knew her.  Paisley was able to tell her he loved her and color her pictures.  Lila was able to wave at her and blow kisses.

We knew the end was coming and that she would be better off, but it didn't lessen the blow.  Hearing the words she was gone was like getting the wind knocked out of you.  I wept for the grandmother I held so many memories of.  I wept that my children no longer had a great-grandmother.  I wept that she was finally with her son she had lost so long ago.  I wept imagining the smile on my grandfathers face as he greeted her in Heaven.

I learned she had left her earthly body while I was home with the kids.  Paisley wrapped his arms around me and hugged me quietly as I grieved, never even asking what was wrong.  Lila seeing what was happening came over and kissed my nose before returning to her dolls.  It was a such a sweet moment.

The funeral was beautiful and simple.  The room was full as we listened to "I'll fly away" and the preacher spoke his comforting words.  The sun shone down on the cemetery as her body was carried to its final resting place.  In the distance a train whistle blew.  Her wooden casket was covered in beautiful fall colored flowers.  As I leaned in to kiss the casket good-bye, I imagined my soft curly haired grandma in Heaven, smiling down at us.  She knew she was loved.  She knew she had done a wonderful job of raising her children and loving her grandchildren.  She knew she had been a faithful servant.  We said our good-bye and walked through the leaves scattered throughout the cemetery.  Thankful to know there is so much more then this life.

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