Death is a funny thing. I have had the opportunity to know many great people before they were called home, and each passing was an experience as unique as the individual. Last night, I sat next to my Grandmother and watched as all that this vibrant woman was slowly fell away. I didn't want her to go, but it was like trying to keep water in cupped hands-no matter how tightly I bound my heart and my determination not to watch her go, the water kept finding the cracks and seeping out.
Each minute a little more of her fell away, until all that was left was an empty shell and a smattering of beautiful memories. As she took her last breath, all I could think of was that I needed more. More time to say goodbye. More of her to keep. I know that her great legacy lives on. I could see it in her scripture group, who continued on without her for the first time last night. I could see it in her roommate, who insisted that knowing our Grandmother had changed her life. And I could see it in her children. Those present examples who shared their faith in the gospel she loved as she passed from this life to the next.
But all of these things are not her. I remember her. Her ever present smile. Her optimism in the face of a debilitating illness that continued to eat away at her body while her mind still stayed as sharp, focused, and straight as a pin. She refused to be left behind by the world, and even till the end would work to understand how to use the technology that abounded around her. She never stopped learning.
I think that towards the end of something, we tend to reflect on the beginning, and for the last while my Grandma and I talked often of how our relationship began: with my birth. She had only boys, and I was the first granddaughter. She waited in the waiting room for my Dad to come out and give the news. She was so excited to finally have a shopping partner, and I proved to be equal to the task. But more than that, she was my
friend in the very best sense of the word.
I can still hear her in my heart: laughing and saying things like "Oh I am just tickled pink!" I used to love sitting with her and hearing her tell me the stories of her life. One that began on a farm in Idaho and ended in a nursing home in Ogden. She went so many places. She accomplished so many things. And boy could she tell a story! I can remember her face the first time she held my daughter. It was like looking into a mirror that reflected time. She got it, that big picture I am always striving to see. She knew the gospel, but most importantly, she lived it every day of her life. She was an unfailing example of charity and forgiveness to those around her. She was my best grandma.
As I held her hand and said goodbye I was struck with a rather profound sadness. Because as hard as I try to keep them, my memories will fade. Time is funny thing, like a strong wind blowing across the sand, reshaping everything in it's path and often times leaving us with only a few granules clinging to our hands and feet. I will remember her. And for the rest of my life I will strive to emulate her, because she emulated Christ.
I have no doubt in my mind, that she had a most glorious reunion last night. I would have given anything to be able to see her face when Christ took her in His arms and said "Well done, thou good and faithful servant. Welcome home." Her joy and her journey in this earthly life found completion last night. And I cannot imagine the joy she felt at finally being free from her crumbling body and being released into her Savior's and her families waiting arms.
As I reflected on these things last night, while cleaning up all of her earthly belongings, I could not shake a sense of deep remorse. I know that she is in a far better place. I know that it was her time. But I was so afraid when I realized that there is nothing left. Just a few bags of her earthly possessions, a body that brings to mind all of those wonderful times we shared, and her legacy. But the actual part of my Grandma, her soul, has gone on to do another great work. And all that I have left are memories that will fade with the passing of days, and the Gospel that she loved and lived every day of her full life.
She is my Best Grandma. My Best Friend.
I am so grateful for a Gospel that places all of it's hope in the family. A Gospel that provides a way for us to be sealed together in this life for the rest eternity. A Gospel that gives those who mourn the passing of a great Matriarch, Friend, and Example, the knowledge that while her earthly mission is finished, her eternal one is not. That even though there is nothing left for me to tangibly hold, in my hands is a seed that shines brighter than the sun, and provides a quiet comfort and knowledge that today isn't really goodbye. It is just a farewell until we meet again. And we will.
