My last blood grandparent passed away about two weeks ago. It's a bit odd because I feel like it was also the passing of her generation in my family. I always thought my Grandma Mary (my dad's mom) was a really special woman and that she'd always be around. But then aren't most grandparents special and don't we always take our time with them for granted?
Brennan and I drove up to Syracuse, sans Don, the Wednesday before last. It was a full, difficult, emotionally and physically draining time, but through it all I could sense God's presence and peace. My grandmother did not have the easiest life growing up. From the little I know, she never really had a close relationship with her mother, Louise, but she did form a good relationship with her grandmother, Dora Brown. Her father, Norm Lukins, passed away when she was fairly young and her grandmother raised her.
As a little girl, she adored animals - even her pet goat (hello, it was the 30's and 40's). Many of the old pictures that were on display at her service showed her animals or her smiling cherubic face as she was doing something active on what looked like farmland of some sort. This penchant for pawed critters continued on until her death. There were always animals in Grandma Mary and Grandpa Jack's house: Suki, Yaki, Jinx, Sasha, Shiloh, Kelly, the cockatoo (Icharis was one, I think?), and on and on. You can imagine how fun then, it was for a little girl to visit. It was like my own personal petting zoo.
My grandmother was also very creative and talented (no, I don't know where my crafty gene went). She was a great cook, she sewed, she tended her yard. But she was especially good with ceramics. She had a kiln in her basement and a whole trove of white statuettes lined on shelves, waiting to be brought to life with paint and glaze. Going down there when I was younger was like wading through an unfinished museum exhibit. I remember she would have me pick one out and then we'd start the work of breathing life into the piece. After most weekends, I came home with something to give my mom and my grandmother always told me how great it looked (one of the few instances where she didn't "tell it like it is." :0).
Grandma Mary was also a stubborn woman. She was staunch in her opinions and she didn't mind telling you. Once. Twice. As many times as you'd bear to listen. And she always told you what was on her mind. However, she also listened. I remember many a summer afternoon or evening sitting on the front porch and watching the traffic go by. I would usually be eating a fudgsicle (she always hand those on hand - those and bananas and Peanut Butter Cap'n Crunch, as my cousin reminded me) and telling her all the details of my life. Not once did she ever seem impatient or wanting to get away from me.
In the last few years my grandma's health was declining. She had a breast removed due to cancer, a leg partially amputated due to diabetes, and her usually quick-wit and reliable memory were failing her due to dementia. It was hard to see a woman so robust in mind and body move into a wheel chair and I think this was harder for her. But as my uncle reminded us at her service, she ALWAYS knew who my grandpa was. After 43 years of marriage, she knew when she called, "Jack," that he would be there in a moment. This, to me, is also a testament of enduring love. Love that's not fickle or flimsy, but love that stands the test of time, rolls with the punches, and is comfortable. Constant. Strong. Love that was exemplary for her children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren.
She was also a woman of faith. Not faith in God (that came later), but faith in her family, friends, and probably her pets too. At one point in her life she became a Jehovah's Witness. Now I don't profess to know all of their doctrine, but I do know it differs from Christianity in some big ways (trinity, soul, work of Christ). Her and my dad would often have discussions about this and so when she died it seemed this discussion was unresolved and this was a huge part of our sadness. We knew she had gone to a church service on that Sunday morning. So it was my hope that God may have spoken to her at that service.
Praise God because the next day, my cousin informed me that it was there that she asked for forgiveness and accepted Christ into her heart. I believe that during these last hours of her life here, that her mind was opened and God spoke to her heart. God's grace is truly amazing and his mercies are new every morning. That's how faithful God is to us. This knowledge brought a whole new dimension to honoring my grandmother at her services and it turned our "mourning into gladness."
I remember my Grandma as an energetic, funny, and sassy woman who I always enjoyed spending time with and actually looked forward to going to see. I will miss her dearly. I do miss her dearly, but it's nice to know that it's not good-bye.
"Answer me quickly, O LORD;
my spirit fails.
Do not hide your face from me
or I will be like those who go down to the pit.
Let the morning bring me word of your unfailing love,
for I have put my trust in you.
Show me the way I should go,
for to you I lift up my soul."
-Psalm 143: 7-8
