86 today
Grandma,
You would have been 86 today. I'm not sure if one ages in heaven....in fact I have often wondered what age our new bodies in heaven actually are. In any case, you have been in your heavenly home for 7 years, and each year you've been gone, I've kept track of your birthday's here...on this side of eternity. Perhaps marking time and remembering your birthday helps me feel closer to you. You were, after all, more than just a grandma to me. You were my biggest fan, my dear friend, a continual support no matter what I was up to. You were like a parent that never had to discipline me. You were a role model for me. Your life inspired me. Your love gave me courage.
This year, the anniversary of your death, followed the next day by your birthday, is the first year in the last 7 that I didn't feel so overwhelmed by heartache; the deep heartache that comes when you watch someone you love lose such a nasty battle with cancer. A deep heartache that settles in after they've gone, and you feel a great hole in your heart from the grief of missing them. This year the scales tipped in favor of warm memories. There is still heartache, but finally it didn't out weigh the warmth.
I find the nature of memories a peculiar thing. I remember long conversations with you, but it wasn't until I watched a video of you recently, that I realized my memories are not often filled with the sound of your voice, rather the content of what you said. Here are some of the warm thoughts that have filled my last few days and weeks.
*You always had beautiful rose bushes. When I was very little you picked out rose varieties that you knew I would like.
* You answered my endless questions about your surgical nursing textbooks with great patience.
* Your house always smelled like a combination of fresh laundry, clean dishes, and homemade meals.
* You always made my favorite foods. In fact, you always made the favorite foods of any of your guests.
* You told me stories every time I would stay the night at your house (which was often as a child). You made the 40's, 50's, and 60's come to life for a child raised in the 80's.
* I always wished I could have seen a color photo of you as a little girl in your favorite white dress with little red flowers.
* You never liked to smile for a photo....but I made you outright laugh for photos by telling you to think of a naked albino standing next to me...worked every time.
* You looked so small out the back window of your van the time grandpa left you on the side of the interstate, in the rain, as he drove away, all the while thinking you were in the car. You never found that story as funny as I did.
* It did not matter if it was 11 am when I woke up in the summers, if I came down to your house, you would make me homemade fresh biscuits or pancakes, or really anything else I wanted to eat.
* You had the most beautiful olive skin. Your silver hair was brilliant. Your hands were evidence of a life of hard work.
* I loved playing games at your house in the evenings after dinner. I loved beating you at most games!
* I love the way you loved me. You always made me feel like there was nothing I couldn't accomplish. You always believed the best in me.
* When I was morning sick during my first pregnancy, you were sick with rounds of chemo from your second battle with breast cancer. You still encouraged me that all would be well, even while your body was riddled by the poison coursing through it.
* During college and medical school, your trips to Iowa to visit me were some of my favorite times.
* You were hilarious in Scotland, after our "Taste of Scotland" dinner. You had finished off your small bottle of scotch (minus the haggis), in addition to the better part of a bottle of wine....getting you up the stairs to our room was probably one of the funniest 20 minutes of my life. 4 flights of stairs. Tipsy 70 year old. Easily one of my favorite memories together...and one I am sure you don't share.
* The lyric to the song was arbolito, not libido.
* You sang in a trio when I was really little, and once I started to sing as I got older, you stopped singing....you would listen to me....but I always missed hearing you.
* You loved Jesus. You inspired others. You were dignified, lovely and strong. You were far from perfect, but you strove for the best in all you did, and hoped for the best in all those around you.
There really isn't enough time to write down all of my memories of you. I strive to live a life that would continue to make you proud. I look forward to the other side of eternity...let's plan on a nice long chat over coffee and some of your homemade desserts. Until then, I will continue to mark your passing and your birthdays in your absence. Thank you for a lifetime of memories to fill these anniversaries with warmth.
Love, Sarah
You would have been 86 today. I'm not sure if one ages in heaven....in fact I have often wondered what age our new bodies in heaven actually are. In any case, you have been in your heavenly home for 7 years, and each year you've been gone, I've kept track of your birthday's here...on this side of eternity. Perhaps marking time and remembering your birthday helps me feel closer to you. You were, after all, more than just a grandma to me. You were my biggest fan, my dear friend, a continual support no matter what I was up to. You were like a parent that never had to discipline me. You were a role model for me. Your life inspired me. Your love gave me courage.
This year, the anniversary of your death, followed the next day by your birthday, is the first year in the last 7 that I didn't feel so overwhelmed by heartache; the deep heartache that comes when you watch someone you love lose such a nasty battle with cancer. A deep heartache that settles in after they've gone, and you feel a great hole in your heart from the grief of missing them. This year the scales tipped in favor of warm memories. There is still heartache, but finally it didn't out weigh the warmth.
I find the nature of memories a peculiar thing. I remember long conversations with you, but it wasn't until I watched a video of you recently, that I realized my memories are not often filled with the sound of your voice, rather the content of what you said. Here are some of the warm thoughts that have filled my last few days and weeks.
*You always had beautiful rose bushes. When I was very little you picked out rose varieties that you knew I would like.
* You answered my endless questions about your surgical nursing textbooks with great patience.
* Your house always smelled like a combination of fresh laundry, clean dishes, and homemade meals.
* You always made my favorite foods. In fact, you always made the favorite foods of any of your guests.
* You told me stories every time I would stay the night at your house (which was often as a child). You made the 40's, 50's, and 60's come to life for a child raised in the 80's.
* I always wished I could have seen a color photo of you as a little girl in your favorite white dress with little red flowers.
* You never liked to smile for a photo....but I made you outright laugh for photos by telling you to think of a naked albino standing next to me...worked every time.
* You looked so small out the back window of your van the time grandpa left you on the side of the interstate, in the rain, as he drove away, all the while thinking you were in the car. You never found that story as funny as I did.
* It did not matter if it was 11 am when I woke up in the summers, if I came down to your house, you would make me homemade fresh biscuits or pancakes, or really anything else I wanted to eat.
* You had the most beautiful olive skin. Your silver hair was brilliant. Your hands were evidence of a life of hard work.
* I loved playing games at your house in the evenings after dinner. I loved beating you at most games!
* I love the way you loved me. You always made me feel like there was nothing I couldn't accomplish. You always believed the best in me.
* When I was morning sick during my first pregnancy, you were sick with rounds of chemo from your second battle with breast cancer. You still encouraged me that all would be well, even while your body was riddled by the poison coursing through it.
* During college and medical school, your trips to Iowa to visit me were some of my favorite times.
* You were hilarious in Scotland, after our "Taste of Scotland" dinner. You had finished off your small bottle of scotch (minus the haggis), in addition to the better part of a bottle of wine....getting you up the stairs to our room was probably one of the funniest 20 minutes of my life. 4 flights of stairs. Tipsy 70 year old. Easily one of my favorite memories together...and one I am sure you don't share.
* The lyric to the song was arbolito, not libido.
* You sang in a trio when I was really little, and once I started to sing as I got older, you stopped singing....you would listen to me....but I always missed hearing you.
* You loved Jesus. You inspired others. You were dignified, lovely and strong. You were far from perfect, but you strove for the best in all you did, and hoped for the best in all those around you.
There really isn't enough time to write down all of my memories of you. I strive to live a life that would continue to make you proud. I look forward to the other side of eternity...let's plan on a nice long chat over coffee and some of your homemade desserts. Until then, I will continue to mark your passing and your birthdays in your absence. Thank you for a lifetime of memories to fill these anniversaries with warmth.
Love, Sarah
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