Grandma’s Light
10 years ago, my Grandma Peter walked her husband home, and Grandpa began waiting for her to come home to him.
My sister and I had the honor of walking her home on March 22nd.
It’s taken me over 10 weeks to be able to share about it here. It was a very hard loss.
I lost more than a Grandma; I lost a bonus parental figure, I lost a mentor, and I lost a friend.
The first two weeks were mostly spent just existing, and grieving.
Although I am largely back to normal life, I am still grieving. I’ve missed her for a while before her death, not being able to reach her on the phone as much due to her mental illness flare-ups. Yes, she had the gift of a long life; but I still wasn’t ready for her to go.
But I don’t want words of sympathy, comparison, or optimism.
What I want is for you to meet my Grandma, as I knew her.
I want to shine her light—those simple acts of love that made a big difference—to remind us all to do likewise.
I miss most:
<3 How she’d look at me, eyes beaming with pride, joy, love; I knew I was precious to her.
<3 That I knew someone was praying for me (and every other member of our family) every day.
<3 Chatting on the phone, sometimes for a good hour or so, where she’d open up to me, and ask questions and let me share my life with her, listening as long as I had something to say.
<3 Hearing about her making the best of hard situations, with tears, laughter, and lots of banter.
<3 Telling her about my many projects and work roles, and she expressed amazement, awe, and pride.
<3 Making new memories: beautifully celebrated holidays, baking together, talking gardens, playing games, or going out on the town.
<3 Her quiet empathy, letting me know I wasn’t alone in the hard stuff.
<3 Her stories about how God has been faithful to her, encouraging my faith and trust in God’s love, wisdom, and provision.
<3 Her example of a patient, loving, respectful, and kind marriage partnership: each staying strong when the other was weak.
<3 Having her there to celebrate special moments: concerts, ball games, recitals, graduations, new jobs, etc.
<3 Being able to ask her advice about hard things and everyday things.
<3 Her advice, like: “Each day as it comes, and don’t take anything for granted.” Weeding the garden: “Make a prayer of it.” Marriage: “You have God.”
<3 Her openness about her journey living with mental illness.
<3 Knowing the CD we recorded with her favorite hymns was bringing her peace every night.
<3 Hearing her call her small home (where she raised 5 boys with Grandpa) her “castle.”
<3 Her generous heart to give to organizations (including some of mine), and Christmas gifts for all 30+ family members.
<3 How she got involved in causes she cared about, not shying away from sharing her passion, and how we made a difference together.
<3 How she’d call me just to check in on good days, or to reach out when she was struggling.
<3 How she’d offer us cookies from her monk (“Thou shalt not steal”) cookie jar when we’d come over. If we took just one she’d command, “take two… one for each hand” with a playful smile.
<3 How she loved to hear me play my guitar and sing, and found it a treat if I brought my guitar to her house. It made me feel like my gifts mattered early on.
<3 How she had every family member’s photo on the wall, updated with each marriage and birth; there was no question we belonged.
<3 How she kept our artwork (or other celebratory papers) on her fridge and kids’ room wall, and we always had to sign our art.
<3 How she was never too old to join in the fun of dressing up for Halloween.
<3 How she connected our love of tap dancing to her Grandma’s (who raised her) love of watching tap dancing, making us feel even more connected with her story.
<3 How she’d decorate her home and set the table just beautifully for holidays, and make so many of our favorite cookies, breads, jellos, casseroles…
<3 How we’d sing happy birthday to Jesus on Christmas eve, with a cake.
<3 How she’d look at us, smile and say “aww…” or “oh for heaven’s sake!”
Gifts she gave:
She listened to my CDs, and even as not a big reader, she read my book! We talked about how the book inspired her to find new ways to serve people in the assisted living home where she was living at the time.
When she was in the hospital once, she had colored some pictures. We had gone to visit her and asked to keep a couple of them; we asked her to sign it. She wrote a sweet dedication message along with it. This is a treasure to me now, connecting us again.
She was more special than people knew:
…and she was more special than she knew.
This amazing woman was almost a terminated pregnancy. I told her how her story has been inspiring people to support women in unplanned pregnancies.
When she sat in the hospital with her husband, whose pain was leading him to say some rude things, I saw my Grandma just smile at him and say, “I love you Bob.” This moment was a big part of what inspired my song, “Legacy of Love.”
But big impact was never a thought to her. Just big love.
Final stories:
Our final visit with her months before she went into hospice care, I’ll never forget how excited she was to see us. Her feet were moving so quickly to try to scoot herself over to us in her wheelchair! We had such a sweet visit reminiscing, and we sang Amazing Grace right before visitation was over. Through tears she looked at us and whispered “Thank you.”
10-15 years ago she asked my sister and me to sing her favorite hymns at her funeral. We recorded these songs for her on a CD, which she listened to every night. My Dad brought this CD to her in hospice for the nurses to play for her; I am so glad she could hear our love before we could arrive.
We sat by her bedside and sang these hymns to her in her final days. We had the honor of singing them at her funeral like she requested so long ago.
There were many sacred moments we’ve held onto privately from her final days here. Even though she was mostly withdrawn, we could see her beauty and feel the love of her presence. My Grandma must have been so proud of how my sister especially brought special meaning to those times.
I will never regret giving my Grandma the gift of presence like she gave me on some of the hardest days of my life.
A couple hours before her death, I was crying when I whispered to her, “I’m struggling Gram… will you talk to Jesus for me?”
I have to believe that she did, as soon after that, I caught her own tear…
…and not long after, she took her final breath.
It was a gift and an honor to walk her home.