3 Funerals, a Wedding, and a Last Goodbye

My grandma died this morning after a long and slow winding-down of a long and faithful life. I'm not really sad about it. She is well and reunited with grandpa and with my dad and uncle and with countless friends and family members who have gone Home before her.

Grandma was not a particularly notable cook, at least she wasn't by the time I was old enough to notice such things, but she enjoyed hosting and having people in their home. We learned to "pre-eat" when having dinner at their house, which was often. She was a member of the "KPW" (Kishwaukee Presbyterian Women) group at our little home church for decades, and served as an advocate for missions and missionaries, particularly women missionaries who were ministering around the world.

She attended Wheaton College, but didn't graduate because she fell in love with my grandpa. "I knew if I didn't hurry up and marry him, someone else would!". He had quite a following of admirers, my grandpa.

You can see why:

They were both pretty glamorous, don't you think? We actually met someone here in Raleigh whose brother was a friend of my grandpa. Crazy, huh? Anyway, when we realized the connection, our new friend called his brother and the brother remembered that my grandpa was "very dapper" and charming and that grandma was softer-spoken and kind. They were married for over 50 years. I asked my grandma once when I was in college if she had any advice for a long marriage, and I have taken it keenly to heart. Just two words: "Separate Bathrooms".

My grandparents lived next to us while we were growing up. They helped take care of us when we were young and my dad was just starting to have serious health problems. And then they helped care for my dad when he was bed-bound. They were hard workers, and their family and their faith were the most important things in their life together. They are Home at last.

Grandma's death feels like sort of like a final punctuation to draw two weeks of funerals to a close. Les and I were home in Illinois for 10 days for a long Thanksgiving vacation. We had re-arranged our original plan so that we could attend the wedding of a dear friend of mine from high school who was getting married the Saturday before Thanksgiving. We would be in IL for the wedding, and then stay through until the Monday after the holiday.

We didn't know it at the time, but that decision meant that we would be in Illinois for some Major Life Stuff. A couple of days before we left, we got word that our dear friends' young son had died. The crush of grief for them was tempered by the assurance that we would BE THERE to mourn with them. Physically. With hugs and tears and open hands. We were also in town for the memorial mass for Les's paternal grandmother, who passed away the week before Thanksgiving, and a dear friend of his family who he remembered fondly as a kid. We went to three funerals in 3 days.

We were there for all three funerals, a wedding, and a chance to sit with my grandma one more time. She couldn't see me or acknowledge us, but the nurses assured us that she could hear us. I told her that I loved her, and that I was thankful for her. I told her I was glad to see her, to squeeze her hand, to kiss her cheek.

I also got to sit with my uncle, who has Parkinson's and had a stroke a few months ago. He looked so much like my dad after my dad had had his stroke. We watched a few minutes of football together, and talked about dogs. It wasn't all ugly-crying though. I met three new babies who had been born since we left for NC, and got to spend time with dear friends and my nutty extended family and my Ridiculously Awesome Siblings. We got to see what happens when AugDog gets left by himself in a strange bedroom for 9 hours. Picture a rock star's trashed hotel room. I expected to see him to be wearing a lampshade on his head when I surveyed the chaos. No harm done, except maybe to Auggie's tenuous improvement with his separation anxiety.

I'm thankful that we felt so compelled to make it home for the wedding. God nudged us to make it work, and we were there when Life screamed from the windows. The Beautiful Mess.