As I sit here, steeling myself against the morrow, I hear a tiny
voice echoing through my mind “Great-Grandpa died. We buried
Great-Grandpa.” This was the voice of my young niece and her
perpetually repeated refrain a couple years back as her young mind and heart
struggled to understand the concept of death. And tomorrow, we will
all gather once again to perform the same office for my Grandmother.
Tomorrow we will remember and lay to rest my last grandparent.
For indeed, Grandma went home not long after my previous post; my
parents had arrived just in time – my grandma could still recognize
my father (her son) though she could not speak and she liked and
appreciated the shawl I sent her. I like to think it brought her my
love, and a bit of comfort and encouragement in the end before she
slipped into more or less unconsciousness – I am told my aunt had
to gently pry it out of her hands after she fell asleep at night.
At moments like this, we do not truly mourn for the one
gone on before – we know and understand that they are happy, at
peace, pain-free. But nonetheless, it is hard to let go; so
difficult to say goodbye. We mourn for ourselves. Our loss. Our
heartache. In my case, my sorrow gets all mixed up with that which
might have been. No one knows this, but I never thought in a million
years that I would still be unmarried at this point in my life – my
heart yearns for a much deeper connection; for marriage and a
husband. Somehow, much as it did when we lost Grandpa a couple years
ago, this loss brings new poignancy to my own personal heartache. I
suppose in part because it delineates the passing of time, but also
because if I ever do get married, my husband will never get to meet
any of my grandparents. My children will never get to meet their
great-grandparents.
There is a song an a children’s movie:
Like every tree stands on it’s own; reaching for the sky I stand
alone
I share my world with no one else, all by myself, I stand alone.
I often feel much the same – except unlike the character in the
movie, my solitude is not by choice. And I am so tired of standing
alone.
Grandma would have loved to have (more) great-grandchildren. And
told me so more than once (my family is big on teasing). But on her last trip up here last summer, she also told me that I shouldn’t marry just anyone. She knew the
importance of finding a godly man and that it was far better never to
marry than to marry the wrong man. I appreciate that so much, but
still, my heart hurts.
And so tomorrow, with an ache in my heart (for so many mixed-up
reasons) I will once more stand alone. But of course, not completely
alone, for God is always with me.
And lo, I am with you always, even until the end of the world.
And safe in His everlasting arms I will stay.
What a blessedness, what a peace is mine
Leaning on the everlasting arms.
