Saturday, November 8, 2014

Visiting Hours in Heaven

I was thinking this morning, that it was only one week ago that we had the "historic" snow of November 1, 2014.  I wondered if I would even remember it next year and thought how I don't even record many events on my calendar anymore as Facebook seems to serve as a virtual scrapbook of all important happenings in our lives.

I was in the shower (of all places) as these musings occurred and my mind was immediately taken back to my Muz.  As my uncle mentioned in the homily he preached at her memorial, she would have written *SNOW!* in all caps in her calendar.  It would have been an exciting day.  She would have called us all to make sure that we looked outside.  (Embarrassingly enough, we either would have let the voicemail pick up or we would answer more out of obligation than anything else.) Everything with Muz was that way. There was anticipation that something wonderful was going to happen - no matter how insignificant the moment seemed to those around her.

And it was as I was standing there - in the shower - that I really cried for the first time in three years over the death of my grandmother.  The water poured over me as I shook, my face in my hands.  I thought of all that has happened since October 7, 2011.  Little insignificant things in the whole scheme of life: Mike and I giving our testimony, Sumter getting glasses, Jackson changing schools, my "haven" (a new room off our bedroom just for me), Sumter playing on drumline, Jackson's three-pointers in his basketball games, Maggie, Sumter's baptism, Jackson's braces, my new Explorer. She hasn't been here. And she would have seen these insignificant events, instead, with such anticipation and excitement and joy. But she hasn't been here. I can't even tell her about them.
And that makes me so sad.

It's strange how when someone dies, all the things that made you completely crazy just don't matter anymore.  Because she really did know how to drive all of us crazy with her warped sense of reality sometimes.  She could do and say the most "out there" things. (No, she didn't have dimentia or Alzheimers.). Things that would make us shake our heads.  Things that could hurt our feelings. Things that she thought were perfectly logical and appropriate, but were completely out of the realm of reality.

But that doesn't matter anymore, because I know where she I right now. And I'm not being all cliché.  I really do know where she is.  She was not perfect.  I just know where she is because of her faith.  A faith and relationship with Christ that really didn't blossom until she was about 70-years-old.  It was around that time that she was born-again (even though she would never use that term).  So even though I miss her incredibly.... and even though I wept this morning, I know where she is.

But still...

1 comment:

  1. Bevy,
    I remember reading a line in a book somewhere; Memories have no harsh color. I think that's so, because I seem to remember most of the good in all I have gone through. In reading your post today, it was lovely to read that you have all those wonderful memories of your grandmother. I hope Mike is doing well, and that you are holding things together. xo


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