It’s hard to believe today marks a year since Grandma Helen went Home, but it does. It's been a long year of many, many changes- some wonderful, some not so much.
This past year, she’s seen a few of our family join her there. Even though there are supposed to be no tears in Heaven, knowing her as I do, she cried anyway. She’d have said, “What are you doing here? You’re not supposed to be here yet!” and then welcomed them with open arms and offered them a cup of coffee- as was her way.
I believe life goes on after death; you’re just in a perfect, more peaceful, more beautiful place. You’re happier and healthier. There isn’t a schedule to abide and dishes wash themselves.
I can well imagine Grandma sitting at a table in a cozy, vanilla and lemon Pledge-scented kitchen with lace-trimmed white curtains. There’s a slight, cool breeze fluttering the curtains through the open windows. Past the panes you can see the cloudless sky is the most brilliant shade of cerulean blue. You know the shade I mean- so blue your eyes can barely adjust.
I imagine she’s probably already been visiting with Jesus and her Mama & Daddy and all the rest of the family who’ve also passed on. There are far too many to name without certainly missing a few, but I am grateful I was blessed to have known quite a few of them too. Many were like her: the last of their kind- the “greatest generation.”
Over this past year, I've found myself thinking of her at the funniest times. As a child, I remember watching her do dishes countless times. When she walked away from the kitchen sink, she’d sorta lightly smack her hand on the edge to fling off the water so she didn’t trail it on the floor. A few months ago, I caught myself unconsciously doing the very same thing. It was a sweet reminder that while she may not be with me in person, she’s certainly still here in spirit.
As many of you know, the week prior to her death, our family was erroneously informed that she’d died. What a surreal experience!
“I’m sorry to inform you- she’s passed on.”
…(a few hours later)…
“Wait a sec, she’s right here. My bad.”
Blessed with a funny “roll-with-it” sense of humor, I believe Grandma would have laughed at the terrible mistake.
I think that is perhaps what I miss the most- her laughter; her easy, gentle way of taking life as it came and finding a reason to smile. If she couldn’t make you smile too, she would give you a slice of something magically delicious that would make you forget your troubles for a bit.
Whoever she’s catching up with today, whatever she’s doing… I am certain there’s something amazing cooking on the stove, a pan of Congo Squares on the table, and a blueberry cream pie in the fridge.
I find it altogether fitting and proper that she went Home on All Saints Day. A quick Google search defines a Saint as, “someone who is holy, virtuous, and typically regarded as being in Heaven after death.” I think that pretty much says it all.
Today, on this All Saints Day, I thank God for sharing one of His dearest and best with us for a time.
I miss you, Grandma. You’re never too far from my thoughts.
