If you know me at all, you know that for the last 2 years or so I have been a full time care taker for my grandmother, known to most as Weezie. But oh, she was so much more to me than just a grandmother. She really, truly was my best friend.
She passed away on August 28, 2015. When she passed, my dad and I were there with her. She had suffered many strokes over her last few months with us. But like an innocent child, I had hoped for the best, that the doctors were wrong, that she would just be too darn stubborn to leave us so soon.
I was wrong. In the words of my 5 year old daughter, "Weezie didn't make it."
It is so hard to adequately describe the feeling of such a loss. No, I am not the first person to lose their grandmother. No, I am not the first person to lose their best friend. No, I certainly will not be the last. However, this journey has taught me so much. It has taught me life lessons, on death and dying and the afterlife. It has taught me about compassion and complete surrender. It has taught me about selflessness and love. This list could go on and on. The road to healing is just as long.
I want to backtrack to last Christmas. Christmas is my favorite time of the year. December is always particularly crazy for our family. We have LOTS of December birthdays in our family, including my own. Plus the obvious, Christmas and New Years. Then we have church obligations, the Christmas dinner, the youth Christmas party, Christmas eve service. And all of these things are great and bring me amazing joy. But the things that matter most to me are the traditions. Some are traditions my parents and grandparents started years before. Some are new ones that we have started with our kids. Christmas cookie baking. Reindeer food on the lawn on Christmas eve. Reading the Christmas story from the bible just before bed. Milk and cookies for Santa. Christmas eve at my grandmothers. Christmas eve pajamas. All traditions. All loved.
Since last year was our first year homeschooling, we decided to take the entire month of December off from school. I wanted to focus on making these memories. Soaking it in. We had intentionally been slowing down our lives. We withdrew from all of the unnecessary extracurricular activities. Saying no to the things that didn't serve us as a family unit.
You see, God was moving in our lives. He was speaking to me. He was telling my heart to slow down. We were like any other average American family. We were getting so caught up in "Living" that we were, in fact, not really living at all. We were busy, not being filled. We were filling our time not our souls. We had an overwhelmed schedule and I had an underwhelmed soul.
You see, God was telling me to savor life. I don't think that I told anyone but my husband that year, or ever, actually, that God was preparing me. I knew, because God had put it on my heart, that my time with my grandmother was short. I told my husband that I felt like it was going to be my last Christmas with her. I didn't understand it, I didn't know why. But I knew. I knew that the Christmas I spent with her would be our last.
It seems odd to admit that out loud. But I believe it. I believe that God prepares us for these things. That on some level we know, sometimes, not always, what is to come.
I savored every last second of the Christmas season last year. I appreciated every little second, every detail of it. I handcrafted gifts. I baked extra cookies. Most importantly, I spent time. I soaked up every minute that I could, not just with her, but my kids. It was truly, a magical Christmas. The reason for the season was bright and alive in me. I was so thankful that God had given me the gift of that knowledge. I was so grateful for the coming of Jesus, not just to this earth, but to my heart. It was magic. Pure magic.
It has been about 10 weeks since she has passed. And Christmas is fast approaching. I find myself dreading my favorite time of the year a little bit. I know it will not be the same.
The last 10 weeks have wrecked havoc on my soul. The final moments of her life were spent with my dad and I. She had not eaten or drank or spoken in her last 2 days. But those last few moments, she knew we were there, she kissed us both. We poured out our love on her. We held her hands. And I prayed. Out loud. What happened next I have held close to my heart. Unwilling to share with the world. I think it sounds crazy. I think people will think I am crazy. But that's okay.
After I prayed out loud, it was just a matter of minutes before she passed. And just before she took her last breath, I had the oddest, most heart warming encounter. I was holding her hand. Just before she took her last breath, my hand that was holding hers started tingling. I have no other way to describe it other than I knew it was over. It was as if her last action on earth was to transfer her love, her life force energy, into me. I feel like I literally carry a piece of her with me, everywhere, now.
I was flooded with so many emotions at that moment. But greater than any, peace. Eternal peace. Her suffering was over. She knew who we were till the end. She knew she was not alone. She was in Heaven.
Days before she passed, I had been reading a book, "90 Minutes in Heaven" by Don Piper. If you have never read it, go buy it now. If you are unsure that Heaven exists, go buy it now. If you are searching for comfort in a time of mourning, go buy it now. Basically, if you are breathing, go buy it now. ***Spoiler Alert*** In the book, a true story, the man, Don, is a preacher. He is in a horrific car accident. He is declared legally dead for 90 minutes, in which time he travels to Heaven. When he arrives in Heaven, instantaneously after he dies, he is greeted by all of the people he has known who have, previously to him, gone to Heaven, including his grandmother. In life she was a feeble little lady who walked with a hunch and had false teeth. When he arrives, she is new and perfect! She walks effortlessly, with ease, upright. And her teeth are her own and they too are perfect!
When I read this, I wept. I mean, I really wept. I knew that shortly, my grandmother would be in Heaven and she would be made new. She would be perfection. Far beyond the perfection that I saw everyday when I looked at her. True perfection. Perfection that only comes from the Lord when He washes us clean and makes us new again, in Heaven. This passage gave me great hope when she finally passed on. I imagine her with her husband and her son, her parents and siblings, walking upright, effortlessly, gleaming with a smile, wide, that is her own, on the streets of gold.
When I prayed over her in her final moments, this was part of my prayer for her. I prayed that the Lord would take her home, to make her new and whole and perfect. And He did.
There is a single verse in the bible that always restores me. It is my life verse. During mourning, the words have never rang more true.
"And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and minds in Christ Jesus." Philippians 4:7
These last 10 weeks have not all been full of peace, though. The days following her death, I did truly feel a peace that surpassed my understanding. My spirit was resting in the strength of the Lord. There is no other way I could have made it through those first few days on my own strength, it was complete divine strength. Human emotion overwhelms me now, though. I am fighting, trying to see the light, to find that strength, but grief is drowning me.
I have not been a peach, to say the least. I have been irritable and heartbroken. My kids have been getting on my nerves. My husband has been driving me crazy. The petty little things that people air on Facebook drive me mad. The cold weather has made me cold on the inside. Bed time stories have been few and far between. I spend so much time in fervent prayer, asking for that peace to fill me again. I spend far too much time consumed with my thoughts of her. I feel like everyone else has moved on and forgotten. I am left completely heartbroken.
My days these last few years have been filled with time spent with her. Morning coffee. Reading her horoscope to her. Taking photos of the sweetest of memories of her with my children. Tucking her in for naps. Bathing her. Asking her hard life questions. I am so grateful for each of those days that I spent with her. There were hard days, yes. But even for those I am grateful. I knew her, my kids knew her, and she knew them. And she knew me.
I told my dad the other day that I felt as though no one had time for me. Of course I was an emotion, irrational mess that day, because in reality, I have a loving family who supports me. But reality gets a bit distorted when grief is rushing through you. I told him, that no matter what, she always had time for me. Since her passing I have felt so alone. She was my life. When everyone else left the funeral, they all had lives to get back to. Jobs to resume. I was left lost. Stranded in my utter grief.
I know with time, I will find a new normal. I will find purpose and passion. I will feel true happiness again. But not yet. It is still too fresh. Too new. Too raw. But I will.
I am not alone though, not in my pain and suffering or in my search for understand and meaning. Kyler wants to visit her grave, almost everyday. Piper wants a photo of her tombstone to keep in her room. Just a few weeks ago, Kyler told me that he was so sad that he just can not focus. He told me that he was so angry at God for taking her and that he was mad at Weezie for leaving. It blew my mind that something so deep and wise could come from a guy who was so little.
How on earth can a child recognize and verbalize the fact that not only is he mad at God and at someone who has passed, but that it is okay to feel that way? I must be doing something right as a mom. He asks for alone time to pray when he is sad or angry about his loss.
Piper tells me that she misses Weezie and all of the things that they used to do together or that she used to do for Weezie. Brushing her hair, helping her walk, painting her nails. All of these things coming from little kids who are just as lost and broken as me. They are wise beyond their years. True old souls.
Trying to help kids understand something that even adults don't fully understand, that is the hardest part of being a parent by far. For this I will keep praying. None of us are alone. The butterflies tell me that. (That's a whole other post in and of itself.)
This post was way longer than I intended, but as I wrote, it just seemed to pour out, to write itself. No doubt, God has given me the words and the courage to share this part of me with the world. However, I can not wrap up the post without first acknowledging one last thing. My dad. My dad has been my rock these last few months. Sometimes I feel like he is the only one who understands. The only one as lost as I am. For him I am eternally grateful. Nothing could have ever made us closer than walking this journey together. For all that you do, thank you Dad. (Not to discredit you, either, Mama. You are amazing and strong. Love you!)
Thank you for hanging around to read this whole post. Please be in prayer for our family as we continue on this road, the walk of grief. Love and light.
In loving memory. Louise Lucile Shepperd. November 25, 1925- August 28, 2015.
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