Tonight, in a small town a couple hours south of here, my grandmother is hovering between this life and the next. It seems the angels await... and yet, for some reason she lingers...
One of earliest memories of Grandma is of Christmas presents, "wrapped" in printed boxes--very practical, of course! And a small table top tree. That seemed just absurd to me!
I remember summers in their little quaint town, exploring the house while she worked in her beauty shop. Her beauty shop was in the front room of her home. I vaguely remember a time when she had someone else working with her, but mostly I remember her little lady friends coming and going, with hair of varying shades of white and purple. Often they left her shop looking nearly the same as when they came.
When we stayed with Grandma and Grandpa, she would wash our hair in her beauty shop sink. I can remember her pointing out the areas that I needed to care to clean well when shampooing. I think of that each time I shampoo my daughter's hair. I can still remember watching the top of her aging arm sway back and forth as she scrubbed my head and hair. And I mean scrubbed! If soap got too close to my eyes, she would reach and wipe it with her forearm. I think of that every single time I do the same for one of my daughters.
I remember getting bathed in her antique bathtub. Yes, bathed. Again, scrubbed. Cashmere Bouquet, to be exact. I think we were all relieved when she accepted that we could bathe ourselves. I remember crisp, white sheets (with little black footprints) on a bed with an iron frame. She made sure we had some 10-0-6 to care for our faces. Don't leave the cap off or it will all evaporate out!
When I lost a tooth at her house, I not only got a quarter, but it was in a pencil sharpener! Whoa! That was exciting!
I remember having my nails done by Grandma in her beauty shop. This was long before there was nail shop on every corner. She had the old fashioned manicure table, complete with the goose necked lamp. I remember her going through the whole routine for us, complete with soaking our nails, trimming, filing, and even painting them. She made us choose conservative colors, based on what she thought our mama would want. I think of that every single time I cut my little girl's nails. "No, hold your thumb just like this..."
My grandma believed in salty, Virginia ham. Old ham, some call it. It wasn't until I was an adult that I developed a taste for it. I never eat without thinking of her.
I remember Angel biscuits. It wasn't until we were adults that someone thought to ask why. Why were they called that? Because she made them for her angels came the stunning reply. She's never been the sappy type, so we were surprised.
Her table was the only I ever saw with ice cubes in the dish with the slices of cucumbers. The only one besides mine, that is. Summer visits meant "cukes", butter beans, corn on the cob, slices of tomato and, of course, ice cream! Grandpa loved ice cream!
And then there was her chocolate chess pie. As a child, I could not appreciate the dark, rich chocolate and preferred my other grandmother's chocolate meringue. And then I grew up. As a young bride, I asked my grandmother about it. She gave me the cookbook, showed me the recipe and then told me how to change it to make it more like hers.
When I was about thirteen, I longed to learn to play the piano. Grandma caught wind of this and offered to pay for my lessons. Recently she told us that she'd told my parents to be sure to find me a good teacher. She wanted me to learn because I wanted to learn. When visiting her in the nursing home, we have enjoyed times of music in the dining room, me playing the piano, her listening. The last time we did this, she announced to everyone there that this was her granddaughter playing the piano. She was proud to be my grandma. I was proud she was too.
I remember her and Grandpa coming to various concerts through my high school years, full of compliments and encouragment.
I remember her frog skirt. I remember her telling us that she wore it especially for us, thinking we would like it. It was blue with bright green frogs all over it. A wrap-around.
I remember her hugging me one day. It was a summer day when I was wearing a sleeveless shirt and she said, patting my arm, "You slap good!" We laughed about that for years.
I remember her insistence at hearing our prayers at meals. Any mumbling or soft prayers would be met with "Little louder." I remember the day I planned my sassy comeback and how she out witted me! I intentionally mumbled softly when praying for our lunch. Grandma, stopped and looked at me and said, "I can't hear a word you are saying!" I said, as planned with my sister, "I wasn't talking to you!" Grandma's quick answer came back, "Well, it's my prayer too! Don't you think I should hear what you say?"
Her notes came faithfully through my college years. Often there was money tucked in to help pay for my education. I remember their pride at my graduation. They valued education highly. When I walked through my commencement exercise, I did so largely for them.
When a few years later, Steve and I went to Texas for his masters degree, she would still occasionally send me a bit of money to help us out. And her sweet notes. Telling me a little bit of what was happening with them.
I have the last letter she wrote to me. It was from early 2004. She had written to congratulate me on expecting our third baby. Grandpa chose the card. It had a harried mother on the front, with children in tow. The caption read, "Life in the fast lane!" You could tell she was tickled by it. I kept it, not only because I thought it was sweet of her to celebrate our baby with us, but because I had made a practice of keeping her letters...lest it be her last.
I think about her tonight... laying so tiny and frail, in a nursing home bed. Her hair, such a beautiful white from a young age, cut short and pressed to her head. How I wished I could do something for her in that way...
I saw her three days ago. When I first came in, her skin was warm...almost too warm. As my time with her passed, I could feel her growing cold... Eventually, she asked if I could help her get her arms warm.
Breathing seemed like a momentous task. For a moment...she stopped.
And then started again.
Today she breathed for a half a minute or so....and then she stopped.
Breathe some more....and then stop.
At some point, breathing will stop. Her lungs will have finished their work, having served her for ninety-one years, four months and sixteen days... and counting. Like King David, she is old and full of days.
The breath of life will no longer be in her... She has used her body to the fullest.
And soon...very soon...she will no longer need it. She, my grandmother, will be present with the Lord. She will be reunited with her husband of over seventy years. She will meet my daughter, whom I did not keep here. And she will see my Lord, her Savior, face to face.
There is a song that has been in my mind for the last few days...just a line really...
"It's like waking up in Glory, and finding it Home."
