In the Garden

She is nearly there. My Grandma is so ready to go home. Home to a place where my grandpa waits for her, ready to take her by the hand as he always did countless times before, his warm brown-skinned hand against her ivory pale hand. His mumbled Spanish when he was frustrated or the turning down of his hearing aide when she nagged him a bit. Their love that lasted into decades of marriage starting at World War II when he first laid eyes on his soon-to-be British bride. Her beautiful eyes and the way she loved pearls and a cup of hot tea with every meal and all things classy...she was from England afterall. Things are prim and proper there.

Death isn't proper. It's not prim. Not at all. It can leave you with tear-stained cheeks feeling like you got sucker-punched in the gut and abandoned. After my grandpa went to be with the Lord, my grandma wanted to follow shortly. She's wanted to for years. She keeps telling us she doesn't want to "Keep him waiting." I am reminded of the Brad Paisley song where he says he's gonna find a bench up in heaven and wait, wait for his sweet woman. That is exactly what is happening. My grandpa is there warming that bench, but I can guarantee when Grandma gets there and flashes that pearly and dazzling smile at him, he's not gonna care he waited at all. Not even if he had to wait another 10 years. That was the kind of love they shared.

Was I not a little girl yesterday with pink foam rollers in my hair and a beloved Barbie nightgown, shuffling down to the kitchen to make pancakes with you before everyone else woke up? Weren't you just helping my skinny little arms hold the batter bowl so I would be able to make the "tiny" pancakes I always wanted to make? Weren't you just making me cups of tea and getting me hooked on cream and sugar in my tea to make it more "Britsh?" I remember endless tea parties, sitting with you on the swing just watching the flowers grow. You were always letting us dress you up and watching every single roller-skating, baton, and musical show we could muster up. You were the best audience we could have asked for. Your endless cards & encouragement make me selfishly want you to stay, but I know Grandpa is waiting to take you by the hand and show you around.

Grandma, I will always love you. I will always remember your "chipmunk kisses" or the "light treatment" to wake me up when I was being a lazy teenager and wanting to sleep til noon. I will remember how you always liked to put on lipstick and powder before you'd go anywhere. I will always remember your Britsh accent saying, "Oh my." When things get a little crazy. And they always did. I will remember how much you love the color green. I love your sweet voice that you always use when you sing along to the hymns you love and know so well while mom plays the piano. I love how you believed in me. I love how you stood by and always watched us and rooted and cheered for all us grandchildren. I know you may not get to see any of your granddaughters get married, but I know when I zip up that beautiful while dress and take a deep breath just before I walk down that aisle, I know you'll be there with me. I know you'll be watching. You and Popper. Like you always did. The absolute best audience.

Tears fill my eyes as I type these words because quite honestly I am unsure of how to face things without you here. More than what I want though Grandma, I want you to be made complete, to see Grandpa again, to meet the Lord who you have "walked through the garden" with all these years. I know when you get there, the Lord is gonna have some hot tea waiting for you and Grandpa will give you a long-awaited hug.

I love you so much. Here is your favorite hymn...just for you.