In Memory of My Grandma

Carole Anne

April 1, 1942- April 2, 2023

My Grandma was the epitome of elegance and class. I will always describe her this way. Beautiful, graceful, intelligent, hospitable.

She loved the Lord.

Each other's first and only, since they fell in love at fifteen years old, my Grandparents have taught me about sweet love and devotion.

Truly, watching them, especially these past few months, makes one believe in the truest and deepest of loves.

Memories come in waves, along with the grief. But if I may be honest... I feel I've done most of my grieving already. And then again in saying goodbye. I do not wish to diminish the griefs, of which there are many, but now? ... I just feel this sense of delight on her behalf. In my mind's eye I see her as she is in this photo; blonde, youthful curls pulled back, wonder and delight as her face lights up and she takes in Heaven, runs to Jesus. We'll be with her again and honestly it won't be long from now. The hope of Easter, the resurrection of Jesus and His victory over death (the pinnacle of our faith), brings so much joy and life that we can't comprehend, but we will.

We will.

But meantime it is good to feel the grief. I feel a twinge of loss every time it hits me that this woman I love so much won't see me in love or be at my wedding, know my kids or see how I turn out. We'll never sit around the dinner table talking about Jesus again at their home in the woods. My Grandpa is coming over tomorrow and he will be alone. And I think when he walks through that door I'm going to have to fight not to cry. Not because tears are bad, I just can't bare to further remind him. It'll hit me at Christmas again when I'm the one making the cherry pie. When her favorite song plays at church, when I inevitably kill her plants, when I go out to work in the garden, when I see the word "petite" on clothing items. The Glass Butterfly, the beat up Aesop's Fables book, a certain smell of lotion and candles.

It's funny what you think of.

I loved watching her love her family. I remember Lily on her lap while they looked at a cook book together, or teaching Allison to make apple pie.

I remember spending the night and begging for her to read me one more story about a little bear riding on his dad's shoulders, forgotten there, to avoid bedtime.

When she took me to the mall to get our makeup done together.

She and Grandpa dancing to "Laura" in a California courtyard under the stars during their 50th anniversary.

An old man hitting on her at the Sandy Art Festival hahahaha that was so weird.

She'd take me to the Swimmin' Women with her, a private millionaire's indoor pool where a group of her close friends met five days a week to swim.

I remember helping she and Grandpa with communion at church,

her waking me up and making blueberry pancakes,

sitting on the porch swing with the labs and listening to Gospel music.

I remember her telling me I should have played dumb when the cute cowboy who was quote "definitely into me" offered to help me up onto a bull but I -naively- said that I had horses and could do it myself haha.

Evacuating during the fires. With all our spare time we painted our host family's office for them. The following secret family joke kills me every time, I die with laughter.

The little way she'd sway back and forth if you made eye-contact while she was walking towards you, how she drawled out, "Okaaaayyyy".

I'd beg her to take me to Estacada's library. To walk Eagle Fern park together.

I remember being really little, late one night driving eighteen hours to their house in Fountain Valley, California: my mom on the phone with Grandma scolding her for sending us kids knock-knock joke books for the drive. They moved up here in time for my fifth birthday.

I saved all the cards, all the voicemails. I wrote her songs.

I had to go in for a blood draw so we went together.

I remember this December speeding down the freeway to get to the hospital, crying through driving rain praying to get there in time. (I don't recommend lol). Getting there and my family looking up from their seats in the pristine halls. "Dry your tears, Love," was whispered to me, "Don't let her see that you're crying." Sleeping on the benches. Saving every visitor sticker for page after page in my journal. She beat all the odds and pulled through.

That's when my mom moved out. Until a few days ago. She cared for her tirelessly. Blessed her Mama.

I remember how Grandma's eyes lit up the last time we spoke. She said she was so happy to see me, that she loved me. I remember crying with my head in her lap because I had to imprint it into my mind forever. Because there would be, years from now, a time when I would give anything to do that again.

And I'll forever remember how my sister held me, my tears on her shirt sleeve, how she braided my hair, sat by my side, distracted me for hours with laughter and conversation - mostly held me. How my other sister sang with me for Grandma while she slept. How I held on to my brother and he didn't let me go until I did, how my other brother steadily held the family together. Explaining to my Aunt about forgiveness, or my gut twisting as Grandma's oldest son said goodbye. Her last words were telling Pastor Bill how proud she was of him. Helping my cousin grieve (grateful to have someone in the same boat with me), growing closer with her sister as we become friends, not just family. Taking my mom to the garden because deep down she's still a California girl: she needs sunshine and she needed to get her hands in the dirt and work some things out. My family's pain wrecks me. But family was born for such a time as this.

I love the quote by C.S. Lewis in The Magicians Nephew. Digory is loosing his mother and as he looks in the eyes of Aslan (Jesus' representation) and sees tears, it seems that the lion is almost more sorry about his mother than he is. Aslan says, “Grief is great. Only you and I in this land know that yet. Let us be good to one another.” I think Jesus is likely more sorrowful over our sorrows than even we are. He is an empathetic priest, compassionate, abounding in love. Yet look what He has done! He took on our sin, shame and brokenness, bore our punishment, defeated death so that we might believe and be saved.

Blessed are those who mourn, for they shall be comforted.

Proverbs says that only each heart can know it's own sorrows, and only each heart can know it's own deepest joys. Sarah-rized version because I can't quote it.

So to all my friends who maybe haven't experienced loss before and have no clue how to help someone, I'll tell you what's helped me through various griefs so you can help the next friend in need:

It is better to say something than to fear saying the wrong thing and avoid it altogether. But it doesn't take much or perfect answers. Consistent love has honestly shown me who my closest friends are. Show up with a hug and hold it. I think Job's friends had it right when they just sat with him. They started to go downhill when they tried to explain it. So don't feel pressured by words, some things are beyond that. Sit and listen. Some friends gave me flowers, Ashlyn brought us dinner... they really are such compassionate gestures. A text is great, a call is better, a card is thoughtful and to show up in person is mind blowing. Point to Jesus. Acknowledge pain. Foster hope. Read the room. Just pausing to let someone know that when their world stops, you'll pause with them, means so much.

Apparently I have very few photos with my Grandma I like. So note to self, take photos with your family when you're together. Not just of your friends or of what's going on, get photos together. You don't have enough.

Love, Sarah