A phone call. Words you knew were coming, and sadness you can’t shake off.
Hastily prepared travel plans. Black clothes folded into suitcases.
Heartache that lingers. Tears that flow without warning.
Family making preparations, remembering happy times, sharing stories of laughter and love. Eyes lined with sorrow, taking comfort in the nearness of many eyes that bear the same grief.
A perfectly appointed kitchen, with all things in their place, but no one left to scurry about in it, no one to make biscuits and gravy or give lessons in the fine art of fried eggs and apple pie.
A pair of slippers in the bathroom, a housecoat hanging on the door, a bottle of perfume on the vanity…
Echoes, memories, fill every room. Nothing was untouched by her. Eighty-two years of a life, all within the confines of four walls. It seems even the guest room sheets carry her unique smell.
In my mind, I can hear her saying “Hello, sweet thing. There’s coffee in the pot.”
But there isn’t coffee in the pot. Because her voice is only an echo in my heart.
A funeral. Songs, words, memories shared.
Smiles and tears together. Flowers kept, words of comfort given and received.
Black clothing refolded into suitcases. Goodbyes. Sad smiles.
How can it be that the house will be empty now?
I will miss my early morning coffee with her. I will miss her kiss on my cheek. I will long for her hug and the sound of her laughter…
An airplane. Quiet moments staring out the window.
And then…high above the clouds, seeming out of place…
Her Lord is laughing with her now, and she’s sharing coffee with her family that had gone before her, and she’s able to dance again, and she isn’t tired anymore.
And the rainbow…the rainbow reminds me…it reminds me that, although death DOES sting on this earth…it won’t sting forever.
And I can hear her saying to us all, “Now, look here, and don’t you forget this.”
The God of the universe can be trusted to keep His word. His promises are true.
We will be together again.
And that is God’s love for those of us left behind to miss her.
We won’t forget, Grandma.