My grandmother passed away in the early morning of June 16, 2013, and at the time, I wasn't sad. I had been to visit the day before, after my dad called because my uncle had told him he should come up right away. Things couldn't have been good, so as soon as my dad told me that, I headed to Sherwood Park myself, dropping whatever plans I had for that afternoon.
I walked into their room and my grandpa and aunt were there; my grandpa was busily working on a painting and couldn't hear my knocks, but my aunt did. My grandma lay in the bed, eyes closed, breathing shallow, and I took her hand. I talked to her for a while, laughing about the past, praying as tears rolled down my eyes, knowing this was going to be the last time I saw her. I recited Psalm 23 and the last thing I said to her was that she would see her sisters Joan and Jerril soon, and to say hi to Jesus.
When my aunt called me at 7:12 the next morning, I was on Skype with my sister, but I wasn't surprised at the phone call. I had awoken with a start in the night, knowing that God had finally sent his angels down to take her away. They allowed my grandpa to say one last goodbye in the morning as he rose to use the washroom, and he prayed for them to take her, and they did. Those same angels that I prayed for God to send to my grandpa to protect him during his surgery a year ago; and he woke up from his surgery, family waiting in the room, and said, "The angels on my shoulders took care of me."
The Sunday that my grandma died was Father's Day, and it was business as usual. We went to church, went for brunch at the in-laws, but all the while I felt a hole in my heart, like a piece of me was gone. I can't imagine how my grandpa felt and still feels. But there didn't seem to be any tears left; maybe I cried them all away as I saw her wither from my grandma in late February to a frail old lady by June. It was so little time, and it happened so quickly.
But I had so many wonderful years with her, and maybe that's why there were no tears. Thankful to God for giving me such a wonderful grandmother. I spoke at her funeral without a tear, wondering why I didn't feel like crying, but it wasn't a sad occasion, it was a happy one, because she had left her broken body to be in the Glory of Jesus. Who could cry about that!
The hole has remained, and I wondered why I hadn't dreamt about her. I dreamt about Scott's grandma the night after she died and she told me how wonderful heaven was, and she was so happy. I thought grandma might visit me once in a dream and tell me that she was okay. And last night I did dream about her; I dreamt that I was at their house in Sherwood Park and she was on the phone, and I tried to tell her that she was calling from Heaven but she didn't believe me and hung up on me.
It was so good to hear her voice, but I'm feeling that hole in my heart again.
And tears on my face.