Yesterday morning I received the call I had been expecting for quite some time. My grandmother (my mom's mom), had passed away. Emmy was 90 years old and had lived a long, full life. However, the emotions I felt when daddy told me the news were not what I expected AT ALL.
I was MAD. Ticked if I'm being completely honest. "Really God? Another trip to Louisiana for a funeral?" While this one is under completely different circumstances, it's still the same funeral home, same church, and same graveyard that we were at for mama less than one year ago. It's too much. Too much sadness, too much agony, too much hurt.
I miss my mom. A daughter needs her mother. It's been eleven months since I've heard her voice. Eleven months since I've hugged her, talked to her on the phone, or simply seen her face.
God...another funeral...my mother's mother...I'm not sure I'm ready for all of this.
Last night as I was trying to fall asleep, God spoke to me very clearly.
(This is really rare. I'm always asking for Him to speak to me and to force the conversation I usually open up my Bible haphazardly and it falls to Leviticus on some passage discussing boils and sores. Yum!)
I digress.
Anyway. He spoke very clearly and said, "Yes...a daughter needs her mother. I needed my son, but couldn't keep Him for myself. This time of grieving will be short...especially for your generation. You have much work to do. A son to raise up in My ways, not the world's ways. While you are working towards this goal, remember the good. Don't dwell on the hurt. Make new memories. There is so much happening that you are not privy to, but it will all make sense in a short time."
As I laid there and soaked it all in (while listening to my husband's steady breathing), I started thinking about the scripture, "Finally, brothers and sisters, whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable - if anything is praiseworthy - think about such things." Phil 4:8
So I pulled out my journal did just that. Here is what I know is true, right, pure, lovely and admirable:
The warm and familiar feeling of my grandparent's house when I use to walk through their door. The smell would engulf me like a warm blanket. Though I can't describe it, the best I can come up with is a combination of Old Spice, Red Man Tobacco, and Honeysuckles. (Add in a touch of Wild Turkey and Gumbo if it was later in the afternoon.) If someone could bottle that smell, I would buy it by the gallon.
The sounds of that house would make a beautiful soundtrack. The slamming screen door. The train in the distance. The barking of old black labs. My grandfather fussing at them to quiet down. The sound of Emmy cooking in the kitchen while listening to Days of Our Lives. (You could bet that she was always in the middle of cooking something wonderful for lunch or dinner.)
My grandfather (we called him Chief), use to offer to pay the grand kids, five cents to rub his "old, aching feet". His favorite time to ask for said foot rub was after he settled into his favorite chair following a morning duck hunt. I can't believe we actually took him up on his offer. I think he'd be shocked at the price of inflation these days. :)
Emmy and Chief raised five children and they all turned out well. They graduated from college, married and had families of their own. I wish I could go back and ask Emmy things that matter to me now, as a married woman with a son of my own. How did she and Chief handle arguments? (Did he ever try to hang a boar's head on the wall?) How did she raise her boys? What did she instill in them growing up? How did she discipline them? How did she pray for them? How did she survive when her world was rocked when Chief died suddenly? Because from the outside she appeared to handle it with nothing but grace.
I'm sure she survived because she knew without a shadow of a doubt that she would see him again. And now she has.
The two cornerstones of my mom's family are back together.
And yes...every daughter needs her mother. I love you Emmy, go kiss your daughter for me.
Blessed are those who morn, for they will be comforted. Matthew 5:4
