And Time Goes By...

I'm often guilty of thinking life goes by too quickly. Sometimes it feels like I opened my eyes one morning and I was much older. Suddenly my baby is two and I have been married for four years. When did it all happen? But then there are different times when it seems I am watching my life like a movie in slow motion. This week has been one of those times.

This morning I sat in church and I had a strange feeling. It occurred to me that exactly seven days ago, I had been standing in almost the exact same spot, yet everything had been very different. I sat next to other members of my family and we had plans for lunch. We all piled into my aunt's house for Swedish pancakes made by real Swedes (my cousins). We sat with my grandma, who slept in her bed. That day, I just wanted to hold her hand and make her trembling stop. I hummed hymns (poorly) and wished I knew the words in Spanish. When it was finally time to go, she slept peacefully and I kissed her goodbye.

Monday came and went and things got busy so I didn't visit her that day. I would go on Tuesday, I thought.

Tuesday came and yes, I did go visit her, but not on the terms I had thought. While still at home, I got that call and had to quickly handle the business of calling family members and alerting them. An hour later, I stood in front of my grandma's bed, just like I had two days earlier, but this time there was no longer life in her body. I watched her intently, willing her to breathe just one more breath, but there was none. We, as her beloved family members, gathered around my grandma's body and grieved for the loss. There is nothing so hard as watching a totally heartbroken child mourn the loss of a mother. But as it all went on, I felt as if I was watching all this happen, rather than experiencing it. In my head, I wrote down my observations and feelings. A hospice nurse called in the death to some other party on the phone, without even thinking of politely stepping into another room. I guess that's what comes from repeated exposure to this same kind of situation. She loudly told the person on the phone my grandma's name, age, social security number and other pertinent information. She was very jovial and conversational on the phone. When presumably asked the cause of death, she too loudly announced "Brain Tumor". Behind her, we continued to cry. All I could think is that this seems like a scene out of a book, not a real-life situation.

Not long later, I watched as the funeral home came for my grandma. I mostly watched my aunt, who to me, tells the story of what it is to love someone. She took such care of her mom, both when she was healthy and then ill, even at the cost of her own health. On that morning, when the funeral home workers told her she might not want to stand in the room, she told them that she would stay with her mom to the end. When the older worker faltered for a moment, she even took her mom's feet and put them into the bag for them. I stood in amazement, wonder, and respect for this small woman who had loved her mother with everything she possibly could.

Friday, we had the funeral and buried my grandma on a beautiful day in a beautiful cemetery. My heels stuck in the grass as I watched her body being lowered into the ground. I hummed Amazing Grace in my head and said "See you later" to this woman I loved very much; a woman who helped raise me, my siblings and my cousins. She had a powerful love for God in her that I am awed by.

So, here we are, back at Sunday again. Just seven days later, but the world I live in, is a very different place.

At the funeral service, the pastor said that her favorite song may have been "When I Cross the Jordan" but he thought right now, she is walking with her Lord, standing on a great beach, next to the ocean. The is the picture of her I have fixed in my mind right now...