Yesterday, my Grandma Bea passed away. The notion hit me like a sucker punch to the gut. She and I had discussed many times both in person, and over the phone that this would happen. She spoke of death like she wasn't afraid. That it would come to her as a peaceful slumber. Or at least she hoped it would. She wanted to go to sleep, and simply not wake up. My Grandmother is one of the few who passed exactly the way she wanted it. Although I had lost touch with her over the last five years or so, my Grandmother was losing touch as well. So this was a painful relief. Not for me of course, but this is what we are suppose to be telling ourselves to make her moving on less painful.
After the initial shock of being told the news....the gut wrenching, "wind-knocked-out-of-you", falling on the ground to your knees (literally), feeling of pure helplessness, guilt, and shame. Yes guilt and shame. We all felt it. Anyone who said otherwise are liars. Whether she was your round the clock babysitter, you spoke down to her because her mind was going, or snickered because her hearing was bad and everytime you said something she would smile because she had no clue what you were saying.....the moment after grief came absolute guilt. It's natural. You never feel that REALLY until after someone's passing. I did. I felt for her the last time I was up there, although I made no real attempt to connect. I do feel the stab of guilt, as I should....as should we all. But in reality, I don't think Grandma really cared. She had her babies, her family, and her house. She moaned and groaned a lot, as old women tend to do,....but she had most of what she wanted.
For those of you who don't already know- I'm taking the opportunity to share this now, as I see no real sense in hiding this any longer. I feel no shame in it, just wanted to avoid conflict;
I am not a Christian.
So after the sudden punch had passed of feeling miserable, I remembered Grandma's talks with me, and her telling me that she didn't want her "babies to hurt" over her passing. So yesterday evening, as I sat, half laying, in a daze on the couch, I began to imagine the after life for my Grandmother.
She was part Indian, and loved to brag about it. I imagined her journey into the Nightlands to comfort myself. A peaceful, effortless descent that brought a tear to my eye. But as she came to the open plains of the place of rest, she didn't enter.
I couldn't get past this part of my fantasy. I began to bother me a bit.
Then it dawned on me. I am not a Christian, but my Grandmother was. A devout one at that. She wasn't in the Nightlands. Or the Summerlands, or the Underworld, the Resting Grounds or otherwise. Grandma Bea was nestled snuggly and firmly in the hands of heaven.
And having known what I did about heaven, and what I did about the things Grandma and I had talked about, I envisioned her heaven. And cried. I know now where she is. And she is happy.
Grandma is on a porch surrounded by the wet red clay in the Oklahoma sunset. A 27 year old rendering of herself (because this is the age she had always said she would be happiest, and would go back to given the chance) is sitting on a rocking bench on a porch with her daddy. They're drinking Pepsi, and she's catching him up on all the family gossip, telling him about her newest babies, explaining what Facebook is, and enjoying all the company he has to offer. Surrounded by sweetly scented purple lavender......
Normally at a moment like this,.....people say, "Rest in peace so and so" but I don't think this is necessary. Grandma never needed to be told to rest. She spent the last few years resting, so that when she got up there, she'd have the energy to do everything she ever wanted. I hope she doesn't rest. I hope she laughs, and talks to Grandpa Brown and Granny for days. I hope she mingles with family members long forgotten, and keeps her eyes on us all the way she really wanted to. I hope she continues to be the voice in our ear.
And although these are always too late when they come,....I want to be the first to come out and say what an asshole I was. I'm sorry Grandma....but I have a strange feeling of peace when I say it. Like it just doesn't matter anymore.
I hope we can all take a moment in the next few days to say we are sorry, allow that forgiving feeling to wash over us,.....and think of the way she was when we were kids eating watermelon on the back porch....I have to since I didn't know her at 27.
Long summers running barefoot to Anita's house while she chased us about burning our feet on the street, sprinklers in the backyard, elaborate holiday meals, days worth of video footage because she didn't want to miss a minute of our childhood, the stupid songs she sang that would stuck in our heads,....that I will sing to my kids for years to come....
Amen.
Blessed Be.
Benedictus.
And all that may follow.
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