Heaven Gained an Angel Today

As I have watched my family slowly post the sad news of my Grandmother’s passing on Facebook throughout the day, I have taken time to quietly process this news.  When my father called in the early hours of the morning and I heard his ringtone cut through the dark room long before the sun did, I knew in my heart what news he was calling to tell me. He held it together like a champ. He reminded me he loved me.  He told me in his sturdy and unwavering voice that her pain and suffering was over. I cried. He told me it was okay. Then he gritted his teeth together, hung up the phone, and continued calling family members with the weight of remaining a pillar of strength in this difficult time weighing on his shoulders. 

I hung up and collapsed into my husband’s chest, sobbing and trying to process it all.  When the tears stopped flowing, I checked my phone again and saw that I had a text message with the same news from my Aunt, another woman I am lucky enough to count as one of my many “mothers”.  I called my Mom, who despite no longer belonging to the Shoopman family, loves Billie just as much as the next person. We quietly spoke in the early morning hours while my husband’s warm hand rested on my lower back.  I don’t remember what she said other than that she loved me, that no one makes it out of this life alive, and reminded me of my firm faith that Grandma was in a restored body with a restored mind now. 

I hung up the phone and checked Facebook. I saw that there were already postings about it out there from other family members, so I sent a few text messages to my closest family and friends to let them know the news, I didn’t want Facebook to be how they learned about it.  Then, I walked into my bathroom, sat on my toilet, and sobbed some more.  And all this before 6:30 a.m.   During this time my oldest sister said one of the most valuable things to me when she said, “It’s just this Ayz, your brain knows that Families are Forever, but your heart will continue to hurt.” And that’s ok; I am letting my heart hurt.  My youngest brother offered his shoulder to lean on, even though this grandmother is not one we shared.  I was reminded that Grandma’s last gift to us will be that we are all together again, even if it is for such a sad reason, and she will love it. She will love seeing her family gathered together, and she will smile down on it. 

I pulled it together long enough to call my boss and sent a few emails letting people know I wouldn’t be in until noon. I got a call from the same Aunt I mentioned above to check on me, she knew I would be taking the news hard, maybe harder than the others, maybe not, but either way she wanted to check.  We cried together. We remembered that Families are Forever, and after I hung up I took more deep breaths and tried to start my day again. Another Aunt and I exchanged text messages, both of us too upset to speak. We smiled thinking about how none of us would be able to sing a single song at the services without crying.

I sobbed in the shower.  I sat on the floor in my shower stall and let the water run cold. Then, with a soaking wet body and sopping hair, I crawled back into bed.  8:00 a.m.  I exchanged some messages between a cousin who shared my special relationship with Grandma, no phone calls, because we both knew all we would do is listen to each other cry.  By 9 I was drying my hair. Going through the motions. Getting dressed. And at 10:30 I thought I was ready to face the day.  Until I looked in the mirror.  I looked like a million bees had stung my eye lids. But there was no fixing that.

I thought of Grandma. I thought of how funny she was.  I remembered the first dirty joke she ever told me. She smiled at me and asked me, “What are the three main parts of a wood stove?” I replied, “I don’t know Grandma, what are they?” With a mischievous light in her eye she said, “The lifter, leg, and poker.” I remembered the first thing she taught me to cook, to bake.  I remember how STRONG she was.  I borrowed strength from everyone who offered it.  Some from my Dad, some from my Aunts, some from my husband, a chunk from my Mom, a little from my baby brother, a tidbit from a prayer, and the remaining strength I needed I gathered from her memory.  And I started my day. I worked. I went to class. I completed assignments, I completed work. With an angel on my shoulder, because my own mortal strength was not enough to do it.

I wanted to share a story that would wrap up everything she was, but it is impossible.  She was so much more than a small story. I knew her best at night though, as everyone else faded into sleep and the house got quiet and dark. No matter how late at night it was, if I was talking, Grandma was listening.  She was never too tired for me, and even as she aged, she treasured those late night conversations.  We were the most naked with one another in those moments, saw the deepest parts of each other, loved each other fiercely.  I wrote once that I love to visit. The kind of visit where we pull up a chair and really listen to one another, where hours pass us by but we are too busy getting to know each other in the nooks and crannies of our souls that we don’t notice the fading the light, and that kind of visiting I learned from my Grandma.  How to listen, to really listen, to respond, and to love – it runs through my blood.

Everyone will heal differently. Everyone will process this differently.  Some will offer the gift of music. Someone will write her a poem.  Some will honor her through singing, others through instruments, others through work, some from serving others, but what I have to offer is the gift of words.  This pain is too fresh to write about, to do her justice, but if you have read this blog before, you know I have written tributes to her in the past.  They remain here, and in my journal, and sometime in the future, when the pain isn't so fresh and I don’t feel like there is a gaping wound exposing my heart, I will write more.  For now, I am going to borrow the words of President Dieter F. Uchtdorf:

“In light of what we know about our eternal destiny, is it any wonder that whenever we face the bitter endings of life, they seem unacceptable to us? There seems to be something inside of us that resists endings.  Why is this? Because we are made of the stuff of eternity...Endings are not our destiny...endings here in mortality are not endings at all. They are merely interruptions—temporary pauses that one day will seem small compared to the eternal joy awaiting the faithful... there are no true endings, only everlasting beginnings."

So I will process this very, very painful interruption, this bitter ending for THIS life, and I will search for peace knowing that she is waiting for me, for all of us, in a better place.

God be with you until we meet again, Grandma, I love so very much…goodnight John Boy.