It was a casual sentence that rested on the page of my devotional for the morning -- I asked my grandmother to pray for me.
Casual for some, I suppose, but not for me and not on this particular day.
Overwhelmed with the fact that she has been gone since April and has not managed to miraculously return, grief that I had thought already escaped renewed itself with a vengeance I had not felt in quite some time.
I had hunched down in my chair and as I looked out the window, all I could see was clouds.
It dumps. I drown. For a moment, I am awash in tears, my heart aching, threatening to stop beating as the pain stabs me over and over and over again. Oh, Lord, why did you have to take her?
The movie plays in my head. She holds me as a little girl. We play dolls. I tell her all about the the exciting things that *happened* as we made the long drive from Texas to Florida to visit her. She teaches me to sew, she paints my nails, puts rollers in my hair, topped with a black, webbed hairnet. I see her walking down the aisle at my wedding and giving me an old, worn bible, the very one she carried when she married Howard. I see her playing with my oldest child, bundled up against the cold as I nurse the new baby inside. I see her whisper into Hannah's ear and hear the mutual giggles that ensue. I hear her voice on the phone, not the scratchy voice that crackled out of her mouth in the last months, but the clear, strong voice of her better days. She says, I will pray for you.
The rain cloud passes, but honestly, I'm still a little damp. The memory of the flood is close and it is difficult to choose to see the abundant life around me. The white, puffy clouds that represent joy try to penetrate my very soul, soothe my anger, calm my spirit. They invite me, perhaps tangible representations of my grandmother's very arms, reaching out to me from the sky.
It's so curious: one can resist tears and 'behave' very well in the hardest hours of grief. But then someone makes you a friendly sign behind a window, or one notices that a flower that was in bud only yesterday has suddenly blossomed, or a letter slips from a drawer... and everything collapses. ~Colette
I'm linking up with Jennifer at Studio JRU, Rachel Anne at Home Sanctuary, and Michelle at Lost in the Prairies.