|Betty Miner was my Grannie|
It's been awhile since I've written about her. It's been awhile since I have been caught off guard by her absence. The truth is that sometimes, in a rare moment, the pain of her passing is still as prominent as the day she died.
My grandmother has been gone almost 7 months, but her name continually escapes my youngest daughter's lips. The other day, I was looking for a picture of the beach for my new blog button. Hannah walked up behind me and said, Oh no. I don't want to see any pictures of Grannie. It will make me cry. Yeah, she's four.
Today, I sat on the couch with my Bible and Priscilla Shirer's One in a Million. I was lamenting to God that sometimes motherhood is just so hard. I was specifically thinking about the energy level required to keep my kids entertained, loved, fed, etc AND do everything else. My thoughts turned to my grandmother because she was always the one that I would call when I started to feel overwhelmed. I could hear her sweet voice resonating in my head, the one that I grew up listening to, not the scratchy, almost non-existent one that the cancer treatment gave her. I could hear her say, Honey, you are doing the best you can. I just can't get over how much you do. You have two beautiful girls -- you must be doing something right. Honestly, she lived over a thousand miles away, so she didn't know day-to-day how much I messed up, but that didn't matter. She saw my heart and my intentions. She focused on the good when all I could pay attention to was my mistakes and my failures. God used her more times than I can count to lift up out of my own, self-dug pit.
Perhaps all of this is so fresh because today in our paper was a special pink section (yes, the newsprint was actually pink!) about the upcoming Race for the Cure. Last year I ran it in honor of my grandmother, who did survive breast cancer years ago. This year, I'm not running the race, but I thought that if I was, I would not be pounding the pavement in her honor, but in her memory. For although she overcame breast cancer, God used the metastasized lung cancer to call her home. Even though I can feel her these days and can rejoice, honestly rejoice that she is at home with Jesus, 7 months down the road of saying good-bye, I'm still sad, maybe a bit angry, that she is gone. She was just so much of everything I needed and many times, a tangible example of Jesus to me. It's just hard to let it go.
I don't daily drown in this grief like I am doing now, but I have found if I don't just let the wave pass over me, lift me off my feet for a moment, and submerge me for a few seconds, I end up harboring the feelings that, if left in darkness, will grow into something overpowering. The wave comes, it pulls me under. And then, it passes, and I find my feet on the packed sand once more.
I write about this for my own sanity, but also to perhaps give credence to those in their own journey with losing something so precious. You don't have to be over by now. You don't have to meet everyone's expectations and deal with it as others think you should. You have freedom to work out your questions, to seek answers, to sometimes be restless with the pat responses, and even scripture. God welcomes your thoughts, He welcomes your heart, no matter what state it is in. You don't have to censor what you say to Him -- He knows it anyway. Nothing you say will change the Truth -- He still is our ultimate Comforter, the Prince of Peace, the Author of our salvation.
May waves of peace cascade of you, ones even more powerful than the waves of grief.
|Doesn't she look fun?|
"Don't cry because it's over, smile because it happened."
Interested in finding out more about the new Finding Heaven community that is starting up on Tuesday? If so, just leave me a comment on "A New Community" Post. Hope to see you there!