The Unsent Letter

My mom called me last week, only a few hours after writing last week's post, to tell me that my grandmother had died. I've spent the past week with family, funeral planning, mourning, and remembering her. This week, as I return back to my regularly scheduled programming, I have realized I never got to send her a letter. The truth, is that I have a get well soon card sitting on my desk, unsent. I thought I was going to have more time.

It's one of the things I'm realizing through this practice, that gratitude demands that we not assume there will be more time. More time to say, "I love you", more time to say. "I'm sorry", more time to say, "Thank you for loving me the best you could." What I often do is fill that time complaining, being unsatisfied or irritated about things that are absolutely inconsequential. Part of this practice is my attempt to do more of the former and less of the latter. But sometimes, the letter remains unsent. So in lieu of her letter, I'm going to post the eulogy I read at her funeral. They are the truest words I could write about her, and it is, at heart, a letter of gratitude. Miss you, Grandma.

          When my family and I were talking last night, we spent some time discussing some of the things that we were grateful that Grandma had passed on to us. We all appreciated the many British qualities she passed down, particularly a dry sense of humor. When I was little, I remember being very proud of our heritage. I told my class that my grandma was English. You know, from England.  The truth is though, that she was always a very private person, and I only learned about her in bits in pieces. I learned more about her as an adult, hearing about how she was born in London, and was moved into the country during the blitz after part of her house was damaged during a bomb raid. She was a singer as a young adult, and performed at different venues before recording a record and moving to the States. While I never have heard her sing, I think that’s where B---- gets her vocal talent, and is probably why my sisters and I love to harmonize to the Indigo Girls on long car rides.

            I was glad to see Ecclesiastes 3:1-11 scrawled in the front of her bible yesterday, because it’s one of my favorite passages of scripture. I love this passage because it simultaneously comforts and unsettles me. There are moments in my life where I feel like things happen when they should, when I find meaning behind change and blessing, when I see a reason to disappointment and even loss. But there are other times, when I hear “to everything there is a season, to every matter under heaven”, and I think, “God, this is the worst possible season for this thing to happen to me.” And the truth is, is that like all of our lives, Grandma’s life was not all rainbows and sunshine. She went through many hard things, some outside of her control, and some of her own making.

Many of us who love her deeply, our lives are informed by her life, decisions, and circumstances. She spent many years as a single mom, at a time when it was not socially acceptable to be a single mom. And she did it far from her family. But to everything there is a season, and there is a time to plant, and where there was no family, she planted one, and built a family in her children, and in the people she met and loved like Aunt K--- and Grandma P----. And any woman who can grow a garden in untilled ground is a hero in my book.

I didn’t know her during those years, but I reaped the rewards of her strength and love through my mom, aunts and uncles, and through her presence in my life. And I learned about her quiet way to love as I grew up.

Grandma was able to articulate a lot with very few words, and one of her favorite memories of me, that she would tease me about was not one of my finest moments. Grandma was able to convey her disapproval without saying anything. And one lesson I had learned from my mom was don’t sass Grandma. One day, when I was 7 or 8,  she was at our house with my mom and Grandma had given me some advice about something. And I remember thinking, I don’t know who this woman thinks she is, but she has no idea what she is talking about. So I turned around and said, “Grandma, why don’t you mind your own beeswax.” And her face that said, "I cannot believe you just said that to me", and my Mom's presence behind me, that I can only describe as the wrath of God, taught me a valuable lesson. The writer of Ecclesiastes said there is a season for many things. But there is never a season for sassing Grandmas.

I will miss Grandma a lot. I will miss our phone conversations about politics. I will miss her loving birthday cards, and her sweet tooth, and her love of animals. But I will carry her with me through all of the seasons of my life, and I will cherish what she has taught me about family, and faith, and the power of love.