Tomorrow we will be heading to central Iowa. We are going to bury my grandmother. She battled a plethora of cancers over the recent years. She fought hard, but lost the war on Friday night. She died peacefully at home, surrounded by her boys (my three uncles and my dad) and her husband, Bernard (of 59 years).
Abe and I had the privilege of saying good-bye to her last weekend. Though she was tired, she was perfectly clear in her love for us. And though her voice was failing, she told me she was proud of me. I mostly just sat next to her and held her withering hand. But as I walked out of the room for the last time, tears streaming down my face, she belted out a strong and hearty, "Buh, Bye!" It echoes in my soul.
It was the same "Buh, Bye!" that I'd heard thousands of times growing up. You see, of all my dad's brothers, he was the only one that settled down out of town. So we'd have to travel a couple of hours to be with my grandparents. That being the case, we had to say "Buh, Bye" an awful lot. I've been saying "Buh,Bye" to this woman my entire life. And I'm sure that when I was really young, those "Buh, Bye's" stung. But growing up, through the adolescent years and beyond, I became used to them. It was just that time when my grandma would follow me to the curb, remind me to buckle-up, tell me to get some Coke or something to keep awake, warn me to watch out for the "other guy," tell me that she loved me. And as I'd pull away, inevitably with the window down, I would hear her call out, "Buh, Bye!" But it would barely register.
Until last week. She called out and I knew. All the years came rushing back to me. And it stung.
Please pray for my family. My grandmother was incredibly important to us all. Pray especially for my grandpa. I can't even begin to fathom the depth of his loss and the breadth of his grief.
