I Hope You Dance

I Hope You Dance

February 25, 2011, 4:40 pm
Filed under: Storms

On Saturday, as you may recall from my post, I knew that my grandma was sick. I was anxious, scared, sad and so many other emotions that don’t even have words assigned to them. I felt uneasy, restless. And so I kept myself busy by cleaning, writing, playing.

Our mailbox on Saturday was an interesting sight. It was empty, except one small magazine. A magazine that my grandma had subscribed me to a year or more ago. I hadn’t seen an issue in months. But, Saturday, it was there. “Angels on Earth” it’s called. When I saw the magazine laying there, I felt a strange tingling in my heart.

On Sunday, Jimmy and I sat in the back row of church with Aubri in our arms, laughing at the pastor’s talk about Disney movies. That’s all I remember. I wish I could say it was an insightful sermon that offered advice on what was to come. But I can’t. Because it’s a blur.

My phone rang. I grabbed it from Jimmy, ran for the exit and answered. It was the call that I had subconsciously expected but consciously dreaded.

“Bad news,” said Dad. “Grandma is not getting better.”

“OK, I’m going to look for a ticket right now to get on a plane,” I said, tears streaming down my cheeks as I knelt in the church atrium near a large wall of windows, staring into the parking lot. A little girl toddled towards me with a smile, I wiped the tears from my eyes and ran back into the church. Jimmy looked over his shoulder at me as I approached, I shook my head, my chin trembled.

“We have to go,” I said.

Jimmy grabbed Taylor from her classroom, we rushed home, I booked a flight while Jimmy and Taylor threw clothes into a suitcase for me and Aubri.

We took off for the airport, me with a pounding heart and a nervous stomach. I didn’t know much about Grandma’s current condition, but I had an urgency to get there. And get there fast. I was so scared that I wouldn’t make it in time to say “goodbye”. If it was even at that point, I didn’t know. But I wanted to get to her side. Quickly.

Aubri and I flew to Detroit and were among the last flights allowed in due to a near-blizzard that had just struck the city. I rushed through the airport, frantically looking for my Uncle Jim at arrivals and pick-ups. The snow was blinding. People were rushing through the terminals and out the doors, frustrated that their flights had been canceled. I have never seen such white-out conditions. There is no logical explanation as to how my flight made it to Detroit. The flight before mine and after mine was canceled. Mine made it.

I found Uncle Jim, we loaded into his van and headed to the hospital. It was the longest drive of my life.

We left my house at noon and I arrived by Grandma’s side at 9pm.

I walked into her hospital room, Aubri in my arms. Grandma perked up, looked at Aubri and flashed a huge grin visible through her oxygen mask. Her eyes lit up like stars and her cheeks immediately flushed with color. She didn’t take her eyes off of Aubri for what seemed like hours. She couldn’t keep her hands off of Aubri’s feet, tickling her toes non-stop. And when Aubri pulled her feet away, Grandma just held onto her sweet chubby calves.

I found out later that Grandma asked her caretaker to “fix her hair” before Aubri got there. She always wanted to look her best for people. Particularly her hair. Precious.

At one point that evening in between napping, rubbing Aubri’s feet, and holding Grandpa’s hand, Grandma looked to me. She lowered her mask, lifted her head, looked into my eyes and mouthed “I love you.” She replaced her mask, laid her head back down and went back to sleep.

We sat by her side that night until about 10:30. Rubbing my grandpa’s arms, hugging on my mom and kissing my grandma’s forehead. As we were leaving, Grandma waved for me to come near. She wanted a kiss from Aubri. We leaned Aubri close to Grandma and they kissed, Aubri’s pursed lips to Grandma’s oxygen mask. I then led Aubri’s lips to Grandma’s forehead for several extra smooches.

We went back to the hotel room, which was connected to the hospital so our “commute” was short. Mom and I sat up for more than an hour just talking. About what was happening, what could happen, and how we were handling all of this emotionally. We went to “sleep” but neither of us rested at all.

We “woke up” (i.e. stopped pretending to sleep) at 6am and headed to see Grandma shortly after that.

I walked in Grandma’s room, greeted her with kisses and hand holding, then sat in a short spinning stool intended for the doctors. We sat there for hours. Deep in thought, repeating prayers, rubbing backs, crying, talking, reminiscing, talking about God’s promise for eternity, hoping for miracles while also understanding the inevitable.

At noon, there was a noticeable difference in Grandma. And in me. My eyes were glued to her chest, watching it rise and fall. Watching her face, her lips, her eyes. I don’t know why I felt compelled to keep such a close eye on her, but I did. Deep in thought, everything in the room except for Grandma was a blur from noon until 3:50pm. That’s when I watched my sweet grandma’s chest rise for the last time.

There are no words to express the gut-wrenching emotion that I endured this week as I watched my grandma pass and my grandpa’s heart break. As much as me and my grandpa talk about eternity, Grandma’s new beautiful angel wings and the blessing in living a pain-free life with our Savior, it still hurts. It hurts not to see her earthly face and run my fingers through her sweet white hair. But, when I find myself missing these earthly abilities, I force myself to focus on Grandma’s new life instead. To give hope to Grandpa that his mourning of loss will soon turn to celebration of life. That his tears of sorrow will soon turn to smiles from precious memories.

Grandma, I love you. I miss you. I celebrate your new beautiful wings that Jesus himself placed upon your back in a ceremony so amazing that I can only dream about. Your new health, your perfect hearing. Your ability to smile as you watch down over your husband, children, grandchildren and great grandchildren. I long for Grandpa to hold you once again, to dance with you forever. But not just yet, OK? As you know, God has him on this earth still for a reason. Please remind Grandpa that you want him to take care of himself. For you. For Jesus. For God’s perfect plan.

Grandpa, I love you. My heart breaks for yours. I cherish you and am not ready for you to leave. Please take care of yourself for me, for Grandma. For the great grandkids that, thank God, Grandma got to meet. Please rest in knowing that you have a beautiful guardian angel in Grandma. An angel that wants you to complete this beautiful story that God wrote for you, our family, our world. Live longer, stronger, with smiles and laughter.

God, please hug Grandma for me. Please be sure that her dancing shoes are nothing short of exquisite, her dancing dress fit for a princess. Please mend my grandpa’s heart, help him to celebrate Grandma’s new life with you, to rejoice in the memories that they created here on earth. Heal him from cancer. Give him new health, and renewed hope. God, I praise you for miraculously delivering me and Aubri to Grandma’s bedside before she joined you in Heaven, that she got to meet Aubri and give her kisses. I thank you for the last “I love you” that I received, but more importantly, the 31 years of memories that I have with her spunky self. I praise you for the special moments that I shared with Grandpa and my mom before and after Grandma’s passing. Comforting, praying and weeping. More than anything, Lord, I thank you for what you did in me during this week. You showed me love. You showed me love in the midst of life’s most tender moment. Intense, sincere, selfless love. Although I have witnessed Grandma and Grandpa’s love for one another over my 31 years of life, there’s something about the 19 hours that I spent with them this week that will change me forever. I will love differently, live differently. In ways that I can’t put into words just yet. Something amazing happened in me after witnessing love during its last earthly hours. Although it sounds strange to say, I thank you God for this experience. For the tears, the hugs, the kisses, the prayers, the perspective, the hope. And I thank you God for my grandma’s new shimmering wings, and sparkling slippers (you know Grandma loves her some shoes) that she will surely use to dance all over Heaven’s floor.

Grandpa, I pray that you heal. I pray that you feel Grandma’s spirit within your heart, and that you see her legacy in your great-granddaughters’ eyes. I love you Grandpa.

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