About Death and Love and Eternity

We pray for my grandparents every morning.  Both Magoo and I do.  If I forget them in our morning intentions, she’s always right behind me asking God to keep them under His wing, close to His heart.  Well, those aren’t exactly her words, but you get what I mean.

I’ve been thinking about my grandparents a lot lately.  I don’t know if it’s because May is the anniversary of my grandma’s death or if it’s because I’m reading a book about a woman who lost someone close to her, or if it’s for some other reason unknown to me.

But I have been thinking about them.

Often.

I remember when I was younger fearing death.  I was always sure that once I lost someone close to me, I would never experience true happiness again.  I thought someone would always be missing.

I thought I would panic.  Which is not atypical for me of course.  But I thought I would panic at the thought of laying my eyes on their body for the last time and never seeing them alive again in this life.

It took me a long time to lose someone close to me.  My grandparents didn’t die until I was in my thirties.

And I remember once having to write a paper about who I would want to visit if I could visit anyone who ever lived.  Even when my grandparents were alive, I said I would want to meet my grandma when she was my age.

I’ve known my parents since they were fairly young, but my grandparents were in their sixties when I was born.  I never knew them with color in their hair and smooth skin.  I never knew them as young parents with children running around.  I never knew them when they had more of their life ahead of them than behind.

I’ve seen pictures.  I would like to jump into those pictures if only for an hour.

If I could, I would ask her what it was like to raise children in a world that is so different from mine.

I would ask her what it was like to live in small, homogenous communities where gender roles and social roles were so solidly established.

I would ask her what she did when five children in one house seemed like a whole lot of life to manage.

I would ask her what she thought about and dreamed about.  What made her heart sing, what made her sad.

And I would ask her what she would do if she ever felt down or anxious.  Because I know she did.  Just as I do.

I find myself sometimes getting sad even though it’s many years later.  I actually found myself reaching for my telephone to call her about a month ago.  It has been years since I have been able to do that.  I felt a bit silly.

I want to share my children with her.  I want to share my stories with her.  I want to tell her that I’m a writer now – just like she always said I could be.

But just as I get sad, I realize that while there was a big loss, it wasn’t quite as big as I would have imagined.  It’s not quite as big because not everything was lost.

I see my Goosie acting out her shenanigans (a word my Grandpa would have liked,) and I can see her smiling and calling her a little imp.  I can see Magoo sharing her stories with her and Grandma getting so proud.  I can see the look she would give Mae when Mae is throwing a little tantrum, and I can see the smile coming to Grandma’s eyes as she said she remembers those days well.

What I didn’t know all those years ago when I was fearing death was that death isn’t quite the separation I thought it was because death ends a life but it doesn’t end the bonds, and it doesn’t end the love.  Those things are eternal, and they are alive every bit as much now as they were then.

I share my stories of my grandparents with my girls just as Grandma shared stories about her father throughout my whole childhood.

I’ve heard people say, I don’t have any grandparents anymore; they have all died.  And I want to tell them that they are wrong.  They always will have grandparents.  That relationship doesn’t end just because of death.  It remains and it will continue to remain until we are reunited again on the other side.

But of course I don’t say that because everyone has their way of viewing life and death, and  who am I to say how another should feel about their deceased loved ones.

Except this is my space, and here I can say it.

Love doesn’t die.  Bonds aren’t severed.  Life goes on, on both sides of the veil.

Love is hard and tricky and messy and complicated.

But it’s also eternal.

I used to go through weird phases as a kid.  At one point, I had a bookmark collection, and I remember suddenly feeling silly about it.  After all, I thought, what is the point of collecting anything when we can’t bring it with us?

And it stands true.  We can’t bring physical things with us.  All we can bring is ourselves and our love.

And so I sit here tonight, a bit sad missing my grandparents but also full of hope thinking that perhaps they are reading these ideas somewhere beyond my sight and beyond my knowledge and beyond my understanding.

Maybe they already know my girls.  Maybe they see all they do.  Maybe they are loving them from a distance.

And maybe there is no maybe about it.

I believe they are and they do and they will continue to until one day I am sitting beside them again, breathing in their love, comforted by their joy.

Until that day as always I pray that God holds them tightly in the palm of his hand.