The Lord works in mysterious ways.
Last Friday on a whim, Easton and I ran by to visit Ganny (mom's mom) on our way home.
Mom had seen her Friday morning and she'd had a few little 'spells' where she stopped while mom was trying to help her get to the potty and back to the bed.
Nothing major- we attributed it to a drop in blood pressure from standing up too quick.
Although she does take her time when getting up.
Anyways. Friday night. Thank you Jesus for making us stop.
We had a fun little visit.
At first she wasn't sure who I was but after about 15 minutes, she remembered.
She's been getting slower and slower (mentally and physically) for some time now, but hey, at 95, I'll be slowing down too.
We had some funny times!
While I was trying to get her to the bathroom, he was all up in our business.
I asked him to go sit back in her room till I was finished with her and we'd be right back.
Once I got her settled, I went back and explained:
'Easton, Ganny's a little slower than we are. She's old and it takes her a long time to do things. She's kinda tired and might not feel good. I need you to help me by staying in this chair so we don't get in her way and make her fall. Can you help Mommy with that?'
That lasted all of about a minute.
Ganny and I were making the shuffle back to the bed when Easton joined us in the bathroom.
He looked up at us, just as serious as could be and said 'Momma..... is she Oooooold?'
Bless him.
She looked right down at him, with her quick witted humor and said
'I beg your pardon!' followed by her sweet little laugh.
Easton heard me say "Way to go Margaret!" once I got her back in the bed from using the potty...and he repeated it. Often. Kid's a mess.
Eventually, mom and Ali showed up too and the gang was all there.
We talked. We laughed. We took pictures.
Easton and I left a bit later to go meet daddy for dinner.
Saturday morning, I got the phone call you never want to get.
Something was happening to Ganny and the ambulance was on the way.
After a little while, I got the details from mom.
Preliminary observation looked to be a stroke.
The right side was affected, including her speech and possibly eyesight.
They admitted her Saturday and she's been there ever since.
A massive stroke was confirmed.
Severe brain damage.
Time was limited.
She's a fighter. She's never quit anything in her life, why start now?
My moms dad died when she was a baby, leaving Ganny with my mom and her 2 older siblings.
She sewed every stitch of clothing my mom wore.
She was a great cook. Fried Chicken was her specialty.
She could turn a K-Mart Azalea bush into something worthy of a medal.
She has a way with flowers.
I once bought her a pot of bulbs for Mother's Day or Easter or something, and that pot of flowers sat in her front room on the table and she pruned and cared for them like they were a newborn.
They were the most beautiful pot of flowers I've ever seen.
Oh, she longed for spring. Every winter she longed for spring.
Sunshine. Buttercups. Lunches on the deck in her white slip on Keds.
As a child, mom and I would go with her to Rhode Island to visit her best friend.
So many memories of time there, along with time at her house with her 2nd husband, Dad-O.
The memories could go on forever.
I could list story after story with her in it.
Each family member can.
We each have our own special memories with her.
Each even more priceless now that we see her laying in that hospital bed, her frail body fighting till the end, her fine white hair combed back by the brushing of loved ones fingers through it.
I have questioned so much this week.
How could a merciful and loving God do this to her?
Why couldn't He just take her in her sleep?
I think of my mom. And how her face curls up when she's about to cry. And how that hurts my heart deeper than anything I can possibly think of. And how dedicated she's been to the very end. She's slept in a chair with her feet propped up on the foot of her bed. Every night.
I think about how it must feel for all of them to see their mother, your pillar of strength, laying in that bed wondering when her last breath will be. Wondering if this is the last time they'll say goodbye.
Why do we now have to have these images in our head of how she looks in that bed?
I just want to picture her in her pastel knit shirt, with her soft white cardigan, and her jean capri pants with a crease down the middle.
But now, when I think of this week, I think of conversations I've had.
Lance has been so sweet through it all. Checking on her each time he calls. Visiting her one day when he was by the hospital. He's said as many positive things he could come up with.
Lending an ear when I just needed to talk, a shoulder when I needed to cry.
And encouragement when I didn't think I could be strong!
And my bestie. My bestie in the whole wide world.
Calling to check in. Text. Pray. Offering to keep my child so I could go just one more time.
My dad. Listening every time I wanted to cry. Every time I just wanted to update someone. Wanting to go visit himself even though he wasn't her family anymore.
My co-workers, hearing update after update on the phone through the day.
Offering every bit of sweetness they could.
So many others. So many sweet concerned friends and family.
The love and support we've felt from so many more. It's amazing. And so comforting.
My friend
Scarlett, lost her father a few years ago.
I asked her these questions and she responded with the most perfect words. Words that have comforted me since:
I know... I know it's hard to see her like this. But God might be keeping her here more for you and your sister and your family. He is working not only on welcoming her, but working in your hearts as well to come to peace with saying goodbye.
Tuesday night was the hardest for me. I cried from her bed, all the way home.
But I said my peace. I kissed her, for what I thought would be the last time.
But again, the morning text confirms she's still fighting.
Wednesday night was hard.
But I had to be the big sister.
My Ali Bird LOVES her Ganny.
LOVES.
They have a bond like no other.
A bond like I share with my Nana.
And she's heartbroken.
We'd yet to be at the hospital together but Wednesday night lined up for us to be there together.
I knew I'd have to be strong for her.
And that was hard. Really, really hard.
But now Friday night. She's still keeping on.
And each night, it gets somewhat easier to cry out the the Lord, "take her Lord. Bring her home."
Just as Scarlett said, He's not only preparing a place for her, but he's preparing our hearts as well.
I never understood how someone could say "it's ok to take them, it's ok for you to go..."
But for her, now, I can say that. And I know now, what Scarlett means by that. It truly is peaceful and freeing to let her go. Even though I want to so badly hold on.
If he'd taken her Friday night in her sleep (like what I thought I'd prefer) we'd have all been so shocked it might have been even more traumatic.
It's His plan. Not mine.
Annie, how long is it going to take you to learn? It's HIS PLAN. NOT YOURS.
No one wants to see her go. If we could rewind time, we all would.
But what better place than Heaven for her to go?
There is no better place.
"And as He spoke, He no longer looked to them like a lion; but the things that began to happen after that were so great and so beautiful that I can not write them. And for us, this is the end of all the stories, and we can most truly say that they all lived happily ever after. But for them it was only the beginning of the real story. All their life in this world and all their adventures in Narnia had only been the cover and the title page: now at last they were beginning Chapter One of the Great Story which no one on earth has read: which goes on for ever: in which every chapter is better than the one before."
Isn't that cool? Her real story is only beginning!!!
Can you imagine? Can you just imagine what those little twinkling eyes are going to see?
Those that have gone on before her, that she longed to see again?
The streets of Gold. The Flowers. The Sunshine.
JESUS!
I could go on and on. And I've gone on longer than I planned. Big shock.
But.
We don't cry because we're sad for her, we cry because we're sad for us.
And that's normal. It hurts. But, it's normal.
Each moment is hard. Each moment is different.
But each moment, we trust and believe that He's in control and He loves her
EVEN MORE
than we do.
He created her.
And he knows how and when she'll draw her last breath.
That's far better than any plan I could ever dream up.
So, while she's still hanging on, I'm gonna keep thanking Him that we had
One More Day with her and trust that He's preparing us all for what lies ahead.
