What is your life? For you are a mist that appears for a little time and then vanishes.  James 4:14b

I've known for a long time that I would eventually have to face the death of my mother's parents, but I was still unprepared for the shock of that phone call four Sundays ago. "Grandma's dying, " my sister-in-law told me between sniffs. As I probed her for details, we both burst into sobs. How could we face the loss of this woman who had meant so much to us all? 

"When will you be heading up?" I asked. She wasn't sure yet. My brother had told her they might leave the next day to give them a little more time to recover from the stomach flu. I thought about the two day drive they had ahead of them. I was pretty sure they wouldn't wait.

Four hours later, my own family was packed and on the road.  It was a ten hour trip to Michigan. A phone call to my brother's cell phone confirmed my suspicion. They had left two hours before and were also speeding down the highway, hoping for one last chance to see the precious soul we couldn't ever imagine being without. Every one else was already gathered at the hospital.

"It isn't fair!" my mind argued. "After all these years of living so far away, when my husband finally decides to move to Michigan, why now? Why couldn't our house have sold? She was so excited when I told her we were coming. And I really wanted the kids to get to know her better. I'm not ready to let her go. It isn't fair!" Yes, I know that life isn't fair. If it were, things would be much worse. Still it was hard to grasp this news which came with so little warning. Flu . . . hospitalization . . . pneumonia . . .kidney failure . . . heart attack . . . congestive heart failure . . . only days, maybe hours to live. It was just so sudden.

We arrived at 2:00 AM. My husband dropped me off at the hospital and stayed in the car with the sleeping kids. I woke my aunt, who was sleeping in a chair by Grandma's bedside. Grandma was sleeping peacefully and I hated to wake her, but Aunt R. did it anyway. This might be my only chance to say good-bye.  "Mom, Melissa's here."

 I kissed her as the tears ran down my cheek. "Hi, Grandma. It's Melissa. I'm so sorry! I'm going to miss you so much."  I wasn't sure she could recognize me. Her breathing was ragged. Her voice weak and horse. It was hard to believe that this broken, suffering body really belonged to my dear sweet Grandma. I couldn't bear to see her, but I couldn't bear to leave.

Grandma drifted back to sleep and my aunt and I chatted. "You can stay the night if you want, " she said. I breathed a sigh of relief and called my husband so he could take the kids to the hotel for the rest of the night. Coming was hard, but leaving was harder. 

"Thanks." I told her.  Something about her response made me think she was glad for the company. None of us wanted to face Grandma's death alone.

The hours ticked by and none of us got much sleep. Grandma squirmed restlessly,  her back aching from days spent in bed, her breathing tube irritating her nose. I watched my aunt massage her back and offer her occasional sips of water.  We watched the clock, hoping my brother would make it in time.  "Tom's coming," my aunt told my Grandma. "he'll be here soon."  She seemed to be waiting for him.

After a couple hours of sleep, squeezed in between interuptions as we sat wedged into uncomfortable chairs, we noticed that Grandma's breathing had changed.  My aunt suggested we have the family members come to the hospital as soon as they could. It was about 5:00. I called my brother. They had stopped for the night and wouldn't be there until after lunch. We were getting nervous.

My aunt stepped out of the room to get some coffee. I sat by the bed, stroking my grandma's swollen hand. Her arm was covered with bruises where they had failed to insert an IV. Her ventilator  let out a steady beep. Her breathing slowed. Where was my aunt? I couldn't face this alone! Should I call someone?

My worries were in vain. Grandma continued to live (for a whole week in fact), and soon the room was full people. Grandma asked if she could go home.  "Not yet. You need to rest," we told her. She tried to climb out of bed, but my mom and aunts restrained her. "You aren't strong enough to stand up," they told her.

I'm sure the sight of the family standing in a ring around her bed must have startled her. "Why are you all here?" she demanded. "Everyone out!" she waved us out of the room.  We all filed into the hallway, insisting that Grandpa should stay. We weren't sure what she was going to do. I think she just needed some time to think.

We all went down to a family waiting room and sat chatting, catching up with each others lives. I couldn't help thinking how Grandma would love to be a part of this, and yet she was all of it. It made no sense. And yet, it made perfect sense that this woman who was the glue of our family should bring us together even in her death.

And so began one of the most horrible weeks of my life, and yet one of the best. Life is full of contradictions: That I could spent almost thirty-three years of my life taking from my Grandma, and receive a greater blessing from one week giving back. That watching her die to us was like watching her being born into heaven. That I could spend precious time with my family while losing an important part of it. That I could become closer to my Grandfather as my Grandmother drifted farther away.  And that I could miss her so terribly and yet be glad that she is no longer here.  

I do wish you all could have known her. She was quite a woman. And while she,  like the mist,  has slipped away, her legacy lives on.

Below is a tribute I wrote for her two years ago. Thanks to everyone who expressed their sympathy. It has been a comfort.  Melissa

Grandma,

When I think of you, I think of how you have devoted yourself to making those around you feel special and loved. Almost all my memories of you involve you giving something- money, gifts, time, or attention. If there was ever anything you knew we needed or wanted, you would try to give it to us if there was any possible way.

You made yourself a part of our everday lives. You came to the important events: baptisms, grandparents days, plays, graduations, soccer games, professions of faith. You went on outings with us, took us along on errands, and picked and canned fruit with us. You invited us for sleep overs and let me sleep on the floor by your bed when I got scared and cooked whatever we wanted for breakfast. You kept a special drawer with special toys just for us and you had another drawer filled with candy that you were always happy to share. You baked cookies and cakes and bought donuts and came and had coffee with us. You bought groceries and clothes for us. You saved bones for our dogs, toilet paper tubes for our hampsters and gerbils, greens for our rabbits, scraps for our chickens, and the last piece of steak from your dinner for Mom. You spent hours knitting us mittens, socks, sweaters, and washclothes. And you were always there when we needed you, like when Mom cut her hand cleaning the cupboards and you not only took her to get stitches, but came back and finished the cupboards.

You were always patient with us. You never got upset when we were loud or wild. (Yes, I know I was loud and wild.) And I can only remember one time that you punished me, and I cannot remember what for, only that I was shocked that I had actually done something bad enough to deserve it from you. You always gave the impression that we were the most wonderful and important people you knew, and we never felt like we were a burden to you.

Holidays would not have been the same without the care and trouble you took to prepare special meals and add special touches (like Andes candies on the buffet). Even if we were not there to celebrate with you, you did all you could to bring the celebration to us by sending Valentines, Easter candy, Christmas cookies and such. And you were always glad to provide anything we felt was necessary to our enjoyment of the day.

You showed us an example of generosity through your generosity. And you showed your love for us through your actions. You have sacrificed for us, worried over us, laughed and cried with us, worked and played with us. Some people are worthy of love and honor simply because they are what they are- a grandmother. But you have set a higher standard for all the others. You have shown the love of Christ to us, and like Him, we love you because you first loved us.