Remembering
She ran her finger along the letters inscribed in the cool red stone and her blue eyes brimmed with tears. Carefully, she placed the small wooden cross beside the tombstone and then stepped back to admire the way the tiny glued-on jewels shimmered in the midday sun.
“It was colder last time we were here,” my middle daughter said.
“Like the sky was crying, too,” I agreed.
Not long ago we had huddled beneath a stark blue canopy stretched atop the ground where our feet now stood. As bitter raindrops slapped our faces and chilled our bones, we had plucked vibrant flowers from the top of a simple casket. The raw gray weather had seemed incongruent with the brilliant tulips that garnished our little town during the second week of May, but oddly befitting for the occasion. My ninety-five-year-old grandfather had relocated to Glory. We’d celebrated his entry into Heaven, but mourned for those left behind. Especially his bride of seventy years.
Sixteen days later, Memorial Day’s lustrous sun framed our holiday of gratitude and remembrance. Hannah and I roamed the cemetery that afternoon, leaving our own splashes of floral color while Maggie fingered the soft petals and plucked nearby blades of grass. My compassionate one lingered long over the tiny metal marker of a baby girl who’d never been rocked in her father’s arms. She sat quietly before the gravestone of a family member who’d died before his life had truly begun, and she wished aloud that she could have met the great-grandpa we called Papa.
Hannah read the inscriptions carved in stone and together we speculated on the lives represented by a mere dash on a rock. I thought about all the living that had been squeezed into one tiny hyphen—every birthday party and every Christmas morning, every skinned knee and every painted toenail, every dream chased and every disappointment carried–all the pieces that make a person summarized with a small straight line. As Maggie batted a silky pink ribbon blowing in the breeze, I wondered aloud if the dash was supposed to remind us of time’s brevity. You have made my life no longer than the width of my hand, the Psalmist penned (Psalm 39:5). Life is but a dash.
Hannah squatted on one knee in front of my grandfather’s tombstone and re-arranged her hand-crafted cross one last time. Then she stood up, wiped her tears and flashed me a gap-toothed smile. “I think we should go visit Great Grandma now.”
I hadn’t planned on another stop. Maggie needed a nap and my laundry teetered high back home. But I returned Hannah’s smile, followed the winding road out of the cemetery, and headed to my grandmother’s tiny apartment. My littlest girls greeted her with hugs and chatter. The cuckoo clock that had mesmerized me as a child sang out happily as we visited. Maggie performed an impromptu dance while Hannah talked about the chapter book she had just finished. I told Grandma about my sister’s fortieth birthday party and in turn, she shared a story of a long-ago surprise party that had been orchestrated in her old farm house without her knowing. Maggie puckered her lips and baptized Grandma’s wrinkled hand with a slobbery kiss. Grandma’s eyes alighted with laughter and I framed the moment in my mind. Then I thanked God for the unexpected Memorial Day gift: In remembering the dead, we had been reminded to delight in the living!
Alicia’s Note: I had no idea when I began to scribble this simple blog this morning that by evening my dear grandmother would have joined her groom in Glory just twenty-two days after he left this world. In an immeasurable act of grace, God used Hannah’s compassionate heart to secure one final visit with my grandma on this earth. On Monday I held her wrinkled hand and told her I loved her. Today she took her Savior’s outstretched hand and followed Him home. Life, even ninety-five full years of life, is a dash.
The Overflow: “Lord, remind me how brief my time on earth will be. Remind me that my days are numbered—how fleeting my life is.You have made my life no longer than the width of my hand. My entire lifetime is just a moment to you;at best, each of us is but a breath.” -Psalm 39:4-5
Thankful and humbled.. seems my children listen to the Spirit’s lead far better than I do on most days. That’s one of the gifts of motherhood, I guess 🙂
I’ve been smiling picturing my Grandma and Grandpa together in the place they’d so longed for. Grace!
Oh friend, aren’t you so thankful you made the time to go visit? What a wonderful time to remember! One more penny from Jesus 🙂
Love,
Robin