Remembering

She was spunky and strong - the kind of strength that resulted from depression era-childhood and World War II fiance, followed by years of barren womb, until adulterous women placed sweet baby girl in her longing arms.

Husband-doting and home-making, this was her heart. Child-rearing generations after sweet baby girl. Countless loads of laundry and peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and busy work, woman's work.

Spin curlers, bobby pins and bright pinkish-red lipstick that never went out of style. Wrinkles and soft skin with warm smile and simple necklace. Her gray eyes that mirrored mine, even though we didn't share blood. A ring that I would twirl around her elegant finger as a little girl now sits on mine. And I smile a bittersweet smile and shed a tear (or many), remembering:

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Spring began to buckle under the heat of the approaching summer. She was frail; worn out from a life of hard work and service. It was my turn for chores and errands. It was my time to keep company and dust her figurines as she sat with her high school sweetheart and regaled me with lovely familiar stories of times gone by (I always felt like I belonged to her era).

The still-hot September brought a change and a call for the ambulance. Her heart was weak and her kidneys were failing her. What could be done?

Soldier-sweetheart couldn't fathom such a loss. We kept watch, spoke of memories-dear, held hands, stroked cheek, combed silver-gray hair and wept. I knew she was slowly slipping away. In a quiet moment, with just the two of us, I desperately asked through tears, "What am I going to do without you?" And to my amazement she responded to me. With her eyes still closed and body still, she said in a low voice, "You're going to be fine."

And I want to be. I want to love sacrificially like she did. 

Early October morning phone call. Come now. I was first to arrive. I grab my Bible that I had left in her room and began to read Psalm 23...

The Lord is my Shepherd, I shall not want (the Shepherd is calling you home)...

Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for you are with

me (He is calling you out of the valley)...

You prepare a table...(it is waiting for you)

And I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever (and ever, grandma).

And then she breathed her last and went home to dwell with our heavenly Father.