Bru's Musings

My grandmother isn't doing well; she was taken to hospice today. She's in her 90's and, up until a few months ago she still mowed her own lawn. She has always been fiercely independent, strong-willed and, unfortunately, possessing a somewhat critical spirit. But we love her anyway, as families do. I had the opportunity to see her for a bit last night, and I'm glad I went. She's just a mere shadow of the woman she's always been. She's tired of fighting, and ready to see her Lord and those loved ones who've gone before her. She's essentially aware of what's going on, although she has some lapses of memory. My mother made the comment tonight that she wondered if Grandma realized when she left today that she was leaving her home for most likely the last time. Her body is just wearing out, but thankfully she isn't in a lot of pain. But it stings my heart, knowing she's leaving us, and knowing I could have been a better granddaughter. I think of the stories and family history that will escape with her, things I never got around to asking her. I think about the years since my grandfather died and how strong she's been; I've thought often over the years about her wandering around her house alone, wondering if she ever shared the frustrations or fears that I sometimes have.

Grandma was never overtly affectionate, but I knew she loved us all. I remember playing cards and yahtzee and checkers with her; she fostered my love of jigsaw puzzles. Long hot summers shelling peas and shucking corn, swinging in the thick-slatted wooden swing on the front porch, listening to the creak, creak, creak of the metal chains. Lying in bed at night with the bed vibrating from the train passing by just outside the house. The summer they painted their house and the lovebugs got stuck in the paint and they had to paint part of it again. The way the living room dips down and you have to walk carefully so you don't trip. The too-hot heat of the gas heaters on a cold winter day. The red plastic trash cans with gold glitter embedded in them. The way she cooked three times a day for my granddaddy - never cereal, a sandwich or leftovers.

I love you grandma, and I'm sorry I wasn't a better granddaughter. I'll miss you, but give granddaddy and Jesus a great big hug for me.