What I Wish I Could Tell Her
Dear Grandma,
I still miss you.
Sometimes I imagine you still live in your apartment on Magnolia, sitting at the dining table with a guest visiting, fingering a clump of fabric as you listened and spoke, just one clump of many that were layered into dozens of plastic boxes stacked in the closet by the bedroom door. Even though you hadn't quilted in so long before you died, those clear boxes with their many textured scraps and prints are always nearby in my memories of you. I love that quilting was an important part of who you were.
I don't know if I ever told you, Grandma, how much I regret the way I responded on the night that Grandpa died. With all of us crowded into that tiny apartment you shared with him, I went coward and mustered a reason to leave. "Grandpa wouldn't want us to sit here mourning and crying," I said. "He's in heaven with Jesus now." And then I went to party at a friend's house, snaking through the crowds of people in that house and wondering that whole time how I could have left everyone, and even my grief, so easily.
I always wished I could have apologized to him, and could have grieved properly when he died. I didn't know how, Grandma. For so many years afterward, I used to pray little prayers to him in heaven, asking him if he understood, telling him how much I wished I could redo that moment and all the days after his death, wishing he could come back so that I could begin to memorize the stories he was famous for, the ones everyone alludes to but I do not remember. I imagined that he'd look down from heaven, with all the knowledge Jesus gave him once he died, and would forgive me and love me in that place, understanding even more than I could understand about myself back then.
Now I picture you up there with him, both of you so happy to be together again after all those years. You were so sad toward the end, just missing him every day more and more. I wanted to understand that kind of love, and now I'm glad I do. It makes me smile to imagine the two of you looking down upon the large family of us left here, watching us go about our daily lives, smiling when we offer our thoughts and prayers up to you still, wondering if you can even hear us voice them.
Even though I know you're happy to be with Jesus and Grandpa in heaven now, and that you're free from pain, I still wish you were here, Grandma. I wish you were still that constant presence back at home, always welcoming us with so much gladness and a kind heart whenever we would come to see you. I wish for one more day I could sit and play cards with you, and listen to the stories of your life. I wish I could tell you about Kirk and how much I have learned in my life with him. I wish I could tell you about how it feels when I write a story, and about the kind of stories I want to tell, and how I'm doing something new with my life that feels more true than anything else I've spent time doing before. I wish you could have known more of me while you were here, Grandma.
I have some news to share with you, Grandma, that is special for me to tell you, especially, about. This month, I learned that a place called Hospice of the Comforter was looking for volunteers to record the life reflections and stories of their hospice patients. This caught my attention because of how important people's stories have become to me. I see so much dignity to be had in a person who wants to look at their life and fold it into some kind of meaningful understanding of their life's offering on this earth. And I also know that since God has gifted me with an ability to write stories well, perhaps this is one way I can bring glory to Him in the service of others with some of my time right now.
When I told Mom about this opportunity a couple weeks ago, she said it reminded her of what I had always hoped to do for you -- to write down yours and Grandpa's stories so that all of us could have your memories preserved as a legacy handed down, to remember where we came from and the people that you were. It surprised me when Mom said this, since I hadn't made that connection when signing up.
But then, when I received the volunteer application materials in the mail a few days later, I really made the connection. Grandma, I can't tell you how overcome I was with sadness at your passing as I read the materials Hospice of the Comforter had sent. It made me remember that you had hospice care when you were dying. Somehow my volunteering for Hospice of the Comforter suddenly made me feel closer to you, even though my first signing up to work with them hadn't been about that at all.
But even more than that, I was filled with so much memory about my intention to be the one in our family to record your memories. I never did that. I know you know this, but it helps to admit it out loud to you. That is another thing that I really regret in my life: never having gathered your story while you were here. I remember getting started on it the summer after I graduated high school, when I came to visit you in Minnesota. It was the first trip I'd ever taken by myself, and I began to ask you questions about your life growing up and when you first met Grandpa. It was all with the intention to start writing it down, but then I never did. Years later, we all kept saying it should be done, and I always intended for the person to do it to be me, but still I let other things get in the way. I got busy and didn't make it a priority. And now the opportunity has passed forever, except for what we might piece together from our own memories. Still, it could never be the same. I am so sorry for failing you in this, Grandma. I hope you can forgive me.
Sitting there, reading those hospice materials last week, I was really struck with grief that you are gone. And last night, during my first full night of orientation and training, you were never far from my mind. There are so many ways we do not make as much of the days as we should, and I really feel that is the case in my loss of you in my life.
I wish that you were here. I trust that you are well. I love you.
Love,
Christianne
I still miss you.
Sometimes I imagine you still live in your apartment on Magnolia, sitting at the dining table with a guest visiting, fingering a clump of fabric as you listened and spoke, just one clump of many that were layered into dozens of plastic boxes stacked in the closet by the bedroom door. Even though you hadn't quilted in so long before you died, those clear boxes with their many textured scraps and prints are always nearby in my memories of you. I love that quilting was an important part of who you were.
I don't know if I ever told you, Grandma, how much I regret the way I responded on the night that Grandpa died. With all of us crowded into that tiny apartment you shared with him, I went coward and mustered a reason to leave. "Grandpa wouldn't want us to sit here mourning and crying," I said. "He's in heaven with Jesus now." And then I went to party at a friend's house, snaking through the crowds of people in that house and wondering that whole time how I could have left everyone, and even my grief, so easily.
I always wished I could have apologized to him, and could have grieved properly when he died. I didn't know how, Grandma. For so many years afterward, I used to pray little prayers to him in heaven, asking him if he understood, telling him how much I wished I could redo that moment and all the days after his death, wishing he could come back so that I could begin to memorize the stories he was famous for, the ones everyone alludes to but I do not remember. I imagined that he'd look down from heaven, with all the knowledge Jesus gave him once he died, and would forgive me and love me in that place, understanding even more than I could understand about myself back then.
Now I picture you up there with him, both of you so happy to be together again after all those years. You were so sad toward the end, just missing him every day more and more. I wanted to understand that kind of love, and now I'm glad I do. It makes me smile to imagine the two of you looking down upon the large family of us left here, watching us go about our daily lives, smiling when we offer our thoughts and prayers up to you still, wondering if you can even hear us voice them.
Even though I know you're happy to be with Jesus and Grandpa in heaven now, and that you're free from pain, I still wish you were here, Grandma. I wish you were still that constant presence back at home, always welcoming us with so much gladness and a kind heart whenever we would come to see you. I wish for one more day I could sit and play cards with you, and listen to the stories of your life. I wish I could tell you about Kirk and how much I have learned in my life with him. I wish I could tell you about how it feels when I write a story, and about the kind of stories I want to tell, and how I'm doing something new with my life that feels more true than anything else I've spent time doing before. I wish you could have known more of me while you were here, Grandma.
I have some news to share with you, Grandma, that is special for me to tell you, especially, about. This month, I learned that a place called Hospice of the Comforter was looking for volunteers to record the life reflections and stories of their hospice patients. This caught my attention because of how important people's stories have become to me. I see so much dignity to be had in a person who wants to look at their life and fold it into some kind of meaningful understanding of their life's offering on this earth. And I also know that since God has gifted me with an ability to write stories well, perhaps this is one way I can bring glory to Him in the service of others with some of my time right now.
When I told Mom about this opportunity a couple weeks ago, she said it reminded her of what I had always hoped to do for you -- to write down yours and Grandpa's stories so that all of us could have your memories preserved as a legacy handed down, to remember where we came from and the people that you were. It surprised me when Mom said this, since I hadn't made that connection when signing up.
But then, when I received the volunteer application materials in the mail a few days later, I really made the connection. Grandma, I can't tell you how overcome I was with sadness at your passing as I read the materials Hospice of the Comforter had sent. It made me remember that you had hospice care when you were dying. Somehow my volunteering for Hospice of the Comforter suddenly made me feel closer to you, even though my first signing up to work with them hadn't been about that at all.
But even more than that, I was filled with so much memory about my intention to be the one in our family to record your memories. I never did that. I know you know this, but it helps to admit it out loud to you. That is another thing that I really regret in my life: never having gathered your story while you were here. I remember getting started on it the summer after I graduated high school, when I came to visit you in Minnesota. It was the first trip I'd ever taken by myself, and I began to ask you questions about your life growing up and when you first met Grandpa. It was all with the intention to start writing it down, but then I never did. Years later, we all kept saying it should be done, and I always intended for the person to do it to be me, but still I let other things get in the way. I got busy and didn't make it a priority. And now the opportunity has passed forever, except for what we might piece together from our own memories. Still, it could never be the same. I am so sorry for failing you in this, Grandma. I hope you can forgive me.
Sitting there, reading those hospice materials last week, I was really struck with grief that you are gone. And last night, during my first full night of orientation and training, you were never far from my mind. There are so many ways we do not make as much of the days as we should, and I really feel that is the case in my loss of you in my life.
I wish that you were here. I trust that you are well. I love you.
Love,
Christianne
posted by christianne at
10:33 AM
13 Comments:
My grandma died a year from this coming Sunday, and it meant so much to hear someone else's grief process. Thanks, Christianne.
Wow. Different scenarios (although I lost a grandparent this year, too, and I thought I was going to record the stories as well), but I SO get this.
Oh, Christianne. This touched me. I miss my grandparents dearly. Today I go to Jersey for a week. I'll spend time with family, and I'll visit my grandparents' homes and graves.
My grandmother told me stories, and I regret not writing them down. I don't remember them anymore, and they were such great stories.
Don't tell anyone, but my WIP is loosely based on my grandparents. My biological grandfather left my grandmother with 4 children, but his brother (the man I grew up calling grandfather, grandpop, actually), stepped in to take care of them all. He and my grandmother fell in love and married.
Sarah, I'm glad this helped you with your own grief process. I didn't have the forethought to realize it would help someone else to read this, but the comments (and yours being the first to help me see this) show that it is indeed the case. Thanks for sharing that. It's been just over a year with my grandma, too.
Jenn, there really is a heartache of burden to know that we didn't do what we intended to do, isn't there? I'm glad you understand this. I'm sorry for your many losses this year.
Heather, that is a really moving story about what happened with your grandmother falling in love with the man who stepped in to care for her children. I wish you peace and blessing as you travel home. I'm so glad you got the unexpected chance to do that this year after all.
It seems as though we all have so many what ifs and intentions in our life that never seem to be fufilled. If I was your granparent, I would want you to know that I love you despite all that you did and didn't do. I would want you to know that I love you for you, with all of your intentions and what ifs, with all of your hurt and laughter. I am sorry that you were not able to complete your hope before they died. Your last thought on your blog really stood out to me: "There are so many ways we do not make as much of the days as we should, and I really feel that is the case in my loss of you in my life." I think this is a reminder for us all to cherish life for all it's worth...and not let silly tiffs or arguments get in our way of loving those who are closest to us.
I love you Christianne and I am sorry I have had my moments of tiffs with you in the past that have tampered with my freedom in expressing my love for you.
Hugs and a Kiss,
Hannah
Oh dear friend.
I felt as if I were reading my own journal. My grandparents on my mom's side passed away 14 years ago (within 10 months of each other), and I still miss them with an ache that is fresh. I was with Mike a couple weekends ago & I welled up with tears just driving through the town where they used to live.
I often think of them & talk to them. I remember grandpa when I spill food on myself (something he did often, and with flare!) and I see my grandmother in my mind often, the smallest, most insignificant things calling her memory into sharp relief for me.
But back to your story.
I think even when our words are misplaced ("we shouldn't be grieving now") and when we fail to follow through on good intentions, that our loved ones -- and I can tell by your letter that there was much love where your grandmother is concerned -- trust our good hearts. Sometimes this is not enough, and we wish we had behaved differently. All part of our learning curve, I suppose.
But I have no doubt -- just based on what you've written -- that your grandmother would be honored by your participation in putting the stories at Hospice of the Comforter to paper. Though the story written down is not hers, you do great honor to her memory by ensuring that the stories of others are not lost. I know this with a certainty I cannot explain.
Thank you for sharing this.
Christianne, this was a beautiful post. It brought tears to my eyes. I knew your grandma and she was a wonderful lady! I remember visiting her in her small apartment and seeing those boxes of fabric you wrote about. I also remember the stories you told me about your trip to MN to visit her. Even though you did not write her story, you loved her very much and I know she knew that.
One of the hardest things about moving to Singapore was saying goodbye to my grandma. She is still very healthy and vibrant (only 71!) but she means so very much to me and it was hard know I was leaving for two years. She loves having her family nearby and I know it was very hard on her to see us leave.
One year for my grandma's birthday, I bought her a voice recorder and a bunch of tapes. I told her that if she would record her stories, I would transcribe them for her and put them into a family book. That was several years ago and so far, nothing has happened with that idea. But, I think I will revive the idea. My grandma is a precious lady with such a tender, sweetness about her. I want to make sure that her great-grandchildren and those after will have the opportunity to learn about their lovely matriarch.
I absolutely love the project your are involved with. What a wonderful way to bless others with the gift God has given you. I cannot wait to hear more about how the process works and what your experiences are. Thank you for being willing to use your God-given gift to minister to others. I am sure that the stories you write will become a treasure to many, many families after their loved-one is gone.
What can I say? Simply that I'm glad to know you. And glad that you write it all down.
Hannah, I love you. Thank you for sharing all these thoughts, about my grandparents and about not letting small arguments come between us and those we love (this happens with me sometimes, unfortunately, so I needed the reminder), and for loving me and wanting to share your life with me.
Kirsten, I really appreciated hearing what you shared about knowing she would be honored by the stories of others that get written down. I hadn't thought about it that way, and it brought some relief to my heart. That's such a tender thing you shared about your own grandparents, and how driving through their town brought tears to your eyes. Memory can be so strong, can't it? It amazes me that certain sights and smells and feels and sounds can recall the feeling of something that happened many, many years ago, in an instant. I can imagine what that might have felt like for you, for it has happened many times to me, as well. Thanks for sharing your thoughts and heart here, friend.
Rebecca, your comment meant so much to me. I had forgotten that you did know my grandma! And that I've known yours. What really amazes me is our discovery of how alike many aspects of our families were our whole lives before we knew each other.
Your grandma is such a sweet lady. I can attest, too, from an outsider's perspective to her gentle heart, and I can imagine how hard it must have been for her to see you go, and for you to go. She loves you so much, and your love for her is also so very evident in your life. Thank you, too, for sharing here, and for your sweet and always constant friendship and sisterhood in Christ.
Laura, thank you for saying so. I'm glad to know you, too.
I love this piece of writing. I want to rise up, call you blessed, and offer you my grace, and I'm not even your grandmother. :)
What you desire to do for the elderly is a huge ministry. Their generations to come will thank you for what you are doing. And I am certain that both you and your storyteller will bond deeply through the telling-documenting relationship. You might even end up with 10 or 15 "grandmas" and "grandpas" over the course of your time there. (And I'm slightly jealous. One can never have enough grandparents, right?)
very beautifully written, christianne.... and heart-wrenching. i can see it struck a chord in everyone, i think b/c we all feel this way about those we have lost. i know when i get out cards that my grandparent's sent when they were alive, and look at the declining handwriting from all the shaking caused by old age, it causes me to well up in memory and also regret. regret that i, also, didn't show my appreciation and love for them as much as i should have.
very moving and thoughful post.....
Christianne,
This post moved me. I met your grandma too, and it always seemed that she was very similar in spirit to my own mom (Rebecca's grandma).
As I move closer into the spot of being "the oldest living female" in our family, your post made me wonder if I will be worthy of the love and respect from my own grandson, that you and others have for your grandparents.
Our life is truly a vapor. As I age, I am more aware of the trivial concerns with which I've wasted my life. I long to streamline and concentrate on the eternal. My prayer of late has been, "Lord, make me kind-hearted!"
Thank you for your beautiful post. I am sure your grandma saw you through the eyes of seasoned grace. She was a gentle lady and you have her legacy to treasure.
I love you and your heart!
Erin, thank you for saying what you did about all kinds of grandmas and grandpas maybe adopting me as I get to know them. I hadn't thought much about the love they might come to feel for me in this whole thing! It made me smile, and I needed to smile.
Blue, your comment about getting out your grandparents' cards and seeing the handwriting begin to decline over time made me sad. I can imagine what that would look like and then how it could make you feel. Thanks for sharing that with me, and for stopping by.
Judi, it was good to receive your comment. Your words especially moved me in the part where you wondered aloud if you are continuiing to become the kind of person that your later generations will feel such care and affection toward. I can tell you, with your big heart, that they will! Your laugh and smile are infectious, and your heart is a million miles wide.
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