I invite you to head back into the Auspicious Jots archives where I talk about my lovely Grandmother in the 2/26/06 post "Who's hanging out on your grave?"
Grandmama Cameron died yesterday. The children and I are headed down to Florida in a few hours. By car. Through a wildfire. And in the middle of the night. My husband couldn't get out of his caseload.
So this is adulthood? I'm done with it. Then again...
It was when I became an adult that Grandmama told me what it was like to lose her pregnancy, to be a war bride, to find a breast lump, to watch her husband die, to mourn her son's death for 20 years. She taught me how to be a friend, a hostess, a relative. She taught me patience (a lesson we were still in the middle of.) She shared her love of books and babies. She taught my son how to bang a pot with a spoon. She looked like Judy Garland and had a beautiful speaking voice. She called those she loved, "Doll."
My last conversation with her was to tell her how much better her son, my father was doing. The day he got off the ventilator we had a long conversation. I was the comforter, which felt like a strange turn. She was so happy. "Now I can sleep again!" she laughed.
I've been teaching the Book of Job for the past month. The death of a woman in her late eighties who'd lived a wonderful life, was an inspiration, and lived on her own until her death is not a tragedy. I know this. But I will miss her so. Life always seems too short when well-lived.
While I'm gone, our minister emeritus and Director of Religious Education will lead the Sunday service. Our Pastoral Care Associates Leader will lead Vespers. My husband will hopefully water the plants. Shalom y'all.
5 comments:
What a wonderful post, AC, thanks.
I was asked yesterday how I felt about death.
I asked the person how they felt about the sun going down.
Yet, sometimes, the end of day is sad. Still, it comes. But, unlike the setting of the sun, the end of day, death does not come at a regular interval. We cannot look in the paper and tell when it ends.
The Talmud tells us sundown comes when a white thread, held against the sky, loses its colour.
It is an uncertain thing.
I am sorry.
I can't figure out how to add a comment to your Portland post, because the comments section has dropped off the last couple of posts. You might have meant to do that, but chances are you need to reset something in your layout.
Anyhow, just wanted to say that I love what you've said about Portland and its wonders. It's truly a lovely place!
The Book of Job indeed. We traveled in your tire tracks a few days later complete with wildfire smoke! A dear friend of more than 50 years passed away in central Fla. on Mothers Day.
Perhaps the essence of Job is that life is cyclic and periodic Job-like cycles must be endured. For better or worse, it would appear that our cycles are synchronized. Heres hoping for a non-Job period for both of us in the near future.
I was wondering where you had been, friend. Glad you made it back safely. So sorry to hear about your friend. Yes, we do seem to be stumbling in the same valley, don't we?
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