A new rose in heaven...
Grandma Ruth died today. I just got the message from my dad -on my answering machine- .
She was 89 years old, but she was healthy and lively and sharp- up until about a month ago. She had a pain in her hip, and when she had it checked into, the doctor told her she was full of cancer. She didn't want to go through chemotherapy. It probably would have killed her anyways. She said she had lived a long life.
She wasn't really my grandmother...but no one knew her by any other name than Grandma Ruth. She was a grandma to everyone. A small, lovely angel, she had a twinkle in her eyes and a smile on her face every time I talked to her. Her long, dark, wispy hair was always neatly twisted into a knot and placed just right. I remember going into her room to visit her (she had a room in her son's house that she lived in). I would almost always find her reading in her armchair, next to the bay window overgrown with her flowers and plants...the window that looked out to her various birdfeeders....for how she loved to watch the birds. Her feet never quite touched the ground when she was sitting in her armchair. They just kind of dangled like a little kid's.... and it was the joy and innocence of a child that she possessed- right up to her abhorrence of brussel sprouts. She loved when I would come to visit her. She'd always offer me a chair and ask me about my life.
She was my biggest fan when it came to playing the piano. Whenever I would go to their house, she would plead with me to play. She would listen with undivided attention, enraptured by every note. One of the last times I saw her, in February, she was at my house, and she was just about to leave. She begged for me to play her something, and I started to play the trio from Schubert's Impromptu in Ab major. It's a beautiful, flowing, song-like melody. About halfway through, someone came to talk to her. It didn't bother me. I'm used to having people talk when I play, especially in an informal setting. She had to leave without saying goodbye. When I came back to Edmonton, I received a sweet little note in her unmistakable handwriting, apologizing for not being able to give me her full attention that afternoon.
For the last three weeks, my dad has been calling me and asking me to come home for the weekend. Every time I would tell him I couldn't because I had responsibilities and commitments here in Edmonton. But Grandma Ruth was growing worse, and I planned to go home this weekend to say goodbye. Something inside of me urged me to send a letter to be read to her before this weekend. I wanted to tell her how much she meant to me. I wanted to tell her how much I loved her. How much she blessed me and how many fond memories I have of her. She was a blesser and an encourager. She never ever forgot my birthday for all of the years I knew her, even though I'm not really one of her grandkids. I didn't send the letter.
When I got the message this evening, I curled up into a ball on my couch and cried for an hour... Gut-wrenching sobs. I am happy for her, because she's with Jesus now. She's no longer in pain, and I know she's up in heaven, probably dancing with my Lord. I only wish I could have said goodbye.
The last time I saw Grandma Ruth she was not feeling well. She called me into her room and apologized for being in bed. But even though she was weak and in pain, she invited me to sit on the edge of her bed and talk a little. When I got up to leave, I kissed her on the cheek- something I've never done before. I don't know why I did it, but it turned out to be the last time I saw her. God in his grace is allowing me to look back on that last moment with her and cherish it as my unspoken goodbye.
She was 89 years old, but she was healthy and lively and sharp- up until about a month ago. She had a pain in her hip, and when she had it checked into, the doctor told her she was full of cancer. She didn't want to go through chemotherapy. It probably would have killed her anyways. She said she had lived a long life.
She wasn't really my grandmother...but no one knew her by any other name than Grandma Ruth. She was a grandma to everyone. A small, lovely angel, she had a twinkle in her eyes and a smile on her face every time I talked to her. Her long, dark, wispy hair was always neatly twisted into a knot and placed just right. I remember going into her room to visit her (she had a room in her son's house that she lived in). I would almost always find her reading in her armchair, next to the bay window overgrown with her flowers and plants...the window that looked out to her various birdfeeders....for how she loved to watch the birds. Her feet never quite touched the ground when she was sitting in her armchair. They just kind of dangled like a little kid's.... and it was the joy and innocence of a child that she possessed- right up to her abhorrence of brussel sprouts. She loved when I would come to visit her. She'd always offer me a chair and ask me about my life.
She was my biggest fan when it came to playing the piano. Whenever I would go to their house, she would plead with me to play. She would listen with undivided attention, enraptured by every note. One of the last times I saw her, in February, she was at my house, and she was just about to leave. She begged for me to play her something, and I started to play the trio from Schubert's Impromptu in Ab major. It's a beautiful, flowing, song-like melody. About halfway through, someone came to talk to her. It didn't bother me. I'm used to having people talk when I play, especially in an informal setting. She had to leave without saying goodbye. When I came back to Edmonton, I received a sweet little note in her unmistakable handwriting, apologizing for not being able to give me her full attention that afternoon.
For the last three weeks, my dad has been calling me and asking me to come home for the weekend. Every time I would tell him I couldn't because I had responsibilities and commitments here in Edmonton. But Grandma Ruth was growing worse, and I planned to go home this weekend to say goodbye. Something inside of me urged me to send a letter to be read to her before this weekend. I wanted to tell her how much she meant to me. I wanted to tell her how much I loved her. How much she blessed me and how many fond memories I have of her. She was a blesser and an encourager. She never ever forgot my birthday for all of the years I knew her, even though I'm not really one of her grandkids. I didn't send the letter.
When I got the message this evening, I curled up into a ball on my couch and cried for an hour... Gut-wrenching sobs. I am happy for her, because she's with Jesus now. She's no longer in pain, and I know she's up in heaven, probably dancing with my Lord. I only wish I could have said goodbye.
The last time I saw Grandma Ruth she was not feeling well. She called me into her room and apologized for being in bed. But even though she was weak and in pain, she invited me to sit on the edge of her bed and talk a little. When I got up to leave, I kissed her on the cheek- something I've never done before. I don't know why I did it, but it turned out to be the last time I saw her. God in his grace is allowing me to look back on that last moment with her and cherish it as my unspoken goodbye.
posted by jacelyn at
3:10 p.m.
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