Flowers

I don't know what to feel, but I'm trying not to stop and think on it for too long. When I do stop and think, it's all a blur of emotions. It's like I stepped into the period between night saying goodbye and dawn saying hello. There's so much confusion. Is the day coming, or is the night?

Someone told me once that people are like flowers, and God only plucks the perfect ones to bring to heaven, and at the time that resonated with me. Of course, people die too young, and that would make sense that they had passed some sort of test already and were so wonderful that they got to go to heaven, but now I know that's all wrong.

My grandma was a beautiful flower. She wasn't perfect; none of us are. She could stand as sturdy as an oak, as flexible as a bow string, as determined as the sun, as mysterious as the midnight sky, as kind as a hot shower after a long day of work, and as reliable as the ground beneath your feet. So when I think that people only get into heaven once they've bloomed, I can't quite agree, because my grandma lived to be 84 years old, and I know for sure that she had been in bloom for quite some time.

So when I stop to think about my grandma, I think about what an amazing person she was to have in my life. We definitely didn't always get along, but you can't get along with someone 100% of the time. I think of how sad it was that she had to suffer before she went to heaven to meet Jesus and to reunite with the rest of her family in heaven. I think that it was good she was able to go quickly enough when her time came and that her suffering didn't last years on end like it could have.

I smile to myself when I think of her first reunion with her family. Grandma was right a lot of the time, and if someone disagreed with her, she had to have an "I told you so" moment. So I imagine her standing next to Grandpa, walking up to her parents who were (understandably) concerned about her marrying a man 22 years older than her and saying, "Look at us now." I don't know why, but that thought just makes me smile and cry at the same time.

I wonder if I'll ever feel like she's watching over me before we get to reunite in heaven. Several of my friends have told stories of times when they've felt like their loved one was speaking to them from the other side. I hope that will happen to me because I already miss her like crazy.

And after those warming thoughts pass through my mind, I inevitably think of all the things that will be different now. I'm afraid of the first time I go back home to Western Kansas, and realize that I won't ever be going to "grandma's house" in the same way again. I won't be greeted with a hug and a smile when I walk through the door, and there won't be my grandma there offering to make me Schwann's chocolate chip cookies or chicken strips. She won't be sitting in her chair, snacking on a small candy bar, ready to talk with me about life, school, or even politics (which we stringently disagreed on about 90% of the time). She won't be there to tell me to go outside after we've been inside watching TV for too long, or encourage my siblings to go help Dad or Wyatt do some work around the ranch.

I won't be able to call her on the phone for a quick, thirty-minute chat, and end up saying goodbye after two hours.

I won't be able to be certain that there's a card coming in the mail for my birthday with some illegible handwriting and some money tucked in. I won't be pleasantly (or unpleasantly, depending on the occasion) surprised when one of her letters comes in the mail.

I won't have her there at my next graduation (if I decide to go back to school). She won't be there to see Ty's and my first child (if we are blessed with one). She won't be able to make the trip to come see our new home, which she had planned on before cancer got in the way.

And then I remind myself that God has his own plan, and that I'm grateful that her suffering came to an early end.

And then I think that it might be another sixty years before I get to see my grandma face to face, and I cry all over again.

And then, in the midst of all the tears, I have the thought that sends me over the edge: I forgot to ask her what her favorite kind of flower was.