My Mema passed away this week. She was 88, and had lived about as full a life as most anyone can, I guess, when she went Home on Thursday, April 9. She’d been in declining health for the past few years; not unexpected at that age. But she didn’t complain about it, at least not to anyone I know. The end came when she entered the hospital late last month after falling and breaking her hip. She got progressively and steadily worse, leading to the decision to have her placed in Hospice care on Saturday morning, where she slipped away as peacefully as anyone can just a few days later, with most of her family by her side and rejoicing in her bolting from the pain that was holding her back from the arms of Jesus, my Papa (who preceded her by almost 20 years), her son, Clinton, sisters, Ide and Carolyn, and a host of others who no doubt welcomed her with shouts of joy and encompassing embraces.
I’ve not had to go through this journey for many years—as I said, Mema’s husband, who we lovingly referred to as Papa, passed away 20 years ago this June. So, naturally, I’m looking back at that experience as an 18-year old fresh High School graduate and comparing it to my thoughts and feelings now, as a 38-year old husband and father. And I think that there is a stark contrast evident between these two experiences that neatly parallels my growth both as a man and as a child of God:
1. Of course, the most striking difference between then and now is my role as a husband and a father. Yes, I’m “older and wiser”, but, make no mistake about it, having Becki and Jacob by my side in situations like this make a world of difference. I can’t say I would be more outwardly emotional, because I believe that’s how God made me, but it sure does give me comfort to have my family with me in times of need.
2. My faith is stronger, much more practical, and plays a deeper role not only in my everyday life, but, naturally, in situations like these. This enables me to look past the “now” to the future that God’s promised us to spend eternity with Him. In this respect, I have a much clearer picture of how death, even though we view it as a final, painful thing, is actually a beautiful transition into Real Life. It’s difficult to explain this to people—even my closest friends and family—but, getting past the sad realization that I have to wait to see them, I rejoice that those who have passed away are actually much, much better off than I. This gives me great comfort and hope, and, to be honest, it’s difficult to mourn much at that point.
3.There’s something comforting, too, about knowing that a spouse is being reunited with their soul mate in Heaven. 20 years ago, when Papa left us, it was painful to look at Mema, knowing that her best friend and lover would no longer be here to comfort, protect, and care for her. In fact, I remember hearing her tell him one night as she held his hand as he lay in the hospital bed in those last days, “Who’s going to hold my hand when I go through this?” (Naturally, and thankfully, my family took this role for him when it came her time). Anyway, in this case, I picture Mema being comforted and even excited about the prospect of seeing her Jim Bob again, along, of course, with Jesus.
I write all of this to flesh out ideas I’ve had for a long time about why I show so little emotion at times like this. Don’t get me wrong—I have my moments. And, I’m sure when Monday comes and we celebrate my Grandmother’s life before placing her body at rest for the final time, I’ll be shedding a few tears. But as I sit here typing this, it’s difficult for me to feel tragically sad, knowing Where my Mema is and Who she’s with. I’ve been accused of being unemotional and cold, even uncaring. The truth, though, is that I recognize that she’s in a much better place than any of us and, for that, we should be thrilled.
I will miss you, Mema, though…for the brief time we’re apart. Enjoy golfing and fishing with Papa, Clinton, and Jesus. Don’t forget to meet your sisters to “sit a spell” on your bench swing, just like out back in the yard. I love you!
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