I was 39 weeks pregnant with Emma. It was spring break for Ryan and the kids. We had let them go to his parents’ for the weekend so they could have a fun start to their spring break when we got the call – my grandmother had had a stroke. No one knew the prognosis and the longing in me was far greater than the longing to be sure and stay put in case Emma decided to make an early arrival. I had traveled an hour away to see my doctor on an emergency appointment and she deemed the baby not going anywhere so much that she said I could get on a plane if I wanted. But I needed the 9 hour drive with my husband. I needed him by my side these days. And I needed to process for 9 hours. That’s just how I work.

She’s been a woman, to many, that has loved unconditionally her children, her grandchildren, her neighbors, her church, people from other countries. She’s been a model of Christ and His love to so many that I’m sure there’s no way to count. She’s been the hero of my life and will just never know the enormous impact that she made on me. I have always hoped (and still do) to be like her “when I grow up”.

One of the hardest parts of death is that you don’t often get to say goodbye. There’s always something left unsaid. Feelings or apologies or something that you didn’t get to share. Not the case with her. I had said everything I needed to her a few years ago. There was no doubt how I felt about her and how she felt about me. There were no “I’m sorry”s to exchange. There were no “I wish I had told you this earlier” to be said. God had provided that opportunity already. The only thing we had never said to each other was “goodbye”.

I was super anxious that Wednesday morning. I wanted to spend the night the night before but my aunt and dad wouldn’t let me because I was 5 days from my due date and they wanted me to rest. She would have wanted that too. So I came as early as I could that morning. Around 8am. I talked about anything I could. I read her scripture from Psalm 87 and 88. I shared with only her the names we were considering for the baby and what I thought the baby was going to be. I sang to her while I played Beauty Parlor like we did when I was little. I brushed her hair and massaged her head. I massaged her feet and hands. I put chap stick on her dry, parched lips. All of her favorite things that I didn’t want to miss doing one last time. After a couple of hours the time came. I couldn’t speak. My husband at my side, could see the anguish on my face and, knowing that these were my final moments with her, asked everyone in the room if they could leave she and I alone for a few minutes. He even left. As I grabbed her hand I didn’t feel compelled to go back through all the things I said before. I know she knew them. But I told her how much and how deeply I loved her. I thanked her for being a person of stability to me and for always loving me so deeply. The other things I said were such a blur but one thing was not – her response. Even in her inability to speak or move, she made it clear that she was fully aware of my presence and she knew I was trying my best to not have to say goodbye. Each time I was with her, she prayed upon our departure. Since she couldn’t I told her that I would. So I prayed a prayer of thankfulness. A prayer of gratefulness. A prayer of protection. A prayer for His will (which was by far the most difficult part). I prayed for things that I knew she would pray for and then other things that I would have. It was the most bittersweet and most difficult prayer that I think I’ve ever prayed. I noticed at the end that my husband was back in the room. I leaned to hug her and he helped her to me as well. And while she couldn’t talk – she did. And tears streamed down her cheeks just as they were doing mine.

That was the last time I saw or spoke to my grandmother. She passed away at home 3 days later on Saturday. Emma made her arrival safely on Monday morning.

I still grieve because I just miss her so. I don’t feel like I missed saying anything. My times with her were so precious. They still are. She knew how I felt about her. She knew how much I loved her. She knew….but I just miss her. I miss her laugh. I miss her voice. I miss her hugs. I miss everything about her. And I very selfishly still wish she were here.