Two years ago, I had to say goodbye to my grandmother, my
nana, my friend. Growing up with five
siblings and even more cousins, there was not usually a time for one on one
conversation. When I became an adult and
moved closer to her home I was able to visit her quite often. What seemed weird at first to have all her
attention for any length of time became a treasure.
It started out as dinner in her apartment, she’d cook, I’d
offer to help, but there would be none of that.
Then as she advanced in years, she went to assisted living and still I’d
visit and though there were no meals, there certainly was a drawer stocked full
of bingo snack winnings. I was to take
one, preferably two things and I knew from years of experience refusing was a
lost cause.
We’d talk about going to the park on campus of the facility
and we did a few times, but not as many as we’d hoped. Either weather, time, health, or any other of
so many variables that in hind sight seem ridiculous not to do something kept
us from seizing the day.
The last time I was able to visit her in her room, we tried
to go for a walk. She wasn’t feeling
steady on her feet, and I wasn’t skilled in helping someone get into a wheel
chair. We tried once and I would have
tried again, but she said no and I knew I needed to respect her wishes, but I
also had a feeling this would be the last time I visited her and I felt guilty
for not being able to take her to the park.
That day she complimented me as she did many times. Nothing like a nana’s kindness to boost the
ego. But I knew she was sincere and I
never doubted once she loved me and was speaking her honest thoughts to
me. It was about half way through my
visit when she was telling me of all the people who visited her and she told me
she saw her mother who lived across the courtyard. She tried to stand up and look out the window
behind her.
I looked out the window to see the other side of the
building and the perfectly manicured lawn between the perfectly smooth
walkways. I asked, her about it to make
sure I heard her correctly. I said, “Who
did you say lived there?” She said again her mother. She said “Don’t you remember her?” Now for years her timeline had been off and
every time I’d answer matter of factly, no I didn’t know whoever she was
talking about that was a character in her story far before my entrance. Not in a way of shaming, but just to be
honest while still being engaged in the story.
I said, “No Nana, I never met your mother.” “Well she lives right there.” She tried to
get up again and she stood enough to look and she pointed so certainly in the
same direction. She was so sure of it,
and her clarity in the rest of the conversation was so accurate. It reminded me of stories of people having
visions of heaven. It reminded me of my own
grandfather, her husband who a few days before he died, whispered, “It’s so
beautiful.” She told me she thought he had seen heaven.
I thought she also was seeing the veil between heaven and
earth lift and as I sat there and thought of all of this and what it would
mean, I started to cry. I couldn’t hold
it in, I hoped she wouldn’t see and tried to look away. She did see and she said, “Why are you crying?”
I knew I couldn’t unload all of that on her, so I said, “I just like visiting
you.” She said, “ I like when you visit
me too!”
Turns out that was the last time I visited her in that
room. In the next week or two she would
be in the hospital and the hope was she would return to the room she had been
in and I’d be able to sit with her and hear more stories. That was not to
be. I did get to visit while she was in the
hospital. Even in the hospital she was a
riot. She had a way of saying the most
common things with the funniest inflection.
I left thinking she was on the mend, so I was surprised to hear when she
had passed away.
Starting a few years before she died I’d visit and she would
say, “I just don’t know why I’m here.” This of course struck sadness to my soul
for what must come unless the rapture happened.
I’d quickly say, “It’s because we love you and God wants you here.” But she’d say it again as if to say what is
my purpose? Interesting how we never
outgrow our need to know what our purpose is.
And I thought of her sitting in her room waiting for visitors or the
next activity. How so much of life is
spent working so frantically and autonomously and then to find you are relying
on someone else for nearly everything.
I’d always joke with her that she had however many years
left as she was old. When it was
ninety-four, she said, “Oh, no, I don’t want that!” I’d joke and say, “Well it’s not up to you, I
say another ninety-four.” We would agree no it wasn’t up to her and it wasn’t
up to me either. And she’d say with all
the fire a ninety-four-year-old woman with arthritis could muster as she
pointed into the air as if to underline the spoken word, “He’s been so good to
me.” And so even with her question of
why so long for this earth, she saw the goodness of God throughout her life and
even in the present.
I have so many
questions about heaven. What kind of
work will we do? How do we recognize each other? If we aren’t given in marriage, will I have
to visit my Nana and my Pop-Pop in different locations? Will any of this matter to me once I’m
there?
It’s difficult for me to think of heaven with any sense of
certainty other than my Savior is there and because of His substitution for
sin, burial, and resurrection, I know I’ll be there along with all the saints
who have believed in it also. I have
visions of the garden restored and being able to walk with Him – true relationship
resolution. There is part of me though
that wonders how much of our personality is pure, not needing to be changed
entirely.
I wonder if when I
get to heaven I’ll see a man who has a bucket of corn chips and gallons of ice
cream ready for visitors. If there will
be a woman who has a table full of mashed potatoes, carrots, onions, and all
sorts of food laughing the best laugh I’ve ever heard. Maybe some other man will have a stack of
records and always have them playing when you visit so you have the backdrop of
music to the conversation. And I wonder
if there is some lady with a serving dish full of mixed nuts walking around all
the gatherings handing a napkin to everyone allowing them to take their fill from
the dish, its contents never running out.
I’d be able to recognize them all for certain then.
Maybe in years to come people will visit me and I will say, “My
Nana lives just over there, do you remember her?” Whatever the ending will be, I know the place
I am going, whether it be thinly veiled or heavily concealed. He is with me now, He prepares a place for
me, and He will be there - The One for whom my soul longs and the object of all
the praise the saints have to offer. And
though on this earth we might wonder why we are here or what the purpose is, in
that place, there will be no question as to why we are there or what we are to
do.
My heart is sad for missing those who have gone before me,
but my spirit is envious they are with their Savior; in the presence of fullness, no more
questions, no waiting, only perfection.
And when you see it like that, I cannot help but celebrate the lives of those
so cherished here knowing they are home with the One who cherishes perfectly
and completely.
Stacy Rapp © 2018
