Prophetic

You might remember, in my post a few days ago, I said that "it's entirely likely that this was the last time I'll see Granny in this world." You might also remember that I reported that "Aunt Anne and Dad kind of summed it all up: she'll probably make it until Christmas, but it'll be a miracle if she makes it to Easter."

And so it is. Granny died this morning—Christmas morning—around 5:00 at Aunt Anne's house in Bozeman, Montana.

I had my phone on silent mode this morning, and when I thought to check it around 10:00, I saw there was a message from my mother. I listened to it, and it just said, "Give us a call," with no further explanation. I didn't figure it was anything that important. I'd talked to my family yesterday (that's when everyone there was able to get together) and we'd talked about everything that had been going on. I just figured that Mom wanted to talk to us on Christmas Day proper, that sort of thing.

Then, around 10:45, my phone rang again. This time it was my brother Aaron. He was the only family member I hadn't talked to yesterday (long story), so I figured he was calling to share holiday greetings. I answered and said "Merry Christmas" and he said the same, and I asked him how the holiday was treating them. "Not very good," he said. I asked him what was wrong, and he said, "Uncle Jim just called. Granny died this morning."

We talked for a few more minutes, and then Nancy and I talked for a few minutes, and then we called my parents and talked to Mom. She's handling things pretty well, being very philosophical about it all, but I can tell she's hurting, too. And rightfully so.

We almost lost Granny in October of 2001, as I mentioned in that earlier post. She had an obstruction in her lung and was too weak for them to perform surgery. It was only a matter of time until her body gave out, the doctors had told us. But after receiving a priesthood blessing, her condition improved dramatically, and she was out of the hospital in just a few days. But this time, it was not to be.

Granny was eighty-eight years old. She lived a full and active life, involved in educational, religious, and civic groups even as recently as a couple of years ago. She traveled widely. She sewed and quilted—the Christmas table runner we have on our kitchen table right now is one that Granny made. But family was always most important to her. She raised four children, and had nine grandchildren and five great-grandchildren (with more to come, as Nancy said). She spent a lot of time the last few years doing genealogy and family history research. One of her children, my Aunt Dona, died more than 20 years ago. Now Granny has joined her.

I was talking about all of this with Mom this morning. I mentioned that we had almost lost her before, and she said, "That's right. But after that, her quality of life was never quite the same." And Mom was right about that. Her Alzheimer's was more and more profound every time I saw her these past couple of years. She looked old, and frail, and sickly, a stark contrast to the active and energetic woman I've known my whole life. The energy and spark and fire that has always been there in her eyes has been fading these past few years. She was no longer the woman she had been. She wasn't really herself anymore. Now she's free of all that.

Mom told me that Dad had once again summed things up pretty well: "It's bad for us, but it's good for her."

So goodbye, Granny. Thank you so much for everything you've done for me. Thank you for loving me, for being an example to me, and for letting me know in no uncertain terms when I was out of line. Thank you for expecting the best of me, and for never letting me be satisfied with less. Thank you for being proud of me, and for being someone I was proud to call family. Thank you for introducing me to the Gospel. Thank you for teaching your children how to be good and loving parents. Thank you for being my Granny. You will always be my Granny.

Yes, it hurts now, and I will miss you. But in my heart I know, as certainly as I know anything, that one day I will be with you again. I hope that between now and then I can make as much of my life as you made of yours. May God keep you and give you rest until that day.

Monday, December 25th, 2006