The Saturday evening before my flight left for France, my mind was swirling with all of the last-minute travel details still waiting for my attention. As I pulled up to the retirement home to visit Grandma one last time, somehow through all the noise I could hear something whispering, “Go love on your Grandma now. She might not be here when you get back.” And so I did. We talked about my trip, my studies, my plans, and she told me she was proud of me. She told me she loved me. And we almost didn’t manage to let go of each other when we said goodbye. Her kisses were always the best kind of Grandma kisses, whether they were the messy ones for her little grand-baby or the sweet ones for her grown-up granddaughter. This time they were even more tender than usual.
I will always cherish the memory of that last visit with her.
It was a Saturday, so none of her favorite shows were on. Her TV was sitting on the dresser, dark and gray. Now it reminds me of the times I spent at her house when I was little, watching Wheel of Fortune, Jeopardy, and the Price is Right -- calling out the answers I knew and surprising her when I got them right. That was back when I was small enough to sit in her lap. We loved to sit and work word-search puzzles together in her recliner. As a matter of fact, I’m pretty sure I can attribute much of my puzzle-working prowess to her. Of course, I did get bored from time to time, and that’s when I amused myself by playing with her arm flab. She always rolled her eyes and scolded me, but I could tell she was just trying not to laugh. When we weren’t working puzzles or watching TV, we were playing Yahtzee or Dominoes and she was teaching me how to score points. Playing with double-nines sure was complicated for a seven year old’s brain.
Visiting Grandma also meant eating Cheerios for breakfast and wondering why anyone would want to drink prune juice every morning. I got to eat graham crackers and milk out of a big, green glass goblet for dinner, too, and for some reason, she even let me eat peanut butter out of the jar with a toothpick when I got hungry for a snack. It wasn’t often that she didn’t have a Werthers in her candy dish or a big jar of crisp chocolate chip cookies to munch on. That was life at Grandma's house. She used to take me to the beauty shop all the time just so she could show me off to all of her friends. I still remember climbing into her Lincoln Town Car to drive over there, mostly because her leather seats always burned the backs of my legs. That’s okay, though; I cherish that memory, too, because it reminds me of she always made sure I knew that she was proud of me -- always.
Life with Grandma wasn’t all about fun and games and cookies and trips to the beauty shop, though. She taught me the value of working hard, whether it was shelling peas, shucking corn, or studying for school. She also knew how to motivate me with quick mention of the fly swatter on the wall, and all it took was one look in her sharp blue eyes to know she was serious. I guess you didn’t always have to look in her eyes to know it, though. After all, it was dark that one night a hoodlum tried to break into her house, and all she had to do was let him know that she already had her shotgun in her hand. I've always been proud to have a Grandma like that. She was such a strong woman. (She was also rather strong-*willed* -- or tenacious, independent, stubborn...however you want to say it -- as anyone who knew her well could tell you. But that’s another story. We’ll just suffice it to say that now you know where I get it.)
My family would also tell you that I must have inherited my sense of humor from my Grandma, although I can only hope to one day have a wit half as sharp as hers (and to know how to use it half as well). With her sly sense of humor, she could always slip in the best quips when no one expected them. She always managed to look away so you couldn’t see her snicker, but if you caught her eye, you couldn’t miss that telltale sparkle. Those lively blue eyes of hers would always let you know when she was up to something mischievous, and that was a lot of the time.
We were always going somewhere when we were together, because Grandma was a woman who never let a day go to waste. She truly squeezed every last drop out of life: always on the go and hardly ever still! That’s actually how she earned her nickname: Verla Go Berkau. I know she was so happy that I had this opportunity to study in France. I think that I’m following in her footsteps, seeing the world and experiencing all that I can every day, and that makes me happy because it's just what she would have wanted.
What makes me the happiest, though, is knowing that my Grandma was a woman who loved her Lord and Savior Jesus Christ. She was a woman who left a strong legacy of faith to her family, and that steadfast faith not only touched my father’s life, but it has touched the life of every member of my family. She may not be with us now, but we will all see her again, and the next time we see her, she’ll be wearing her well-deserved heavenly crown. I’m sure the jewels will be a rich, royal purple, too; I can’t see her wearing anything else.
That last Saturday night I spent with Grandma, I asked her if she had any advice for a girl my age. I’ll always remember what she said: “Hold on to the Lord, appreciate what you have, and live life to the fullest every day, because you won’t be 21 forever.” Looking back on her life, it’s obvious that she lived by that advice, and I plan to do the same.
So, I guess this is goodbye for now, Grandma, but only for a little while. I’m holding onto the Lord, and I’ll see you soon. (Oh, and make some blackberry cobbler for Jesus, okay? I'm sure He'd love it.)
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