grandma // how beautiful Heaven must be

I am not sure why I am writing this entry. Or, where it will lead exactly.


Maybe because I have met someone very special. Maybe because a specific date in my past is approaching. A date that will be forever burned in my memory.


September 7, 2007.


The day Grandma went away.


Perhaps God is finally helping me grieve. Reminding me that it's okay to hurt and mourn. It's okay to cry. It's okay to feel. I am human, and humans are not perfect.
I never felt I had the right to grieve. I was just a granddaughter. Someone else hurt far more.
The recent weeks have been very trying. Emotionally and spiritually. Hidden feelings have been slowly trickling out into the open. Feelings I had locked deep inside myself. Refusing to acknowledge them. Memories I tried to forget. Memories of fear and pain.
But, also, memories of a simpler time in my life. A time of carefree childhood days.


On September 7, 2007, my world changed. In the blink of an eye everything was different.
I was just eleven years old. An eleven year old with fragile feelings and a close observing eye.
On that hot evening a soul was carried to Heaven. A place I couldn't imagine. A place where pain was no more. Where beautiful singing never ceases. Where the trials of this world are forgotten.


Where cancer isn't a word.

Grandma was just thirty-nine years old when I, her eldest granddaughter, entered the world. Six months along with her own baby, and another just three years old.
I grew up right alongside my two aunts, making memories and getting into all sorts of mischief. Grandma was ever present. Like my second mother. She sang to me. She gave me bathes and played with my toes.

"This little piggy went to the market. This little piggy stayed home."

"Rub a dub-dub. Three men in a tub. Who do you think they are?"


The last song always made me giggle, as usually it truly was three of us in a tub. Myself and the aunts. With soapy hair and wrinkled fingertips.


Grandma kissed me goodnight and hugged me hello. She scolded me when I was wrong, and comforted me when I was sad. Her smile could warm the cloudiest day, and some of my clearest memories as a little girl are of Grandma laughing.


She was a pillar in my world. Nothing could hurt Grandma. She was strong and wise. Oh to have the Faith of a child again.

Aunt Marissa, Grandma, and baby me

I will never forget the moment I first heard that word. cancer. I did not know then how powerful such a word was.


Seated in the back seat of the rig, we were headed home late that night after spending the evening at Grandpa and Grandma's. Mommy gently said, "Grandma is sick."
I will never forget my curious question. "Will I catch it? I kissed her goodbye."

Grandma was born sixty-one years ago on the plains of South Dakota. Her parents named her Nancy Elizabeth West, after her mother Clara Elizabeth, and was the fifth child to be born. Seven more would soon come after her. When she was just six years old, she left her home on the plains, and the family headed west. They settled in the beautiful majestic state of Washington, and there she stayed until she took her last breath and flew to Glory in Heaven.

Grandma grew up poor in a very musical family. Grandma herself never played an instrument, but she loved listening to those around her. She lived in an old Ford school bus and they traveled the roads picking for a living.  My great-Uncle's song says it better than I ever could. As he lived those days right beside my Grandma:

"I remember Papa in front of the fireplace.

Cheek full of 'tobacca', whiskers on his face.

His eyes were closed while his 'raws and bows' played "The letter edged in Black".

I've heard a lot of pretty songs, but nothing quite like that.

Mama sat next to the window in her rocking chair.

And listened to the music while the cool breeze teased her hair.

The long hard summer was well spent, the summer sun was gone.

And everyone was thankful that the picking was all done.

Cause we picked everything from a hazelnut to a plum.

We picked apples, beans, and berries in that summer sun.

And when the picking months were through and it was way down in the fall.

Heading home and back to school meant new shoes for us all.

Cause summer time meant picking beans for every one of us.

We'd pack our clothes and jump into that old Ford school bus.

And head out down the I5 Freeway, across the Oregon line.

And fill our bags with a hundred pounds of those good ole pole bean vines."

- O'Neil West

I have heard many stories throughout my life. Funny stories. Sad stories. Stories with a little bit of both sprinkled in. The West family are amazing story tellers and beautiful singers. Much of my little girl life was spent curled on a couch near someone I loved, listening to laughter and music far into the night. Guitar strumming to this day brings back those days. Those feelings of contentment and safety. 

The stories of Grandma were always good ones. She was quiet, but caring. Her siblings meant everything to her, and she loved her parents unconditionally. She always stood for what was right, and never backed down. Grandma had the gift of love and the gift of Faith. Her home was always open to anyone and everyone.

Grandma's life wasn't easy. She had many, many trials. Many times of pain. Emotionally and physically. She fought cancer, and the side effects of it, for over 20 years. She was first diagnosed with cancer when my own Mother was eleven years old, and would not finish her fight until I was eleven.
Yet, her faith never wavered. It was a simple Faith, but it was strong and true. Her life was inspiring. Is inspiring.

I am only a granddaughter. I know only what I have heard in stories and witnessed in those short eleven years I knew her. Someone else out there is far more informed and could write much deeper than I. Much more clear. All I know is my Grandma was my hero. Then, but even more so, now.

She loved her family, and would stand and fight for them with her very last breath.
She raised ten children beside my Grandpa, while helping run the family berry farm.
She loved the mountains, and passed that love down to me. Nothing seemed to frighten her. Nothing could harm her. Or, so I thought.

Grandma and Aunt Marissa - a few years before I was born

Hunting in the Blues

At the Ranch

I remember her baking cookies and banana bread in the kitchen. Blue countertops speckled in flour. We'd sprawl on the kitchen floor while she did with crayons scattered everywhere, coloring. The drawer under the oven where they were kept was too tight for me to pull out, so I often had to ask for help. Many times it was Grandma who came to the rescue. When we were done she would remind us to put all the crayons back into the container, and into the drawer.

I remember her sitting on the floor upstairs, house quiet and fan buzzing, while she folded clothes. Sometimes I would try helping her, though I am sure I made more of a mess. Still, she let me try. Gently showing me how to fold the sleeve this way, tuck the collar that way.

I loved when she would give us three girls baths, especially when she would finally give in and let us take one in her bedroom. I thought the bathtub in there was so romantic, with its blue carpeted step up to it, and how it was just right in the open of the bedroom! We would play in the water for what felt like hours, until Grandma said we had to wash up now. She'd pull out the soap, a bottle with eyes that made it look so fun to use, and pour some in her hand. Then our hair would be scrubbed and  rinsed beneath the faucet, one at a time.
I'll never forget how I stepped into the bathtub once, with my socks still on my feet. It was the strangest feeling! My face must have been quite comical because I remember looking at Grandma and she burst into hysterical laughter.


I remember grocery shopping with Grandma and Mommy, and sometimes Grandma would buy us doughnuts from the deli. I have not had one of those maple glazed doughnuts in years, but just the smell of them reminds me of those days seated in the cart, being pushed around the store.


I remember the way she used to hug and kiss me. Wrapping both arms so tightly around I felt I couldn't breathe, and she'd peck my cheeks over and over again before saying,
"Bubye. Grammy loves you!"

Not only did people love Grandma, but animals did too. Maybe because she had no fear? I don't know. But I do know that she had a way with them. She seemed to be able to connect with them, and they felt she could be trusted.

My world was perfect. I had cousins and aunts to run around with. Caring parents, and loving Grandparents. Nothing could harm my world. Nothing, expect one word. Cancer.


At first, nothing really changed that I could see. Grandma was still Grandma. She still drove me to the store, and smothered me in love. Then, things started to happen. Grandma would sit under a strange blue light for a long time. I would crawl beside her at times and she would play with my hair. She changed her diet, and began eating strange healthy foods. Piles of pills. She would tire easily and had to lay down sometimes to sleep.
Something dark was changing my Grandma. My hero. The strong pillar in my world.

The first big seizure I remember witnessing was probably when I was around seven or eight years old? Perhaps I am wrong in that though. I may have been younger.
I had stayed the night, along with cousin Colten, and us four kids were downstairs in the kitchen making pancakes for breakfast. We were so excited! We even had the table all set up with plates and napkins. Grandpa was at work, and Grandma was asleep upstairs.
I was standing by the table, Marissa by the stove, flipping the pancakes. Grandma came slowly walking down the stairs. I remember looking at her. Something wasn't right. Something was terribly wrong. She walked to the counter and leaned her hand against it.
Marissa asked, "Mom? What's wrong?" Grandma started shaking her head and rubbing her forehead with her other hand. "Mom? Are you having a seizure?"
This time Grandma's head shook harder and she turned her eyes upward, her hand waving into the air. Then Grandma started to fall to the ground. I remember hearing Marissa scream and trying to catch her. I panicked and ran outside, screaming for Grandpa. I didn't realize that he was at his office down town.
My Uncle Casey happened to be at the shop, and heard me crying. He came out the door and hollered back, "Huh?"
I didn't know what to do. I just called "It's Grandma... she... she needs help." I seen him jump into his truck and I turned and ran back into the house. Grandma was laying on her back on the kitchen floor. Eyes closed and, if I remember right, she had foam coming out of her mouth. Marita was the only one who knew Grandpa's cell number, and was on the phone with him. Uncle Casey came in, took the phone, and Grandpa gave instructions on what to do. I ran upstairs and stared out the lounge window, standing beside Colten. We didn't say anything to each other. What was there to say?
That memory has never left me. And I can still so vividly see it. Hear it.
The seizure did pass, and Grandma was able to get up and sit in a chair. But, the memory was forever burned in my mind. And those pancakes were thrown out to the dog.


After that, I realized just how sick Grandma truly was. I became afraid.
The seizures became more frequent. Harder. Stronger. My strong Grandma was becoming very weak. Strokes took her ability to walk, and in the end, her ability to talk.

Everything began to change. My carefree childhood days were now filled with questions. Anxieties.
Perhaps today would be the day? Perhaps today would be the day Grandma would go away. Each time the phone rang, the hair on my neck would stand up. Who would be on the other end? What would they say? Is it time? Is it Grandma?
Sometimes, it would be. We would load up and head to Grandpa and Grandma's.
Firetrucks.
Flashing lights.
Chills up and down my back.
Days would come where visiting Grandma in the hospital would be the new normal. Long quiet moments. Walks down silent, perfectly clean hallways. That sickening clean smell.

My 11th birthday - the last one I celebrated with Grandma

 

Grandma no longer cleaned and cooked. No longer did she warm up milk to help me sleep late at night. No more bath times. No more grocery shopping or mall trips.

Grandma was changed. Physically. Her hair fell out and she swelled from steroids.

But, her heart still shone with love. Her hugs were tight. Her kisses firm. Life was hard. Very hard. But she struggled on. She fought hard. For us.

September 7, 2007 will forever be branded in my mind. I will never forget that date. The moment I heard, "She's gone." The crying coming from the dining room that had been made into a make-shift bedroom while Grandma was in her last days.


Those two weeks before Grandma went away were hard. And yet beautiful at the same time. Something amazing happened. I was only eleven years old, yet even I could feel it. God's presence. Everywhere. Those days were spent at Grandma's house. With a hundred others. Morning and night blended into one. Sleeping arrangements were just wherever you laid down. The stairs. The back porch. The bathroom floor. Towels were used for blankets and coats for pillows.
I remember waking up in the middle of the night. Cousins sleeping all around me. Lights shone from downstairs and beautiful hymns being sung shook the rafters. I laid in the dark, my cheeks pressed between the wooden railings, just listening. Wondering. Maybe she had passed away. Perhaps they were singing her to Heaven at this very moment.


The day she finally did pass away, I was seated at the piano. Just playing little songs I knew with one finger. Great-Uncle Allyn walked in.
"She's gone." 
I remember he looked at me. My fingers stilled. And my heart stopped. The day I knew was coming, had finally come. Five years of questioning were over.

Grandma was gone.


Her suffering was over. Her body no longer was in pain. Her tears would never fall again. I felt nothing. I didn't cry. I didn't lash out in anger. I didn't smile.
I simply felt nothing.

My beautiful Grandma.
She loved Jesus with all of her heart.
Her family.
Mountains.
Hunting.
Hiking.
Animals of all kind.
Lilacs.
Charley Pride.
Rocky's Pizza.
The Ranch.
Four wheeler rides.
The smell of coffee, but she couldn't drink it. 
She was an amazing cook.
Had the most beautiful smile.
The best laugh.
Twinkling eyes.

I was young. I know no one is perfect but, as a toddler, in my eyes Grandma was. I didn't see her flaws. She was always loving and happy. Except when I had been naughty. *smiles*
Then her twinkling eyes would flash fire and I knew I had been terribly wrong.

Just a week or so before she passed away.

After she had passed away, the grandchildren were called in to give her one last goodbye kiss. I didn't want to. I wanted to run away and hide forever. But, I was pushed through that blanketed doorway. I kissed her quickly growing cold cheek, and then my Mom hugged me. I remember she was crying. I felt perhaps I should cry too, so I forced one tear to slip out. Just one, before turning and quickly running back out.
I don't remember much after that. I don't know where I went or how I even felt. That memory has slipped from my grasp. Perhaps it is a good thing.


The years to come would bring many changes. Many trials. Many moments of frustration and tears.
Time continued to tick by. More grandchildren would be born. There are fifty-three of us now. Over half having never met their amazing Grandma. I ache for them. How I wish they could have known her.


God has been working in my heart recently, slowly changing me. Helping me grow.


Teaching me to feel again.


I'm not afraid to remember those memories anymore. The good and the bad. They have brought me to where I am today, and I will continue to learn until my days on earth are ore.


People would tell me,
"You shouldn't wish Grandma back here. She was in so much pain."
And I agreed. Still, many times as I laid in bed and angry tears slipped from my eyes, I would pray and ask God,
"Why did you have to allow Grandma to get cancer in the first place? Why couldn't she have stayed healthy? She was so young. Only 51 when you took her away. She had so much more to live."
It took many years, tears, and moments of pain for me to finally believe that "God see's the big picture."


I rejoice in knowing Grandma is in Heaven. Her pain is no more, and she rests in peace forever.


I rejoice in knowing that I too will join her someday. I too will join the heavenly choir singing praises to the One and Only.
How beautiful Heaven must be!


Each day, each second, we are all one step closer to Glory. One more moment to thank God for. One more hour to fall on our knees and ask for guidance.


My prayer has always been, but more so today, that my life may be a light to others. By my words and actions. That when they see me, they see a fellow human. Someone who struggles and falls. Someone who is in need of a Savior. Someone who turns to Christ for everything.
Like the country song by Joey+Rory says,


"I see Him in you. And I hope you see Him in me."


I miss Grandma. I always will. Those memories of those days will never leave me. But, I no longer need to live in fear of remembering. Grandma's life was an inspiration to me. She showed me to always give glory to Jesus, even when life is hard. To love. To dream. To live in the moment.
I now can look at those days and whisper, "thank you."
Thank You for carrying me through that, no matter how many times I doubted You. How many times I lashed out and wondered where You were. Thank You for not giving up on me.
Thank you for the trials. Thank you for teaching me. Continue to teach me.  Until my life is no more. What a day of rejoicing!


How beautiful Heaven must be!