Wednesday, November 23, 2011

the wedding bells ring

"This wasn't supposed to be hard"...gosh, how I could totally echo those sentiments that my cousin Sean expressed at my Mimi's service this past Sunday night. This wasn't supposed to be hard. This was supposed to be relief -- relief from the horrible anguish of watching cancer take over the frail body of my mom's mother. This was supposed to be what we all wanted, an end to suffering and a joyous celebration. My sweet Mimi was finally free, finally healed, whole and completely satisfied -- rejoicing in the glorious presence of her Beloved, her true Himself.

But there I was, at Mimi's wake/rosary service, overcome with grief and an overwhelming sadness that was totally and completely unexpected. Rewind to the three days previous, when I received the news of Mimi's passing late Thursday night, I was in a total daze. I went completely numb and didn't feel anything at all. I don't think I uttered a single word or had any sort of "normal" reaction. And then I fell into bed and slept a dreamless sleep. There was no crying, no embrace, no one trying to comfort me...nothing. I was racked with guilt, searching for a reason as to why I couldn't find the tears, but chalking it up to the fact that I was so happy.

I had spent a few weekends with her after her diagnosis and had witnessed firsthand the helpless reality of the painful suffering she had been living. I can hardly describe how difficult it was for me to be with her, but how undeniably grateful I was that I lived within such close proximity and was able to be by her side as she prepared for her heavenly wedding. Words fail to describe (as can be observed from my previous post) all of the emotions I felt as I held the hand of the patriarch of our family. She had become so childlike and the entire experience was surreal. From feeding her ice chips to turning her over to her other side, I (for a few brief spans of time) had become her caregiver and the previous roles we once knew had reversed.

I am beyond compelled to speak of my mother's love for her mother. I have never seen anything like it here on this earth. Her deepest desire was to care for her mother, but unfortunately, she has had a very demanding job that has not permitted her to do the very thing she wanted to do most. My heart breaks for her as she grieves the loss of her mother because not only is she grieving the loss of her best friend, but she is also grieving the time that she didn't get to spend with her. The few times she was able to take care of Mimi were an absolute privilege and her greatest delight.

I had wanted to speak at her service on Sunday night, but I was too slow and things concluded before I got a chance. Perhaps it is for the best as I would have probably talked in circles and quite possibly could have failed to get even two words out before I became an inconsolable blubbering ball of emotions. But had I been given the composure to articulate myself, I would have talked about the sweet memories I had with my dear Mimi -- the times she picked me up from the bus stop and drove me straight over to Dairy Queen to get a blizzard. It didn't matter what time of day it was or that dinner might be just an hour or two away, she always obliged my sweet tooth. I would have talked about her purple velcro walking shoes that she kept in her car for when she would "walk the mall" and the plastic rain bonnet she would don every time the skies opened up and showered us with rain. I would have mentioned how she called Michelle and I her "little monsters" and "trilby" and how she referred to pants and shorts as "britches." I would have talked about her joyful spirit and how she never ceased to sing praises to the Lord (and always had her tambourine in the car should the mood strike her). I probably would have cried when I reflected on how she called me "her little Rachie" over the past 5-6 years and how she would always wait up for me when I made the drive to Austin. I would have laughed about how she always wanted to see what I was wearing and never failed to declare how adorable or cute my outfit was, but the joke of all jokes is that my sweet grandmother was mostly blind in the last years of her life. I definitely would have talked about how I got to spend last Christmas with her and how she asked me numerous times to do the "reindeer dance" for her of which I have no idea what moves constituted said dance, but I did my darnedest to make something up on the fly that was reindeer-like.

But above all the memories, I would have talked about her spiritual legacy -- the fact that she prayed five of her children into the kingdom and that because of her prayers, her grandchildren (myself included) have a deep faith based on a personal relationship with Christ. Her prayer life blows mine straight out of the water (in case there was any question) and I'm fairly certain her dialogue with Christ was constant, not a matter or starting and stopping, but a continuous stream of back and forth. I always remember the folded card propped up next to her TV that asked "would Jesus watch this with you?" Oh, how I made fun of that little card when I was a teenager and oh, how I respect it now and how it has influenced that which I put into my mind at this point in my it TV, movies or otherwise. There is no doubt in my mind that she prayed for me every single day and now that she is gone, I wonder if she'll still pray in heaven for my husband.

I can't help but laugh when I think back on one of our last conversations. She was feeling my hair and asked me if it was curled. I let her know that it was and then she firmly stated that I must do this everyday and that I also needed to wear makeup...everyday. Much to my chagrin, I will attempt to honor her wishes, but if you know me at all, there will have to be an element of grace in following such an arduous regiment.

As I cried the "ugly cry" at her gravesite on Monday, I don't think I really knew or was entirely conscious of all that I was crying for. I am sad she won't physically be here to see me get married or have babies. I am sad I didn't spend more time with her when she was still alive and vibrant. I am sad I didn't just sit with her more when she was watching her beloved Fox News on television. I am sad that my memories grew fuzzy and I have trouble remembering her in her prime, before she started going blind and deaf, before she struggled to walk and before Parkinson's had affected her body. I am sad that I can't dance with her again or watch her delight in something I have baked just for her.

But I'm not sad for her. As St. Augustine once said "Thou has made us for thyself and our heart has no rest till it comes to thee." Her heart is at rest and her joy is overflowing. It is too beautiful for words and so I can only leave it to scripture:

1 Corinthians 15:54-55
54 But when this perishable will have put on the imperishable, and this mortal will have put on immortality, then will come about the saying that is written, “DEATH IS SWALLOWED UP in victory. 55 O DEATH, WHERE IS YOUR VICTORY? O DEATH, WHERE IS YOUR STING?”

1 Corinthians 2:9
9 but just as it is written,

My heart is overwhelmed with happiness for you, Mimi. Thank you for preparing the way and for laying the spiritual framework that established our family's hope in Christ. I will miss you here on this earth, but I am so happy you have made it home. I am so happy you have made it to your heavenly wedding and if I listen close, I can almost hear those wedding bells ring. You have "arrived at eternity's shore and death is just a memory and tears are no more."


Meggers1021 said...

Rachel, that is comforting to know that your Mimi is with the Lord, but I'm sure you are sad to not have her with you anymore. I love you so much and will be praying for you all.

elisa said...

this post is so truly beautiful, rachie. thank you for sharing your heart here. it blessed me and reminded me of things i had forgotten i.e. the plastic rain cap. Mimi is definitely still praying for your husband. God is good. i love you