Way Beyond the Sea

April 1st was the two year anniversary of the death of my maternal Grandma and for several days she’s been on my mind. I was with my Grandma when she died. In fact I was with her continually for about 4 hours before she died, and I am so happy that I was. Her death was… well, beautiful.

My Grandma was born a twin, but her baby brother was stillborn. My great grandparents thought my Grandmother would die within the hour as well, so they put her in a tiny shoe box lined with paper and waited for her to take her last breath. She didn’t. Instead, she grew up to be a 5 foot 3 inch force of a woman with a heart the size of Dallas.

Grandma wasn’t afraid of dying. I asked her at least a half a dozen times before she died, and she always answered truthfully. “No dear, I don’t feel afraid. I love you and your brother and your Mom and Dad. But I am ready to go. I want to see Jesus and I want to see your Grandpa.” That always made me feel better. And because she wasn’t afraid of dying, I wasn’t afraid for her to die.

My Grandpa died a few years before my Grandma. About 3 weeks before he died, my Grandpa stopped using his walker. He refused to even try to walk with it, because he insisted it wasn’t his. He said he had been to a big party in Leoti, KS (where he’d first started farming) and that he had seen many of his old friends and family there. There’d been a big bonfire and lots of laughter, but during the course of the evening, someone had taken his walker from him. He wasn’t sure why or how, but he insisted that the walker that sat in his room, the one with his name written in permanent ink on the handle bars, was not his. And since it wasn’t his, he wouldn’t use it.

I loved that he had been to this bonfire party with his friends in Leoti. Of course, he’d never left his room. But I believed him about the party.

Only a week or so after that, my Grandpa stopped eating. We didn’t understand what was happening, so we desperately urged him on. “Please Grandpa,” we pleaded, “you have to eat something.” He would try a few bites, but he would get frustrated with us. “I’m not hungry,” he’d snap, “I don’t want it.” I was racked with guilt. I didn’t want my Grandpa to be frustrated with me in his final days, but I felt that not pushing him to eat meant we didn’t mind if he died. It was awful.

I was at work when my Grandpa took his last breath. My Dad and Mom called me from the nursing home and I drove the hour to Topeka to be with them. When I got there, his body had already turned cold and foreign. I’d tried to talk to him in the car on the way to Topeka. I felt his spirit might be floating around nearby. I didn’t really feel anything though.

It was different with Grandma. We learned she had cancer, and although the doctors never really told us she would die so soon, I guess we knew. We called hospice and this amazing woman came to talk with us. She explained that Grandma would probably stop eating at some point and that that would be a natural part of her dying process. She explained that some families tried to force their loved ones to eat, but that it would only serve to complicate the dying process. She assured us that Grandma’s body knew how to die naturally, and encouraged us to help make her comfortable in that natural process, rather than trying to fight it. I was nearly drowned with relief.

Grandma lived for another 3 weeks after we met with the hospice nurse. Our conversation with her changed everything for me. Instead of trying to fight the inevitable, I embraced it.

For a few days before she died my Grandma had a song in her head that she couldn’t shake. It went like this…

I’ve got a home in glory land that out shines the sun,
I’ve got a home in glory land that out shines the sun,
I’ve got a home in glory land that out shines the sun, way beyond the sea.
Do lord, oh do lord, oh do you remember me?
Do lord, oh do lord, oh do you remember me?
Do lord, oh do lord, oh do you remember me? Way beyond the sea.

It was a song I’d learned in Bible School as a child, and probably hadn’t thought of since. My Grandma asked my brother and I to sing it to her and we did and she sang along. I remember how she sang the “do lord” part in such a sweet little girl voice, and with so much hope and anticipation. My heart swelled.

The night Grandma died, I think we were all more or less ready. Her breathing was heavy and labored and her voice had deepened to something that sounded almost supernatural. But she was in good spirits and told each of us how much she loved us.

Grandma talked about seeing Grandpa at the end of her bed one night during a dream. She said he’d come to assure her that he was fine and so I asked Grandma that night to do the same for me. “When you get to heaven Grandma,” I said, “ you be sure to come back and visit me in a dream so I will know you are ok.” “I sure will honey,” she promised, smiling. “I sure will!”

I sat next to Grandma on her bed for an hour that night as she tried to doze. She never really slept, but she wasn’t really awake either. She talked and talked as if she were having a conversation with a group, but it was hard to make out her words. Her conversation was happy though, that much was clear. At one point she opened her eyes and looked at me in surprise. “Are you still here?” she asked. “Well, for heaven’s sake, you go over to my apartment and sit in my big chair and just relax and watch you some tv.” I told her I would rather be there with her, but I think she had already tuned back out again.

Just after 10:00 pm she told my Dad she wanted to go to the bathroom. Dad helped her out of bed and started to walk with her the few steps to the bathroom door. She looked hard at the clock overhead as if to see if it was time yet, and then in the next few steps, slumped into my Dad’s arms. I like to think those were her first few steps into her new life, and I am so touched that she took them while we were all there with her.

We laid her back on the bed and my Mom and I sat with her. I cradled Grandma’s head in my lap and we stroked her hair and spoke softly to her as her body shuddered gently its’ final gasps of life.

In just a few moments it was over. It’s amazing how quickly a body becomes just a body. But this time I felt my Grandma was close by. And I knew she was fine.

At the funeral, I thought my Grandma’s body looked almost as beautiful and radiant as if she were alive. I spent long moments just looking at her, and because she never liked to go anywhere without her Kleenex, I stuffed several tissues into the sleeve of her dress. I still felt she was nearby, and because my Grandma always took great care with her appearance, I knew she would be pleased by how beautiful she looked lying there.

In the two years since my Grandma died, I have felt even closer to her than when she was alive. I find myself talking to her, sending up a prayer or asking for her comfort. I always feel she is nearby.

I’ve dreamed about Grandma twice since she died. The first time was actually quite frightening. I dreamed I saw her walking alone on a dusty, dirty road miles from the nearest town. I was able to give her a ride, but I was terrified because I knew if I hadn’t come upon her, she would have never had the strength to walk the rest of the way to town.

The second dream was different. I walked into a small white room and she was sitting at a table. “There you are,” I said to her. “I’ve been wondering when I would see you.” She looked up and smiled a big warm smile. She didn’t say anything, but it was understood that she was there to fulfill her promise to visit me. We hugged and then I turned my back for an instant and when I turned again she was gone. I was disappointed, but not surprised. She had come back to let me know she was ok. Knowing Grandma, she wouldn’t have had much time to linger. She probably already had lots of people she was looking out for over on the other side.

In the two years since Grandma died, I have found myself thinking often about death. It feels different to me now. No longer scary. No longer tragic. And no longer far away. Sometimes in fact, the veil that separates this world from the world my Grandma lives in feels very, very thin.

I love you Grandma. And I hope you are enjoying your new home in glory land, way beyond the sea.