I Miss My Grandmother

(italics are words I’ve used in previous posts)

It was three years ago.

I remember.

She never understood my activism and progressive ministry. While I was at home for Thanksgiving, my grandmother brought up “the gays” (in her words). I asked her, “Have you ever been attracted to a woman before?” My question was simply too much for her.

I remember.

It was Thanksgiving. We were leaving my childhood home. Leaving was never easy with the kids. Collecting all of the bottles. Finding excess clothes. Changing diapers. Packing food. After we got everything packed up, we jumped in the car. I was ready to go. Then, the thought crossed my mind that I had to quickly stop and see my grandmother. We enjoyed a special bond. When I was away from her, I always missed her. The glass doors were huge. I slid them open. There she was.

I remember.

“I was hoping you would stop and see me one last time before you left.” I told her just how much I loved her. I prodded her to let me take a picture before I left. Leaning in, I gave her a soft kiss on the forehead and snapped a selfie. Though the picture was special, the interaction grew divine based on the last words she ever spoke to me, “I thought about our conversation, I want you to know that I am very proud of you and love is going to be what sees us all through.” Though I will miss her with all my heart, I believe her last words to me.

I remember.

A week or so later, I was sitting at Sunday dinner with my family. I got the call. My dad told me that my aunt had found my grandmother dead in her favorite chair. I did something that I never do. I cried. Once I stopped, I cried again. Having stepped out of dinner, I was alone in the back of our car.

It was three years ago.

Just last night, I was sitting in my office thinking about my grandmother.

Love remains.

Amen.