What Can Make Me Whole Again?

One of the really wonderful things about grief is how it cracks you wide apart, makes your calloused, crusty heart break open. Yes, it's painful, but oh, how refreshing! You feel like you can breathe again, for the first time in a long time. You notice that there is air. And how fine it is to draw it sweetly into your lungs.

Last Friday, after I got the call that my Grandmother was gone, I was in that fog of disbelief you enter right after you get such calls. My whole being was so heavy with loss that I just couldn't see any of the good in this situation. I knew in my head that my Grandmommy was in a better place, but that reality seemed very distant and the reality that I would never see her again seemed all too near.

But Sunday we got to see her and say a private goodbye. And then on Monday, we had the funeral. And I was gratefully amazed at the power of ritual to jumpstart healing. Here are some things that helped:

1. Love, spelled F-O-O-D. My grandmother lived out in the country and went to a little country church. With little old ladies who bake. Apple pie, chocolate pie, coconut cake, German chocolate cake. Squash and corn casserole. Homemade ham biscuits. My aunt's house was a revolving door of little old ladies bearing Reynold's Wrap. And then, before the visitation, they set up the church fellowship hall for us to eat dinner together, all the extended family. Barbecue, Brunswick stew, slaw, potato salad, hush puppies, corn sticks, fried chicken. And, of course, more cake.

And you know what? It helped. We just didn't have to think about what to eat. Or when. The food was just there, all the time. And the ladies who prepared it didn't ask anything of us, except to eat.

2. Viewing the body. I wish we still had the old southern custom of a wake, where you take turns with your family keeping vigil over the body of your loved one for 24-48 hours before the funeral. I know there are some who do not wish to be in the presence of a body without a soul, and I would never force that upon someone else. But I found that it was easier to believe that my Grandmommy was gone once I saw her dressed up for her funeral. The body resting in that casket was in no way my Grandmother. It looked very like her... but of course her beauty came from her living soul, so without it her body resembled a wax likeness of her. And I only had a few moments alone with this body, but I would have liked more time. If we still had wakes, I'd have volunteered for the early morning session, say, 1-3 a.m. That way I could have talked a while with her, no one else to hear me. I really did say everything I needed to say while she was still alive... yet it was comforting to me to say all that stuff again to her body, even though I knew I could say it anywhere and she'd still hear me.

3. The funeral, which was truly a celebration of Grandmommy's life. On the morning of, I arrived at my aunt's house right on time to get geared up for the procession. Before I even got in the door, my mother came out to meet me. "Your brother and K (his wife) are going to play and sing at the funeral today," she said. "Would you and your sisters sing with them?"

Oh, boy. I never saw this coming. Singing in the face of death is one sure way to make me cry... music cuts straight through your defenses, doesn't it? My mom knows this about me, too. I stared at her for a minute and finally said, "Can I wait and decide when I'm there? I don't want to get up in front of a whole crowd of people if I'm blubbering." She agreed, but added, "Your grandmother loved to hear you girls sing. She would have loved this."

Well, she was right. Growing up, whenever we visited my grandparents, we all had to bring our intstruments and sing for her. She loved gospel, so that's what we did - my dad and brother on guitars, me on banjo, one sis on fiddle, the other just singing. We learned to harmonize with each other and it was fun, and it became a bit of a ritual. Whenever we were visiting, we knew we'd sit around and make music together.

I walked into the kitchen, and my brother and his wife started practicing. My sisters came in and we all just listened, at first. Then we began to join in, and we found we could do it, sort of... as long as we didn't look at each other. We finished, and I thought, well, maybe. But I know myself, and I just don't see being composed enough in the actual moment to pull this off.

But you know, there's grace for situations like these. At the church, which is a beautiful old country church, wrapped in stone on the outside and timber frame on the inside, with gorgeous stained glass windows, we proceeded in. The pastor stood up and read some Scripture - the ones about how Jesus is preparing a place for us, and our hearts need not be afraid. Then he motioned to my brother, who got up and strapped on his guitar. Then, as one, my sisters and I stood up and joined him.

And we did it. We all got up there, kind of circled around my brother, and sang "Nothing but the Blood of Jesus." I didn't think about loss, or grief, or death. I thought about those summer evenings when we'd sit around her living room and sing till we ran out of songs. And I felt, not physically, but in my spirit, I felt her grip my hand like she always did. I felt that she was with us, beaming, filled with pride and love and joy.

Then, of course, we wept, but not without comfort. That smart old pastor, he followed up with Psalm 23 and the Lord's Prayer, scriptures you can speak along with even when your heart is broken and your mind is cloudy. Scriptures you can cling to, that remind you of the truth that no one who walked with Jesus ever really dies.

My grandmother loved that service, I think. It had her favorite scriptures, and her favorite people, and her favorite music. It had her grandchildren playing and singing, and it had the truth she believed in featured front and center. It was not about loss, or suffering, or fear, but about truth, and life, and love. Which is what she was about, too.

What can wash away my sins? (Her struggle with sin is done!)
Nothing but the blood of Jesus.
What can make me whole again? (She is whole again, mind, spirit, and body.)
Nothing but the blood of Jesus.
Oh, precious is the flow
That makes me white as snow.
No other fount I know,
Nothing but the blood of Jesus.
(And she is in His presence, forever, part of the great cloud of witnesses cheering us on.)

She is Gone

Funeral is on Monday. If you are a praying type, I'd appreciate your including me in your prayers. Losing a Grandmother isn't any easier just because she was old and had a rich, full, long life. Well, maybe a little easier, but not less painful, at least not right now.

Little Snippet

Well, I've started but never finished several posts. Can't seem to get my mind functioning at the necessary level. But here is a brief summary of what's up:

My grandmother (whom I posted about back in July) is dying. She's was diagnosed last summer with a terminal heart condition but seemed okay and just kept on being Grandmother. Now, however, it's the real thing... hospital beds, catheters, morphine. It's heartbreaking. My grateful voice says, You had her with you for so. long. And she was always fully herself. My anguished voice says, It is excruciating to watch someone suffer a slow decline, knowing it can only end one way but not knowing when. (That's the voice that I wake up to every morning these days. Hearing the grateful voice takes effort.)

My mother is at my Grandmother's house right now and has been for the last two weeks. I've been helping her out with stuff around here, which last night included riding out to her house in the thunder and lightning downpour to see about the COW in her yard. Yes, my mom and dad are holdouts from an older era... suburbanites who live 5 minutes from a major mall, who have lived there for decades and still keep cows on their property. Which is quaint, until you have to be the one to chase them down. In the rain.

As BFF Ruthie likes to say: God is good. God is in control. God loves you more than you can even imagine.

There is more going on... but now the kids are awake. I'm going to stop now and post this, so that it doesn't wind up with the same fate as its recent predecessors....

New Blogs To Check Out

A friend of mine at church has a new blog that I am REALLY enjoying diving into! It's really fun to read the blog of someone you know IRL... you see a whole new side of her personality.

She had a link to an article by Paula Moldenhauer that she just loved, and after I read it I just had to share it too. Below is a little excerpt; you can go here to read the rest.

I'm learning an important truth: God is the keeper of a mother's dreams. He is the only one who knows how to weave her unique talents and gifts into the landscape of her mothering. He knows the seasons she can reach beyond her family, and the seasons she can't. And He will bring into fullness the dreams He has placed within her in His time and His way. All the Lord brings her through as she is obedient to the call to her children will provide training and a deepening of character that will translate into her other gifts and callings.


I just LOVE that last line (not the part about being obedient, because, frankly, I hate having to be obedient, or anything that reminds me that I'm supposed to be obedient. Just think how interesting life is for God having me for a child!). No, I love the part about how he uses what we find mundane and ordinary and boring and tedious to develop in us the very skills we need if we're actually going to accomplish the things we dream about doing. I'm reading this and screaming, Yes! Yes! (But keeping it all inside.) It is EXACTLY like God to be all Mr. Miagi, with his "Wax-on, wax-off," making us think we're just washing the car when He's really teaching us karate.

Here is another blog that I am reading lately courtesy of BFF Ruthie - Cathy at The Catbird Seat. Funny funny gal. You can read her opinions about infant vomiting here and then you can SEE infant vomiting here! (Sorry, DH. Nothing for you to see, there - move along, move along. But everybody else - the video link is really funny. If you have a strong stomach.)

There! Aren't you edified?

Not In Kansas Anymore

I belong to a homeschool group with a very active email loop where we share info and ideas. One of the moms sent out a message today asking for help thinking through "middle school" with her daughter. She wanted to know how it looked different than the elementary years. Well, I thought that was an interesting question, one that I cannot fully answer as we have not yet completed this phase... but as we are smack in the middle of it, I could make a few observations. After I got done writing it, I thought I'd post the message here too. That way hopefully more of you who are surviving (or have survived) homeschooling for middle school can join in the conversation.

How Middle School is Different from the Early Years

1) We are less hands-on and more book-focused. I require more reading and more writing of my 7th grader than I do of his younger siblings. And since we do a number of outside classes with assignments given to him, I've discovered that he is far, far more capable of a greater volume of work than I had realized.

2) He can go deeper into a subject than I would go with an elementary student. So we can talk about why things happened instead of just what happened. It's funny - you can almost "see" the capacity for abstract thinking as it develops, just like you used to be able to see it when they were toddlers and were almost ready to walk. There are lots of false starts, and then they start "getting it."

3) If you haven't used them before, this is a good time to introduce textbooks. Not for every subject, certainly - we still use a lot of living books. But one good thing I have discovered about textbooks is that you can use their organizational format to help your middle-schooler learn outlining. In one of my son's classes he has to make an outline of every history chapter he reads. He looks through the chapter at the major headings and then the subheadings to create the outline. It's a nice, easy introduction to outlining because it's done for you - the model is right there in the chapter. Later, I'll expect him to be able to outline material without subheadings, but since he's had lots of practice where it's been given to him, I'm hoping it will make more sense.

4) There is more independence - my son does the majority of his work in his room, away from the rest of us, where it is quiet. I can give him an assignment and then he can go away and do it. But he still needs regular help. I sit down with him at least once a day with one or more subjects. Sometimes it's a math concept that he can't comprehend from just the textbook... sometimes he needs help thinking through a writing assignment. It's easy for me to forget that he still needs my guidance, but he does.

Oh yeah, and one more thing - he sleeps a lot. This is the kid who used to wake me up every day at 6:30 until he got tall enough to reach the breakfast cereal on his own. Now, he does not get up before 10:00 a.m. unless I ignite explosives under his bed. I figure, though, that this too shall pass - probably when summer arrives and waking up means not having to do school!