What She Said About Me

What She Said About Me

Sarah talked my ear off.

That’s what she would say, but it was never a bad thing. It was always a good thing and I loved her for that. The way she made me feel is something I will never forget. I might forget all of the other things she said about me (or even to me) I might even forget about the way she made me pancakes or let me stay up late at her house, but I’ll never ever forget the way she made me feel.

Loved. Accepted. Enough.

There was never any judgment at her house. I mean it was such a safe place. When I was a rebellious teenager I would fantasize about running away from my “horrible” parents and the place I would picture myself running to? Her house. My grandmother’s small house on 24th street. I wish I could see her one more time. Whisper I love her one more time.

But she died almost nine years ago. October 31. It will be nine years this year. I know this because my sweet Titus was only four months old when she died. She was in the hospital when he was born recovering from her surgery. She would live four more months after that initial surgery; never really knowing my other babies.

And my heart aches to think how much she would have loved my sweet Titus so much. He reminds me of my dad, and I’m sure she would have seen my dad in him. They have the same personality it is crazy scary! And I’m so thankful she was able to hold him. At least in pictures we have her smile. And I can almost hear her giggle as she bends down to look into the face of her great-grandsons. My how much I miss her.

She would have laughed and laughed at my Emmalia because, well, she is mini-me. She would have said so, I’m sure. “Just like little Sarah!” She would have said. She called me “little Sarah” mostly because I think she still saw me as a small child, but also because I’m so short. Last I checked I was 4’9’’ – and she would have loved the little girl beside me now.

The one with a firey spirit and a bossy personality (just like her momma). And my grandmother would have loved, loved, loved all of the snuggles my Emmalia provides. And Emmalia would have had my grandmother wrapped around her little pinky (as she does everyone).

Her birthday is this month; so I’m thinking about her. Her last birthday she turned 77. I remember she told me, “My mother was 77 when she died. It is weird being 77; the age my mother was when she died.” She would die at 77 too.

And my grandmother would have loved every single second of my children. But she is gone. And she will never meet them on this side of eternity. The side of eternity that is filled with pain and memories and heartache, but filled also with time we did get to share. In my mind I can remember details I hope I never forget.
Pancakes. The cookies in jars on the counter. Klodike bars. Home and Garden butterflies on the wall. Pictures of her parents.

So I’ll tell my children about their great-grandmother. I will speak of her and remind them to remember. There is beauty and comfort in memories. And the hope I have, which gives me security and peace, is the hope I will see her again. Not a hope in a “I wish this would happen…” It is a hope we read about in the Bible. And it is a hope I will hang my very entirety on: I trust the blood of Jesus and give my life fully to Him; knowing she did the same. The hope of seeing in her heaven is a secure as anything here on this earth. It is not secure in her faith or mine – but the work of Christ.