The night my grandma died was like any other night. It was a cold February evening when I got the unexpected call to make the 40-minute drive North. I watched her breath through a tube, knowing her piercing blue eyes would never open again. I held and squeezed her warm hand as I did I many times as a child, only this time I knew she wouldn’t hold it or squeeze it back. I felt the warmth fade in her as her fingers slowly turned blue as the minutes that made the hours passed, and she slipped away from this world and into the next.
The night my grandma died, the wind was still, and the air was cold and crisp as I walked back to my car for the long, lonely drive home. I walked into my dark house sometime after midnight where my husband waited for me in the kitchen with open arms. My three small children slept peacefully, unaware of the pains that come with the ebb and flow of this life. I sat alone in my living room holding a rosary and examining the beads, wondering, after nearly a lifetime of devotion, what it must have been like for my grandma to meet her Blessed Mother.
The night my grandma died, I didn’t know how things would feel moving forward.
They were the same, but they were different.
Time helped make things manageable.
Faith helped make things easier.
The night my grandma died, my faith and life would change forever. She was now without limits and able to move through me and in me, to guide my faith. There was a subtle, new sense of comfort knowing she was on the other side of the thinly-veiled wall that floats between us.
The night my grandma died was two years ago tonight.
Things are the same, but they are different.
Time helps make things manageable.
Faith helps makes things easier.
While this day shares the same date as the day she died, it’s also the day my soul came to life. So, while I feel sad for the physical loss, I feel gratitude for having been blessed with someone in my life who loved me so much that I can feel her pulling me towards her and clinging to me with hope, even in death.
“The world is thy ship and not thy home.”
– Saint Therese of Lisieux