Grandma Lois and I
I’m quite fortunate in that I have a job where I can pack up my stuff and work from most anywhere when my students aren’t in session. I was planning on driving back to my folks place in Wisconsin on Friday, until I got home and my housemate told me that if I was considering leaving on Friday I should surely reconsider. The snow was a-coming, and blowing pretty hard.
So in the time it took to get a couple of loads of laundry done, I packed up and headed north trying to beat the snow. I succeeded.
My reason for going back to Wisconsin: my Grandma Lois has terminal cancer. She and my Grandpa have lived in my hometown over the past 13 years after living in 4 countries and 15 cities throughout their life. If Grandma had her way, she would have moved to be with her grandchildren years before, but such wasn’t the case.
Americans seem to have a hard time with death. Other cultures seem to embrace it – we don’t. I was invited to share about Dia de los Muertos by a joint programming endeavor with La Fe (InterVarsity’s Latino Fellowship), Sheil Catholic Center, and the Department of Hispanic Student Affairs at the end of October for Dia de los Muertos (Day of the Dead).
(Does anyone else find it completely ironic that an evangelical white dude from southern rural Wisconsin was invited to speak at a Latino Catholic celebration? I do.)
Little did I know that the preparations I made would be for me more than anyone. I began to think of those in my life who would likely be passing to be at Jesus’ side. I grew up with a lot of “grandmas and grandpas” in my upbringing. I realized that in the next five years, I will probably be seeing the last of a generation that formed me.
Death is something we don’t like talking about in America. We hire people to prepare the dead when most cultures do it themselves. I wonder why that is. Any thoughts on why we are phobic of death?
As I’ve been sitting with Grandma, sharing stories over the last few days, I realize what a great treasure a life well lived is. I know very few folks who have “ended well” – whether it be in a job, a career, or a life.
Grandma Lois is ending well. We sat at her place for lunch, and she was still the consummate hostess, ensuring that we all had everything we needed. As I put my last bite of soup in my mouth, she asked if I wanted more. The woman can’t even stand, and she still is looking out for her grandchildren. A lump rose to my throat, and I told her I would love some more. She said, “Well, I’d get it for you, but i just can’t get up right now.” “I know, Grandma, that’s OK.”
We sit together and still laugh, cry, share secrets, and sometimes are just quiet as she holds my hand. There is something absolutely beautiful about a life well lived that is ending well – and for those those of us who are still called to press on, we need models of folks who have fought the good fight and finish the race. Because far too many don’t.
Grandma Lois is one of them. I’m proud to be her grandson, and hope I end well as she is.
