Measuring a Life

How do you measure a life?

In moments? At 91, she'd had far more than she thought she would.

In memories? Through the years she'd made so many good ones. And she is in so many of my own great memories.

I think a life is best measured in love. And if that's so, my Memaw had a full life indeed.

She slipped Home to Jesus last October with much of our family close by. I like to imagine that she and Sophie Grace are kicking it with Papa, Jesus and all of the family that went before them.

Memaw not only knew how to cook a meal, she knew how to catch hearts too; She caught my Grandpa's when they were still kids. They were married almost 69 years. In this world, that's a rare accomplishment. When Papa was in the final stages of this earthly life, she said “I love you” and “goodbye” through tear filled eyes and prayed it wouldn’t be for the last time. I feel certain that had she said much more, it would have been something like: "Looking back, I really can't remember a time when I didn't love him."

As kids, we spent a few weeks each summer with Memaw and Papa, which we lovingly called “Camp Memaw”. Some of my best memories happened there. Memaw expected the absolute best for me and did not tolerate B’s. She was also such a support and encouragement to me; I always felt blessed at being able to call her mine. I’ve come to love being named after such an extraordinary woman. Her hands weren't afraid of hard, honest work. Her heart wasn't either. She knew how to cook, how to love, how to heal Talking Babies; how to make a grandchild grin...how to make things (and people) better.

She lived through the Great Depression and raised three girls while serving as her husband’s faithful secretary. She had a massive stroke the last few years of her life and she was never the same. She battled aphasia and apraxia (the inability to comprehend and produce spontaneous speech) with a laugh and a smile. I can’t imagine how frustrated she had to be (almost constantly). She also had the kind of faith that doesn't always make a splash on the surface but you know it's there and it's real.

Towards the end of last year, I had no idea I’d be losing my grandmother just 9 months after my granddad went to be with Jesus. The previous strokes Memaw went through certainly hindered her speech and caused paralysis, but none of these things are life threatening.

In early October, Memaw fell while in her bedroom. She landed on her hip and it became very obvious very fast that an operation would have to take place. If they didn’t replace the hip, Memaw would be in constant pain. She fought the idea of a surgery at first but eventually realized she had no choice. Although we knew the recovery would be difficult, I think everyone in my family felt like she would get back on her feet and back at home at some point. It was not to be. Memaw never fully regained consciousness after the operation (except for a brief 45 minute span that my mom said was “quintessential Memaw”). Although the doctors said everything went well, she was tired. Tired of fighting, tired of being away from her husband. She stayed in the hospital about a week until her kids decided to send her to an inpatient rehab facility. By the time she made the move, we all knew we were losing her. She opened her eyes and moaned a few times, but her spirit was weak and she was refusing food. The main purpose of moving her was to give her more time to pass on in her own time in a world class facility. While in the hospital, and through every single transition, Memaw was never alone. Someone in her family was there to hold her hand, offer comfort, anything to make sure she felt the love of the family who adores her so much. Her heart rate eventually slowed and her blood pressure dropped. I was in the middle of the fall semester, so I didn’t go see Memaw in the hospital or the inpatient hospice. I feel bad that I didn’t get to properly say goodbye, but my mom has assured me that I wouldn’t want to remember her that way.

Memaw always said that she didn’t want to die with an audience. She really preferred to live all aspects of her life with staunch independence and selfless-ness. On the day she went with to be with Papa and Jesus, Katie and I were at the A&M football game in Lubbock. I feel terrible typing that, but at the time, our lives had to go on. When we went to that game, Memaw was hanging on and we weren’t needed in Fort Worth. By the time we left the game, she was in heaven. My aunt and uncle had been with Memaw all day and left her room to get some coffee in the family room down the hall. They had just finished getting their coffee when Memaw’s nurse came to tell them that Memaw was having significant trouble breathing and said they should come soon. By the time they made it to her room, Memaw was holding Papa’s hand again. She died just as she had always planned.

When I got to Fort Worth the next day, I stood in my grandparent’s living room with my mom, sister, and other family members. Through tears, I thought of her life, how she made a difference in our family, and we even told stories. And in the most unlikeliest of moments, we even laughed. Because that's the legacy Memaw gave us.

At the risk of sounding completely selfish, I have a confession. In those final days, I was angry with Memaw. She was refusing to eat or drink, literally starving herself to death. She was hooked up to some IVs for nutrients but there’s only so long a person can survive on a small drip bag. I was upset because I felt like she was being selfish. I know that she was tired; she had every right to be. But I didn’t want her to give up. She has a family to live for! Six grandkids and 6 great grandkids that adore her. I want her to watch me walk across the stage when I get my Master’s degree. How dare she choose to die! I got updates on her condition from my mom daily. When she told me that Memaw wasn’t eating, I asked about a feeding tube. That wasn’t an option as Memaw had requested no end of life support and had also signed a DNR. We had no choice but to honor those wishes, even though it killed me inside. The night prior to her funeral, I expressed this anger to my mom. She’s so great; she tried to help me understand. And eventually, she did. Memaw was tired. She had been trapped in her own body, unable to speak or communicate in a way that wasn’t highly frustrating. She was ready to be with Papa and all her other family; she didn’t want to burden her family. Her not eating was her preparation to die. Although we never thought of her as a burden, Memaw hated not being able to be independent as she’d been almost all her life. I came to realize that she wasn’t giving up; she was ready to meet Jesus. And honestly, I can’t blame her! She is now free from all pain. She can speak and laugh and run down the streets of heaven if she so chooses.

Just as I never thought I would lose Memaw so unexpectedly, I never dreamed I’d lose Sophie, too. When Katie and I left for Fort Worth, I left my two dogs are my mom’s house with her dog. One of her law students was supposed to come by every day and feed them and check on them. On the day before Memaw’s funeral, my mom got a text that Sophie and Sadie were gone. Delilah, my mom’s dog, had stayed in the yard. Somehow they’d gotten out of the back yard and he couldn’t find them. My mom didn’t check her phone the day before the funeral, so she saw the message as I was on my way back to Lubbock after the service. In Sweetwater, Katie told me that she was following me to Lubbock (she had planned to split and go back to Wink) because Sadie and Sophie were gone and she didn’t want me to be alone. They explained what all had happened and I started bawling. Katie called my dad, who was in Lubbock, to see if he would go over to my mom’s neighborhood and try to find them. When he got there, Sadie was on the front porch. He tried to pick her up, but she growled and snapped at him. She wanted nothing to do with him. He ended up sitting in his pickup watching Sadie for 2 hours until I could get home. I am well aware that my dad is the greatest. She let me pick her up when I got into town, and we went on a Sophie hunt. I looked all over for her, calling her name. I even left treats on my mom’s front porch thinking she might sniff her way back to me. I cried myself to sleep that night, missing Sophie and praying she was okay. I searched again the next day. My mom had put an ad in the newspaper and I posted signs offering a reward. My mom also went to the animal shelter and dog pound in town to see if Sophie was there. She filled out an information card while there, thinking that if she was found, they would know she had a home. I haven’t seen Sophie since. About three weeks later, I got a call from the animal shelter that Sophie had been identified (by the tag on her collar) and that she was dead. She got run over. I never thought it was possible to be so heartbroken over a pet. I hated those weeks of not knowing if Sophie was okay. Was she hurting? Was someone beating her? What if she was hungry and cold? It killed me not knowing. Knowing that she was not being hurt became a small comfort. At least I know she’s keeping Memaw and Papa company. But oh I miss those ears!

I’m a big fan of Sonic happy hour. I love a good diet cherry limeade and half off is almost always enticing. As I was waiting for my drink in the days following her funeral, I realized something. Where my Memaw is, there is always Sonic, too. I kept reading the words "Happy Hour" on cups.

And slowly, through tears, I began to realize...this is the gift Jesus gives us. That death is not something to be feared. Instead it's transformed, redeemed, given back to us as the happiest hour when we go Home. Not because we're good people but by faith in Him.  Those left behind grieve; of course we do. Even Jesus wept. But somehow knowing that we don't ever do so without hope makes all the difference.

I am usually not one to sit and day dream about the what-if's and the could-have-been's. I find it makes me overwhelmingly sad... and in the end, it serves no good purpose.

Memaw and Papa are right where God wants them. And if I truly believe that... then conversely, I am right where God wants me. Whether or not it is comfortable or desirable... I am right where HE wants me. Most days, I am completely satisfied with that.

It is on the days I question or I miss them so much I ache, that I become discontent and long for my will, not His. Which, in turn leads down a path of teary sin-related thoughts and actions,

resulting in, to say the least,  a bad day. It’s really much more like a train wreck than anything.

Sometimes when I think about all the people  I’ve lost, I’ve wondered: If it hurts this much to lose someone we love so dearly, how much did God's heart break for all of us? Did he feel this pain magnified by millions? It’s unimaginable to me.

And then I became overwhelmingly thankful... that this earthly goodbye was not really goodbye.

To be quite truthful, this firsthand death experience was the very first time I really felt like it was temporary, not just spouting the right words to myself... but really knew that this "goodbye" was truly "see you soon."

As I miss my grandparents and my favorite black dog, and as my mom longs for her parents… I know we are both anxiously awaiting the coming of Christ, now, more than ever before. 

 

Memaw, one of the greatest women I’ve ever known, thank you for your life. I love you. I miss you more than words. Take care of Sophie Grace until I get there; if she runs from you, she loves you. Promise. ;) And please, give Papa a hug for me.