Yesterday, my family gathered at Foster Memorial Cemetery for some general gardening/reminiscing.
And then I went to an amazing worship service (filled with some of the greatest guitar solos I've ever heard) and sang "Better Is One Day." The morning after Grandma died, I sat at her piano and played that very song.
A year ago today, my grandmother died. I still don't know how to talk about the grieving process, mostly because it's been so surreal. There's a real freedom that comes from watching someone die, looking directly at death only to see life. The first weekend of June, 2008, was probably one of the most significant in my adult life. (For multiple reasons, only some of which are bloggable.) It was a giant learning curve. Life, death, beauty, fear-turned-fearlessness. It was all there.
In looking back, I reread my journal from last year. And I'll share little pieces of it with you. 'Cause you're all family.
I want to die like that....Yesterday, I understood, perhaps for the first time, "the peace that passes understanding." Because death shouldn't be so beautiful. But it was....It's like the very moment her spirit left this earth, my own fears dissolved away. The absolute assurance of her faith somehow seeped into my restless spirit.~journal excerpts, 2008
I miss you, Grandma. But I can't wish you were here. No moment of mortal life is worth exchanging for what you have now.
Grandma-related posts from '08:
300 (Scroll down. The Beth Moore quote still moves me.)
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