The Last Goodbye

Dear Grandma,

Growing up, saying goodbye to you is something I remember well. At the end of a visit, as my parents and I made our way to the car, you and Grandpa would follow us out of the house, no matter how cold it was outside, and stand there waving as we backed out of the driveway. And then you’d walk out to the corner of the garage and continue waving as we turned the corner and drove away.

It was generally right after those long waves goodbye that I would promptly lie down in the back seat and start crying… about how it was so unfair that I was the only grandchild that had to go home to Des Moines and how I wanted to live in Clarion too!

Goodbyes are never easy.

When I hugged you goodbye the night before you died, I had no idea it was the last goodbye. Last, with a capital L.

None of us did. We knew the end was approaching, I suppose, but there was no big fanfare to usher you out of this world. No poetic bedside vigil. No final words.

You died as you lived:  gracefully. . .  quietly. . .  not wanting any special attention or fuss made over you.

I wonder what you’d think of us now, so many people gathered together in honor of you. It’s true, you always loved a good party, but you’d probably prefer not to be the center of attention. You might just as rather be in the kitchen, cleaning up after us all, humming to yourself as you putter around.

You were always doing things for other people without looking for any recognition. You always wanted to give people something.

And, even now, as we mourn the earthly loss of you, I can see that you’ve left behind for us a lasting gift, and that is: a lifetime of memories and lessons.

I’ve heard it said that every life is made up of “ten thousand joys and ten thousand sorrows.” It’s easy to remember how you embraced the joy in life – you loved to laugh and you were always smiling.

But you also showed us how strength and laughter can sustain through even the darkest of times. You fought a long and courageous battle with Alzheimer’s, and you proved that no matter how difficult a diagnosis may be, it doesn’t have to dampen your spirit. Every day is a gift.

You built for us a legacy of love and laughter, and for that I will always thank you.

* * * * *

When you went to bed that last night, as you lay down, you looked up at the ceiling in amazement and said, “Look at all those people!”

I like to think that those were the people in your life who had gone before, and were now there to welcome you into heaven.

And I like to think that, for each of us, when our time comes to leave this world and move on to the next, you’ll be there, smiling and waving at us, ready to welcome us home to heaven too.

Yes, Goodbyes are hard. But some goodbyes are just the beginning.