For twenty-five years I have been listening to my grandmother breathe. It was a calm and rhythmic and steady breath. Sometimes I think her breath and my heartbeat were linked in some way. I was superstitious as a child and paid very close attention to patterns. My great-aunt passed on December 18, 1988. The following year, my grandfather passed on December 19, 1989. On December 20, 1990, I wouldn’t let my grandmother out of my sight and listened the entire night to make sure she was still breathing. As I grew, and we would have our “sleepovers”, I would still wake and listen. Her calm, rhythmic, steady breath would lull me back to sleep.
Several days before her passing, in the last moments of sleep, I felt the words “your grandmother’s gone”. It wasn’t an audible voice. It was as if my soul read it in the wind that blew through my room and it just registered with my conscious mind. The next day, my father called me and told me that I needed to come home. I booked a flight from Philadelphia to Pensacola. I prayed that my father was being dramatic and that I’d walk in the room and she’d be okay. Before I walked in the room, I heard her breathing. It wasn’t the calm and rhythmic and steady breath that I was used to. Her breaths sounded numbered, as if she only had so many left. Some part of her wanted to remain with us while the other part was being called to healing and completion and perfection. When I wasn’t spending time helping to organize the final arrangements, I was in her room, resting and just being in her presence. That night, I did what I had done as a child and had one last sleepover. I slept in the bed next to hers and listened to her breathe. I was lulled to sleep by my exhaustion. When I woke up, she was still with us.
Every time I would visit home and leave, I would always go into her room, tell her what I was going to do and where I was going to go, tell her I love her, give her a hug and a kiss and say, “I’ll see you when I get back.” There was never a time where I wanted to leave her, but life called, and Grandmama was okay with me answering. The very last time, I couldn’t stop saying, “I love you.” I told her to rest, and she did.
I cried in the airport, I cried on the plane, I cried when I got back to Philadelphia where I was working at the time. My flight landed around one in the morning, and I felt that she wouldn’t last. I slept the rest of the night/morning, and headed to the gym with the oddest feeling in my heart. I saw that I had a missed call from my father, and I knew she had gone. It was only by the grace of God (and the presence of my brother) that I got through that weekend of shows and two more shows during the week. After the last show, the curtain came down and I felt the fullness of my brokenness. I knew it would be a long road to healing after burying my beloved Grandmama Rosa Lee.
We both loved the color pink. We both loved Whitney Houston and Nancy Wilson. We both loved hats and bags and shoes. When my grandfather passed, we became best friends. We would have Saturday lunch dates at Wendy’s. Our Friday turn up would consist of TGIF and then we would read ourselves to sleep. When I was much younger, I would scream songs in the bathtub and she would say, “That’s wonderful.” I was told that when I was even younger, I would walk into the house and scream as loud as I could to announce my arrival. When I discovered words, I would holler, “GRANDMAAAAMAAAAAA” and she would reply, “WHOOOOOOOOO?” I would then run to wherever her voice was and get the hug I was always ready for.
When my grandfather passed, it took a toll on her more than any of us could imagine. I was the first one to notice early signs of dementia several years later. I was so torn, because all I wanted to do was take care of her. Forget life, forget college…I just wanted to take care of her. She was my world. I was worried. I wondered, “Would everybody be patient with her? Would they get frustrated if she forgot something?” At 17, I hadn’t talked with my father enough to know what a dedicated son he is. That dedication was shared with my mother and brother. We all took care of her. God brought beautiful caretakers to help us sure she would rest comfortably until her last breath, and that’s exactly what happened. So many people commend us for the care we took with my grandmother, but that’s our norm. That’s how our family does things. That’s our love language. If we call you “family”, we will take care of you.
As she got older and would talk less, the best thing in the world was to see recognition in her eyes and to see her smile and say, “I love you”. That smile. So beautiful. So honest. She was a radiant picture of grace. We would do everything to make her smile, especially my brother, because it was such a treat.
We know she is in a better place. Her soul is resting and in complete bliss as it is reunited with her beloved Roosevelt, my grandfather. Having her for so long on this earth doesn’t lessen the blow of her passing. The inevitability of death does not change the effect of grief on the body. Our movements are slower. Our voices are lower. We sleep a lot. We reminisce, we smile, we laugh, and then we break off and break down in our own little corners. There is a newness that no one can ever prepare for. There is a shift in energy. There is a changing of the guard. There is a mantle being passed and it is one of grace. My grandmother was a grace-filled woman. She showed us how to live and how to forgive. My father has many a tale of people who took advantage of her generosity. In all honestly, I didn’t want that legacy of grace. There are times where I want to fight. There are times where I want to defend myself with harsh words. There are times where I want to force people to see the truth when false words have been spoken. But the truth is, I’m just not wired like that and I never have been. I’m my grandmother’s “Princess”. That’s what she called me. I don’t fight. I don’t argue. When I take the bait and try to engage in an argument, I fail every time. I falter. I can’t get my words right and I don’t win if there is anything to be won. There may be times where I passionately express my beliefs, but those moments are few and far between. Unless I’m operating in grace, whatever I try to do is a failure. I realize that every action, thought and word is a seed that is planted. I will reap what I sow. If I’m sowing grace, that’s what I’ll reap. That’s the legacy she left me. My inheritance is to reap grace.
Living forward without her isn’t going to be easy for any of us. It was an honor for our lives to revolve around her care and comfort, and now she’s gone. While I was home, I’d twitch at 10 p.m., because that was around the time we would feed her and get her ready for bed. I know we all have gone into her room at least once a day to check on her. We look at the clock to see if the caretaker is on time, and then we realize that she’s not coming anymore.
Before I left to go back to work this time, the tradition of going to her room and kissing her “goodbye” was replaced by a solo trip to the cemetery. I stood at her fresh grave and cried. I cried thinking of how beautiful and rested and content she looked in her state of eternal sleep. I cried thinking of how she was perfectly dressed (in pink) like the grandmother that I had not seen in so many years. I cried tears of gratitude that she was finally where she wanted to be. I cried thinking of how our four hands – mine, my father’s, my mother’s and my brother’s – gently closed the casket while I kept saying, “I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you…” I looked to the left, over her mountain of wilting flowers at my grandfather’s headstone. His epitaph reads,”It is well with my soul.” Those words settled my spirit. I took a breath, wiped my face and returned to my car. I went back to the house, picked up my family, and for the first time in very many years, they all came to the airport to see me off.
We live because she lived. We will continue to live in grace and make her proud. I will be an extension of everything that she was. Moving forward with a heavy heart will only make me stronger. I will be kind. I will love in spite of. I will not make excuses for withholding grace that I so desperately need. I will pray her prayer, “Lord, help me to be a better person,” and live as if I already am.
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