Don’t worry, Christmas purists, I am NOT listening to Christmas music before Thanksgiving. I have, I admit, been guilty of that heinous crime, but this morning I have old, slow hymns on repeat, and I have no desire to either change them, or even move.
It just seemed an apropos title for a blog post, because it happened around midnight. And though it had been raining and drizzly all day, the sky had finally cleared, which was good because after midnight a lot of people came in and out of my house.
Yesterday morning, my dad and I went to the funeral home to make arrangements for my grandmother’s nearing death. We wanted to take care of the details BEFORE she died because, let’s be honest, no one ever likes details, but details when yo don’t have the time or the emotional energy to deal with them become hellish.
He asked us to provide a clean outfit for them to dress her in, so last night I skipped Bible study, drove to her house, broke in because I had once again forgotten my key, and began rummaging through her things (she’s in hospice and has been at our house since mid training camp).
Up until that point, I was prepared for her death, She’s been in so much pain in her final weeks, it felt selfish to want her here.
But going through everything, her pictures, her tacky gifts, her clothes… it started hitting me. And then I found her wedding ring, the one she had spent YEARS telling me, “Natalie, one day a boy will ask you to marry him, and on that day, I’m going to give this to you.” But this year I think she realized she wasn’t going to make it that long, and she changed it from ‘one day,’ to “what day can we go get this fitted for you?” This always brought silent tears, because I understood that what she had always communicated to me as wanting most to see in my life was something she was accepting as impossible.
So I found the ring, started crying, put it on, grabbed a dress and left.
Oh, by the way, less than a week ago my boyfriend decided he was going to pursue alcoholic depression instead of me.
So I get home, and my dad’s in there with her, and he says, I don’t think she’s going to make the night. He asked me to stay with her, which I did, but around 11 my mom made me some eggs, so I went downstairs and just spent some time laughing with my parents.
When I went back up at midnight, she was white and stiff and cold.
And all those years of being prepared for her death served absolutely no purpose, because I LOST it.
I know she’s in a MUCH better place, where her body WORKS and her husband is there and she can delight in her Savior all day long.
I know that the Abuelita who was here didn’t even recognize me, and even if she had BEEN at my wedding, she wouldn’t have realized what was happening.
I know that she was a HUGE blessing in my life while she was here.
And I wanted her to die before we left for the race, because I know I wouldn’t have gone home for the funeral.
But I didn’t want it to be TODAY.
Anyway, once the funeral is over, my crazy hectic life will begin to normalize, and I’ll be able to get back onto race prep.
But first I have to get off this couch, and maybe shower.
I haven’t told anyone else that she’s dead yet. I think it’s partially because I don’t want the pity (because I hate pity), but mostly it’s because most of my friends knew her, and telling them means they can validate it…
I know this is long, but I wanted to let you guys know, because this has BEEN my life for the last two months. And right now, I’m not even excited about January coming, I’m not even excited about tomorrow coming.
Love you all.
