Roughly one year ago, as I was preparing to leave for the
Race, I was given some exceptionally useful advice from my grandma, “Don’t come
home pregnant.” God only knows
what she thought this trip was, but praise God for her advice nonetheless.
In the 40 days since I’ve been home, I’ve yet to find
something worth writing about.
Re-entry is nothing like I thought it’d be-not nearly as hard, not
nearly as easy. My breakdowns have
been few and far between and the only thing that really tripped me up was
unique license plates for each state.
I’ve wanted to write. I’ve tried to write. But when it comes down to it, I had
nothing to write about…
…until Sunday.
On August 8, 2010, my grandmother passed away. After 75 amazing years on this Earth-23
of which I had the privilege to call her my Močiutė-the Lord finally called her
home.
I cannot think of a better subject for my first post-Race
blog than this incredible woman of God.
When I think back on my years with Močiutė, I can’t help but smile. From the food she made to the stories
she told, she truly was one of a kind.
Her home was like a safe haven-a place of hugs & kisses, laughter
& tears (caused by the laughter of course). From “steam roller” in the bedroom to running through
clothes racks in the basement, my childhood was far from boring at her home.
I’ll never forget the way she called me Dainele, when she
remembered my name that is. Or the
plans we made to go cruising for guys or when she taught me things to say to my teacher in German, though thankfully I never did. I’ll never forget the day I learned her secret tapioca recipe was really instant from Jell-O, and how that changed absolutely nothing
in my eyes. I’ll never forget the
haircuts I got, the coffee I drank, the feet that I rubbed. I’ll never forget the way that she
sang, the love that she showed, the kisses that never would stop.
There’s no forgetting a woman like her.
In 3 short days, I will bury Močiutė and, though my heart is
heavy and the tears do fall, I’ve come to accept her passing as His
timing. I rejoice in knowing
there’s no more pain or loneliness.
I rejoice in knowing that right now, at this very moment, she’s singing
praise to the Lord our God with Senelis right beside her. Yes, this time is bittersweet, but
death can’t wipe the memories made, the joy experienced, the love felt. Though it may try, death cannot take Močiutė from me, and I praise God for that.
