There are just some people I can’t say no to, and my grandma was one of them. She was little, soft spoken, gentle, kind, and loving. Each time I visited her, there were homemade cookies and punch on her table. She lived in a sweet home with blush pink carpet, her own artwork, and delicate tea cups were everywhere. She sang in choir and even at her age she had a beautiful voice. She was a part of the domino club and they would meet monthly. For a long time, she was an avid traveler (sounds familiar) and was forever ready for another trip to see more of the world. My grandma had the most refined, stunning taste in jewelry and always looked lovely. Her very favorite color was purple which she often wore. She liked murder mysteries and after she finished reading them, she gave them to me because she knew I also love to read. The paintings in her house were almost all her own work, and I remember ever since I was young, walking around her house looking up at her paintings and thinking, “Wow, my grandma is a true artist”. Once, she even painted a portrait of our dog. My grandma often talked with one pointed finger to emphasize her words and I thought, how do her nails always look so good! I aspire to still have perfect nails when I am her age. She was kind. Not just in the way people are kind to strangers because that’s what basic manners require. Rather, she was kind in the way she genuinely cared for others. She would always always share her seasoned advice for anything happening in my life, and she would start by saying with a smile, “I may be an old lady, but I’ve seen a little of the world and know what I’m talking about.” She did indeed have years’ worth of wisdom. In fact, she wrote me a letter (in purple ink), giving me advice about traveling the world for the race. I’ve carried this letter with me for nearly five months now in my backpack and her advice has certainly come in handy often. It also makes me smile. Its addressed to,
Kara, my darling princess.
For those of you who know me personally, you know I’m not really the “princess” type. But when Grandma gave me that name, I never had the heart to complain. Ever since I was young, I remember walking into her little house and hearing “my princess!” followed by a tight hug. And at first, I can’t say I liked it, because grandmaaaa, I’m not a princess. But over the years, the name has become endearing. No one else in the world will ever call me princess, but grandma will. At least I am her “darling princess.” I still sort of laugh and roll my eyes, but never without a slight smile. I like being my grandma’s princess. She made sure I felt loved, significant, special, and beautiful. To have had my sweet grandma speak that over me will have an impact on me for the rest of my life. Even though I may have pretended to be indifferent, I appreciated her words and will cherish being her princess.
Every Christmas of my entire life, besides this past one, has been spent at my Grandma’s home. She always prepared her signature goodies ranging from cookies, chili, Christmas dinner, to her famous cheese cake. As a family, we would sometimes play balderdash and sometimes we would sit up late and talk. But as you know, this year on the race, I wasn’t home for Christmas. And while I missed being with my family a little bit, I was perfectly content to be where I was.
Here’s what I am learning:
It’s easier to be apart from family when you both are celebrating. It’s a lot harder to be apart when you are both grieving. Grief is strange that way.
Today is my grandma’s funeral.
I am in Pretoria, South Africa.
When I found out about my grandma I had to decide if I should come home for a week to be with my family. After some thought and prayer, I decided it truly would be healthiest for me to stay on the race and not go home, simply to head back into the race right after.
However, when I woke up this morning, I would be lying if I said I was confident in my decision. While I can’t say I was homesick on Christmas, today I wish I was home more than any other day on the race. It’s not anyone’s fault, but here on the race, no one knows my grandma, no one knows my family. They can sympathize, but they can’t empathize. And being here, it doesn’t totally feel real. I feel like I am lacking closure I will only gain when I finally do go home. Plus, knowing my family is all together today celebrating my grandma’s life, I simply wish I could be next to them to celebrate her, too.
So, I took some time to remember her here and write things down and celebrate who she was and what she did, and the life she lived. I thanked God for the many years I got to spend with her. I thanked God for the way she raised my Dad because she did a pretty terrific job. I thanked God for the promise that she’s home and at peace with him. I wrote all this down and suddenly I didn’t feel so very far and disconnected. I can look around me, look at what we’ve done this last week, what well do this next week, and I am confident my feet are exactly where they need to be right now. Thank you God for your peace, your timing, your love, and your goodness.
Thank you for reading, much love,
Kara
