Family and Faith

Dear Evie,

Yesterday, when you turned 32 weeks old, you were in the house when your great-grandmother, Memmaw, went home to be with God.  In fact, you were napping during the last hour of her life, and you woke up, if not exactly when she passed, then just minutes later.  About an hour and a half before she passed away at 5:04pm, I had taken you into her room because you were getting restless waiting in Aunt Linda's living room, playing with toys.  I took you in the room where Memmaw was lying in bed, and you listened to me and Granna and your great-aunts Linda and Kristy talk.  And you looked at Memmaw (who was, by that time, unresponsive) with a curiousness that only babies and children have.

If you're anything like your Mama, you will be puzzled by death for at least the first 30 years of your life.  I remember being so frightened of the idea that it would keep me awake at night, hoping that it was just some problem that no one had solved yet and that if I just spent a little more time thinking about it, I could come up with some concrete proof that there is in fact something on the other side.  When my Grandaddy (Dad's dad) died, the first of my grandparents to pass on, I felt so much sorrow.  Sorrow because I knew he was in pain - he died of lung cancer - and because I couldn't be there to tell him goodbye in person. 

Then, your Daddy and I moved back to Memphis in 2008, and just a few months later, I had the privilege of being in the room with Pappaw (Mom's dad) when he passed.  And that event gave me such a peace about the idea of dying.  Pappaw was surrounded by his five children and me representing the thirteen grandchildren at that time (Lydia came along the next year).  We said the 23rd Psalm, we laughed and cried remembering good times, and we all gathered together as he took his last few breaths.  Your Granna and her brothers and sisters had hugged him, and sent him from the loving arms of family to the loving arms of God.

And so, when Granna called on Monday to say that Memmaw was not doing so well, I knew I wanted to be there for her passing too, even though I knew that would mean bringing you along on the trip to Memphis.  At first I thought about seeing if your Daddy and Aunt Syd would be willing to keep you in Nashville, but then I realized that Memmaw loved being with her grandchildren and great-grandchildren and that it was more appropriate to bring you along.  You see, I remember for the last several years that any time we had some family function, be it a birthday celebration or holiday gathering, when I would tell Memmaw goodbye, her response to me was always, "It was good to be together."  And so, I brought you to Memphis with me on Tuesday, so that we could be together.

When you and I arrived on Tuesday, I went in to see Memmaw after I fed you and made sure Grannadaddy was willing to watch you for a minute.  Memmaw has always been a small woman, but I was surprised by how tiny she looked.  When I took her hand, though, she still had a lot of strength, and she squeezed it as I told her hello and reminded her, just in case she couldn't tell, that I was Emily, her granddaughter.  She smiled, and then I told her that we had a lot of people in the house, including two of her other grandchildren, and she said, "Well...  it must be a birthday."  She knew it must be some celebration for us to all be gathered together. And just 24 hours later, we did celebrate her passing.  She, like Pappaw, was surrounded by all five children, and three grandchildren, and we said the 23rd Psalm, we laughed and cried remembering good times, and we all gathered together as she took her last few breaths.

I hope that it will be a very, very long time from now that I will go and join that heavenly host.  But when I do go, I hope it is like Memmaw and Pappaw, surrounded by family and with hymns and psalms and good times remembered.  I doubt that you will be the oldest of five, so when the time comes, you'll have fewer siblings to help you, but I hope that you'll be there with me.  You know, in two hundred years, when it's time.