“Moses was 120 years
old when he died. His eyesight was sharp; he still walked with a spring in his
step. The People of Israel wept for Moses in the Plains of Moab thirty days.
Then the days of weeping and mourning for Moses came to an end.” Deut
34:7-8
As I read
this last night I was struck by the grief. That it was allowed for. It was ok. Sometimes
we think we just have to hold it all together and be strong, to just get on
with it. But it’s ok to stop, and weep and cry and mourn. To grieve. For days
and days they grieved. Together.
They wept.
Little did
I know, when I read that last night, that today I would be grieving the loss of
a precious Nana.
Today the
world lost an amazing woman. A beautiful, kind, generous, selfless, strong, loving Woman.
And it’s
overwhelming.
I was alone
when the news came. It came as a shock and it came too soon. Way too soon.
The tears
came fast and steady, and my mind filled with questions.
SO. MANY.
QUESTIONS.
Breathing
is an effort. Something so natural doesn't seem to be so natural at a time like
this. It’s like the wind has been knocked out. Breathe.
Brenton
arrives home with the kids. They enter cautiously. “Mum, are you sad?” “Are you
sad cos your Nana’s died” “Are you sad mummy? A little bit sad or a big bit sad?”
They cuddle me. Evy cuddles me for longer than usual. Zac asks “Can we watch a movie?”
Brenton
comes in and holds me. I sob. “Can we watch a movie Mummy?” Because in the
grief, in the heartache. Life goes on. The kids still need to be fed. They
still need our attention. I actually want the world to just stop. STOP! But it doesn't. We have a meeting tonight, the
last thing I feel like is a meeting.
I was going
to bake a cake for tonight.
She taught me to bake. During the weekends
spent at Nana’s and Granddads. Bananna cakes. And scones, the mixing had to be
just right … not too much or it’d spoil them.
The
memories begin to cascade. She taught me so much.
Colouring in between the lines. How to draw
without tracing. How to sew. How to play droughts. How to bake a cake.
It’s in the
oven now.
She was there. She was present. And when you
were with her, it was like you were the most important person in the world. And
as a child, she would get down and sit on the floor with me.
And she would defend me.
I knew I was loved.
She taught me blood wasn’t always thicker than
water.
‘Step’ never ever came into the equation. Family. Pure and simple. I knew
nothing else.
When Granddad died she made sure I had a moment
alone with him. Shooing everyone out of the room to “Give Polly some time.” I’ll
be forever grateful.
Polly. I don’t remember her calling me anything
else. “I love you Polly.”
People will
be arriving soon. Ah the meeting. We should postpone it till next week. The
phone rings. It’s for me. I can’t talk right now, my voice wavers and breaks.
Brenton talks. A friend offering love and support. Offering to visit. “Are you
sure a meeting is a good idea?” Last nights scripture is repeating on me. We aren't sure, but we are going to meet anyway. Because this is family right? And
grieving happens in community right?
She was there for my graduation. For my 21st.
Ahhh! My 21st. I made the dresses
for my party with her guidance. If it was too tricky
I’d ring
her and she’d talk me through the process. Eventually I took them to her and
she helped me complete them. She probably ended up making 90% of them.
During my flatting days she’d join my flatmates,
my mum and I for dinners out. Nights filled with hilarity as we talked “The
birds and the bees.” Not the normal conversation between a grandmother and her
granddaughter I’d imagine? So open. So honest.
At my engagement party, my wedding, travelling to visit us when our first child
was born. She’s been there.
And she was there in the in between times. When
life was trucking along as usual and when it was hard. She was trustworthy. She
would just listen. And then offer wisdom. Such wisdom. When I moved further
away, she was just a phone call away, always ready to chat. And as I got older,
she confided in me too. A deepening friendship.
So many memories.
And regret.
Regret that I text first, second and third
instead of just showing up over Christmas, so I could see her and tell her how
much I love her, how much she means to me, how her influence in my life has
shaped me.
Regret that I didn't try harder.
Regret that I didn't try to call yesterday when
it came to mind.
I had no
idea what today held.
The cake is
cooked and the kids are in bed. People are starting to arrive. They come in.
Brenton starts the meeting and looks at me, we don’t tell them. Not yet. We go
about business as usual. At times my eyes well, but I pull it together. The
meeting draws to a close. I bring out the cake and it’s good.
Brenton
shares the news. I cry. There is an empathetic sigh from those gathered. And we
pray. I can’t quite pull the words together, but they pray for me. And they cry
too.
They cry
with me.
Tears.
They didn't even know her. They never ever meet her. I haven’t known these people for long enough
to share much about her. But they sit here with me, they share my pain and they
cry too.
This is
family. Grieving together in community. She taught me so much, but if there’s
one thing that stands out above it all tonight, the gift she’s left me with
that’s most prominent, her legacy in my life; it’s that family is not defined
by DNA.
It is so
much more.
Nana, I’ll
miss you. More than you’ll know I think. I love you, Polly xo
"God is striding ahead of you. He’s right there with
you.
He won’t let you down; he won’t leave you.
Don’t be intimidated. Don’t
worry.”
Deut 31:8
“Let the beloved of the Lord rest secure in him,
for he shields him
all day long,
and the one the
Lord loves rests between his shoulders.”
Deut 33:12
