Verna

Today, my grandma went home to be with Jesus.
It's a strange, bittersweet feeling having so much to say and no words to say it all with at the same time. But I'll try my best:
My grandma Verna is my last living grandparent. She lived to a ripe age of 93 and I know she would tell you she enjoyed a very full life; I know she's been ready to go home ever since my grandpa passed away about 18 years ago. But she stuck around and I'm sure it was mostly for all of our sake.
There are so many things that surround my memories and thoughts of my grandma: fearful moments of listening to Goldilocks and the Three Bears told over and over again when I was no older than 3, her retold stories from her childhood all the way through the present and the way her gums showed when she laughed really hard, her wavering vibrato singing hymns and always, ALWAYS harmonizing (not to mention all the songs she taught us as kids), her ability to never stop surprising us all...that's my grandma in a few simple words. She was an example of true love in the way she loved my grandpa and he her. She was also a never-ending example of the persistent love of Christ, always in pursuit, always patient, always hopeful and steadfast. My grandma endured heartbreaking hardships in her life, yet you would never guess it from the joking, gentle-mannered woman before you.
A memory came back to me over my birthday; we knew grandma was close to crossing over then and it was only a matter of days. It always shocks me how something we've anticipated for so long can still hurt so much when it comes to reality. And with that sobering fact came the flood of memories of every time I spent with her. But one in particular jumped out at me...one I almost had forgotten.
It isn't a profound memory. Just moments that I had misplaced until now that are now tenderly dear to me. I was a teenager. Probably fourteen or so and grandma wanted to spend the day with me. In Seattle. I wasn't entirely sure what to expect as I have no other memory of going to Seattle with her so I went along in anticipation of what she might have up her sleeve. I don't ever remember going through a stage where I thought grandma wasn't "cool." So I knew whatever she planned for us would be fun and memorable.
We rode the bus to the ferry and rode over to the big city. I don't remember how we got there but I'm assuming we bused to Pike Place Market and she took me to a small diner-ish restaurant overlooking Seattle's waterfront. It was simple, quaint, and in the heart of the market. Afterward we went to the ladies room before hitting all the stalls and drinking in all the sites of the market. I had just been given my first manual film camera, a metal canon that weighed as much as me, and was eager to capture everything. On our way out of the ladies room, I found my path blocked by a large burly man in biker gear. Grandma, in her sly ways, somehow maneuvered around him but I was blocked and he engaged me in conversation before I could escape despite grandma's desperate hand motions and gestures. With breath heavily laden with alcohol, he asked, "Are you a natural red-head?" The answer is no. I'm not even sure if I had red hair at the time which would make this story even more awesome but I honestly can't clearly remember. I answered no and before I could continue, grandma yanked me out of my captive state and we fled to safety but not without overhearing the drunken man continue his conversation with the empty place where I had been standing, completely oblivious I had disappeared. After a hard laugh, we continued into the market; the rest of the day was brimming over with coffee, little treasures, timeless pictures (one of which you can find in my mom's livingroom), fancy lotion, and then finally, our trip home.
I'll never forget that spirit of my grandma, determined, steadfast even when her legs would fail her, sure of herself despite wandering eyes. I hope to be like that someday no matter what happens.
It cannot be said of many people that everyone that knew them spoke highly of them but grandma was and is one of those few. I have never heard an ill word spoken of her and instead have inhaled and exhaled endless stories of her virtues, her love of children, her love of Jesus. And that in turn has fed my own love for Him and has deepened my foundation in the only foundation worth having; He is my only hope and I know He was hers too. And I can't help but smiling in my sadness because I know that my family's mourning is far out-shined by the great joy she is experiencing now. How I miss her...but how I celebrate the true beginning of her life, the only one of true worth, with her Savior. And with grandpa too.
Goodbye for now, Verna. I love you.