Moving On

(I Don't Claim Artist Status)

Please note the wording of my next sentence:

My grandmother passed on yesterday.

I say passed on and not died because of the simple reason that the word "death" is much too final for the transition my grandmother's soul just made.

To die would be to cease existing, and my grandmother has not done that. She has simply left her frail and earthly physical form and took on a perfect and glorified body in heaven.

I'm happy for her, and didn't cry for her when she passed.

Although... I am terribly sorry for my grandfather; please, allow me to evoke tears by describing his "good-byes".

I mentioned in my last blog that my grandfather's faith was weak at best. Well..Mom-Mom's (my grandmother's) death certainly brought religion to my grandfather, he called the priest of our parish down to pray over my dying grandmother. He called himself weak and a sinner, said he should have done more. He told her that he would see her tomorrow in heaven and has since wished death down upon himself countless times since her passing. He's convinced that he'll be going to hell and that he'll never see her again.

And I...

I cried for him...

I cried for him as he pleaded with her to open her eyes. I cried for him when his knees buckled as he signed the sheet releasing her from her state of artificial living. And I cried whenever he looked at her the first time he walked into the room and gave a gasp and a moan at her shocking state.

I cried for her children.

I cried for my father who cried only momentarily on his older sister's shoulder because he lost his mother (only momentarily though, for he had to be strong for his own father). I cried when my big strong uncle laid his head on his wife's lap as if he was six years old again and had just woken from a nightmare...only...this nightmare was for real. I cried for my mother who was rife with guilt over her avoidance of my grandmother, convinced that my grandmother was always judging her.

Live as if your loved ones were dying tomorrow...remember?

I guess I wont be playing the piano for her any longer.

Depressing?

Well then, let us talk of poetic tragedy, shall we?

It was an on-going joke between me and Mom-Mom that whenever she hugged me my hair was always wet because I was just getting out of swim practice or just finished taking a shower. The last time I hugged her my hair was wet because I'd finished marching a color-guard for the parade while it was raining. When I watched her die, for I was in the room when they removed the oxygen tube, and I was there while her heartbeat slowed and stopped, my hair was also wet because I'd had an early morning swim practice and my hair had yet to dry.

My brother...well he arrived home that afternoon boasting a "Get Well" card he'd written for Mom-Mom at school that day.

And the good that came from this? What was God's intention?

Well...who can say what God's intention is, but...

My grandfather's faith is now firmly established; he'll be damned if he doesn't get into heaven to see my grandmother again.

My uncles, aunts and parents have never seemed closer.

I've been running and biking and exercising like crazy to work myself through any residual grief.

But who can really say why things happen? I can't even get my dogs to stay when I tell them to, I'm certainly in no position to try and guess at God's inner thoughts and actions.