six-minute sunday: sick and tired


I slept for 33 of the last 36 hours. I can’t remember the last time I was this sick. So this is a little late, Hombre, but since I'm still sick, I figure I scored myself a few extra minutes to write this overdue Four-Minute Friday.

Leaving Florida was sad, although a bit muted by not feeling well. It had been an emotional and crazy week, and I was glad to be leaving. Yet at the same time, boarding that plane was like peeling back a new layer of grief.

I still can’t believe that within 24 hours of Gram’s passing, we were already sorting through her stuff, making piles of things to keep, donate, or throw away. I wish we didn’t need to do it so rushed; it felt like we’d dwindled her life down to trash bags. I know it was only because of the circumstances, but still…

I’m trying to forget the worst parts of that day, those moments, and only hold onto the beautiful ones. (It’s a hard task.) My prayers really were answered. I'm so glad I was in America and could be with Gram and my family. I know you and I talked a handful of times over the years about something like this happening; you knew I'd want to be with my family if it were at all possible. It was a priceless gift that I was able to be with Gram for her last few days.

I’d even asked people to pray with me that Gram would go when we were all with her so that she’d be “surrounded by our love and wrapped in His peace”. And that’s exactly what happened.

God was good to me. And to Gram. I can’t imagine that she’d wanted to go any other way.

I’m so grateful she was never hospitalized; she never suffered from any long illness. I’m glad we didn’t have to call the list of hospices we’d compiled that morning or convince Gram to use any of the “old age supplies” we’d just purchased. She was strong until the very end.

I miss her.

I miss you.