The Beauty in Our Wrinkly Grandmas
It had been a few weeks. She’d had a massive stroke and
subsequent little ones. She’d have days where she was unresponsive, and then the
next day it was like she would rally all of her strength. If Tyra Banks and
America’s Next Top Model never convinced you of smiling eyes (“smeyes”), Mary Lou
would have showed you perfectly that eyes really can smile even when a mouth struggles
to. She’d grab your hand with her one good hand and look you long in the
peepers. It was like she was trying to simultaneously memorize your face and communicate
everything she loved about you. She couldn’t talk, but she’d still force out
the most important words: “I love you.” “Goodbye.”
When I brought Sam over to her, only her second time seeing
him, she grabbed for his little knuckle-dimpled hand with her one working hand.
Sam gave her a smile, and she took that moment like a lemon drop and tucked it
into her cheek so the joy could linger as long as it would.
Beauty is the smooth fresh skin of a baby. Dimples and rolls
covering all the possibility and hope of a life just beginning.
Beauty is the wrinkled skin of a 91 year old woman. Loose
skin and laughter lines—a life emptied out and lived down to the last drop.
When I first met Mary Lou, I was struck by how when you’d
listen to her wide-eyed joy, you’d just know it: God delighted in this woman. I
knew she wasn’t perfect, and in some ways her life was messy. But she was
walking proof that God doesn’t love us because we are perfect, He loves us
because we are His. She radiated the joy of the Lord. She did. It was like this
part of her just refused to grow old and crusty. There was always something
fresh about her even when her bones were tired. She had a childlike faith and
wonder. She was downright spunky. She loved simple things like balloons, flowers,
babies and the bright colors of spring.
She was ridiculously generous. She didn’t leave a whole lot
behind, but that’s only because she spent her whole life giving it away. She
invested in her family—her worries, her prayers, her faith and every extra bit
of money she had. Our dreams were her dreams. When I think over the ten years
of holding her grandson’s last name and every time she helped push one of our
dreams to reality… I can think of one word to describe her generosity:
extravagant. She emptied and emptied herself for those she loved, always
trusting God to refill.
And then last Sunday, after a day of scattered rain and
autumn leaves, the kind of day where the earth smells fresh and cold, God said
it was time and Granma followed Him to her heavenly home.
On this side of heaven, death is hard. We cling to the hope
of eternity. Even though we know we must all die one day and we are fortunate
for the time we get with someone, death leaves a hole in us. It’s as though we
fill the graves we dig not with displaced dirt but with the substance of own
our soul.
We know we all must part with our grandmas one day, but how
we miss them when they are gone.
Vibrant, beautiful, generous, present, spunky and ours.
We miss you, Granma.
By Grace,
Amanda Conquers
PS. I know I haven't been posting very much these days. I have a project that I've been working so my posts will probably be sparce for a few more months still. Thank you for sticking around. I value you and pray for you... I really do. I look forward to sharing what I've been working on.
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