Last Tuesday my 87 year-old grandma suffered a heart attack and stroke. The heart attack was severe, the stroke minor. The night following her hospital admittance, she had a second heart attack. My mother flew to Lexington. On Thursday, the situation looked grave and my dad and I drove Friday morning to be with her, while my brother drove in from Virginia. During our Friday-Sunday stay, her external condition improved. She has been able to sit up for short periods of time, and reduce the medications taken by IV. Her catheter is gone. But internally, her condition remains somewhat critical. She is 87, and her body is accumulating problems that are not easily solved.
My trip to Lexington served two purposes. The first was to do the right thing by my family. It has been eight years since my last visit to bluegrass country. It has been five or six years since my last visit with grandma. When I was a child, our summer family vacations always began with a drive to Lexington. Sometimes it was a stopping point before going on. Many times it was the sole destination. As an adult, my visits have been infrequent.
The second purpose was to say goodbye. My grandma's condition is such that her death appeared imminent. Now that she has survived the weekend, her death is uncertain, to the extent that it's time can't be predicted. But it seems to truly be a matter of time. On Friday it was hours. Now, it could be days, weeks, months, or years. What is more certain is that it is unlikely I will see my grandma alive again.
Her emotional and physical condition did not allow us to share much joy or laughter. But, my extended family is rich with January birthdays, and so we celebrated with pizza and cake in her room. It was the first of my 37 birthdays celebrated outside of Iowa (though not the first in a hospital room).
I regret that I did not have an opportunity for one-on-one with grandma. Her room was full of other relatives, nurses, and doctors. If I had been able to talk with her quietly, I would like to have read her one of my favorite Psalms.
Come, let us sing for joy to the Lord, let us shout aloud to the Rock of our salvation. Let us come before Him with thanksgiving and extol Him with music and song. For the Lord is a great God, the greatest King above all gods. In His hands are the depths of the earth. The mountain peaks belong to Him, the sea is also His, for He made it, and His hands formed the dry land. Come, let us kneel before the Lord, our God and Maker. For He is our God, and we are the those that dwell in His pasture. We are the sheep of His hands.
My grandmother is Jewish. By my way of thinking, she will die and be apart from God for all of eternity, because she has not accepted the grace of Jesus as her own. I would like to have shared the part of Scripture (the Psamls) with her that is meaningful to both of us. I would like to have told her that the story did not end with God the creator and God the shepherd of the ancient nation of Israel, but continued through Jesus as God became the promised Savior, Redeemer, and Friend to all who accept Him.
But instead, I loved her the best that I could. I sat by her bed, held her hand, told her "I love you." I did the right thing, and I'm glad that I did. But, as I reflected driving home from the hospital Sunday night, the "right thing" doesn't seem like enough. I wish there were more I could do. I wish there were more that God would do for this part of my family.
My grandmother will be remembered by those around her as a strong woman who loved her family, enjoyed art, music, and good food. I will remember her as the tireless caretaker of my late grandfather, and as one who always expressed her love with colorful kisses and words of affection. When she passes, I know that a part of my life will pass with her, and I will be profoundly sad that our eternal lives, as I understand such things, will not be spent together.
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