“He kinda likes me.”

“He told me He was going to take me home, and make me one of the angels,” Gam told me at dinner once.

He being God–and I loved how she didn’t preface or explain it–like He was obviously right there with us, at the table, needing no introductions. I remember smiling at the realization that she was right.

Then, without missing a beat, she said, “He kinda likes me.”

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Yellow

“Jenny . . . what’s going to become of me?”

“You’re gonna go to Cancun.”

“Cancun?”

“Or Pompano Beach. To go dancing.”

“I’d like that very much.”

“What are you going to wear?”

” . . . a yellow dress.”

“With heels?”

She smiles big.

“A long dress or a short dress?”

“Very short.”

(Of course. Like I needed to ask that question.)

On letting go

Gam’s in the hospital. Trouble breathing. Pneumonia. Morphine.

Life is shutting down. Things are shutting down.

Bodies once stong are shouting I quit. I’m done. I’m ready.

 “I’m tired,” she said. “I’m ready to go Home.”

I notice my fingers tight around my phone and my teeth grinding.

You’re not ready.

I want to see you again. I want to take more pictures. I want to hold your face in my hands and tell you how amazingly full my life has been, and is, because you have filled it.

That I’ve been mad at you, laughed with you, bragged about you, smiled with you, been-OK-with-life because in the back of my head/heart I knew it wasn’t just me on those bad days, good days, just-days.

Selfishly, I want you to stay.

I want one more time, lots of times.

I want my friends to meet you.

I want to show you where I work, and where I make coffee and where I go outside and stand on the roof when I get stressed.

I want to show you where I run and hike and where the deer live.

I want you to meet my husband.

I’d love for you to meet my kids.

Some people have grandmas. I have a great friend.

Some of us have family. I have you.

Some people feel blessed. I know it deeply.

I’ve had plenty of times.

Sprinkles-on-my-oatmeal times.

OMG-did-you-really-just-say-that times.

Wait-would-you-please-say-that-on-video times.

I-need-you-to-pray-for-me times.

Knowing-I-never-had-to-ask times.

I’m-so-angry-at-you-I-don’t-want-to-talk-to-you times.

Please-don’t-stop-hugging-me times.

There’s only one her–and I got to spend 30 beautiful years knowing that of all the grandmas that have ever been, God gave me Gam. What a gift.

So, about letting go, Gam–

How blessed am I knowing that the reason it hurts to let you go is that you never let go of me?

Times…I hope we’ll have more. But for now, know that it’s OK, and that I know.

Go drink a cup of real coffee. One that doesn’t taste like battery acid, or burnt socks.

Go hug Pop, and eat pizza, and go dancing, and drink Beringer.

Karate chop something. See how many boards you can break.

Take Fluffer for a long walk on the beach.

Make a new kerchief for your hair.

Go crabbing.

Feed the seagulls.

Sing with the Angels. I think you’ll see you were right about the right way to worship Jesus.

Teach Jesus your favorite kata.

Ask Him all your questions.

Dance with Him. I bet he’s got a special pair of egg shakers just for you.

Challenge Him to a game of Scrabble. I’m not sure He will be up for your version, but you can try.

You are the best old soul.

The ‘best old soul of the whole wide world.’

And I am blessed, blessed, blessed to call you Gam.

Thank you Jesus for giving me a ninja for a grandma.