This morning we rejoice because Granny, my husband's maternal grandmother, is no longer feeling pain, and she is in the arms of her savior. She will be missed by those of us who loved her, but we can still feel the joy of knowing that she no longer suffers.
I will always choose to remember Granny from the times that we spent at her house when my kids were little. We walked the block to her place at least once a week, and often more, and my little ones would play with toys that were older than their grandmother, watching out the door in case Papa came home from the farm.
Zaya would put on Papa's hats, and Granny always brought him a mirror so that he could see his own reflection and make sure everything was settled to his satisfaction. She never tired of this service, and I often sat in amazement that the two of them could enjoy the same game every week.
Granny was just that compassionate. She invested all her attention in her visitors and loved to know that the little ones were happy. Both of my kids spent their very first Sunday on the earth at Granny's house, as their tired Mama could rest and watch the local church service on the cable TV while my mother-in-law, Granny's daughter, held them and soothed their tears with much more efficiency than I ever could.
It's been many years since Granny recognized me or the kids. We were relatively new
additions to the family, and so were some of the first to leave when her memory started to decline with the advance of years. I know in my heart, though, that she loved us, and never for a moment did she refuse the hugs and kisses and smiles of the children when they came to visit. I don't think they would ever have realized that she didn't remember if we adults hadn't brought it up.
I look forward to seeing Granny again someday, and she and I will both laugh about the times we spent together, helping the kids to build with blocks, teaching them not to eat marbles, and letting them put on Papa's big hats.