Goodbye, for Now

In memory of Phyllis Callen
November 13th, 1933 - January 3rd, 2020

It was just a somewhat normal Friday morning. I say "somewhat", because it was the boys' last Friday before school started again from Christmas Break. It had been a crazy holiday season and I was trying to sleep in, enjoying the feeling while I still had time. I had just taken my CPAP mask off and rolled over when my phone rang. It was Matt, which isn't completely unusual, but still sometimes unnerving this time of the day; I never know if it's bad news or just a simple "good morning". This particular morning, however, it wasn't the latter.

"Your grandpa just called me. Your grandma died last night."

My whole world just imploded. My voice stuck in my throat, as I tried to push out the words that were spiraling out of control in my brain. Matt rattled on with more information, but I don't recall what it was. I was desperately trying to make sense of everything, but the fog of shock consumed me. "Sa...say it again," I managed to squeeze out. "Say it again, so I know this isn't a dream." My dreams are so vivid, sometimes. "Your grandpa called. Your grandma died. I'm heading home right now."

I ended the call and sat up. The room was spinning. She was fine. I just texted her last night, thanking her for the electric skillet she gave us for Christmas. Christmas. I just saw her a little over a week ago at Christmas. She was sore and feeling her age, but she was okay. Alive. Laughing. Here. Now she was gone. Just like that. I started to sob, but quickly got up and wiped away the tears. The boys. I had to keep it together, just for a little longer. Just long enough to get through the nightmare that would be breaking the news to them. They would be heartbroken.

I walked past the living room and glanced at them sitting there watching TV, not a care in the world. That was about to change, very fast. I looked at them with sad eyes. How on earth could I tell them? They adored Grams. I continued forward, to the bathroom, where I quickly lost it again. My mama popped up on my screen and I declined the call. "I'll call you back," I texted. "I have to tell the boys." I composed myself in the bathroom and walked into the living room. I sat in Matt's chair and called them to me. Great concern shadowed their sweet faces. They knew. They knew something wasn't right. My voice threatened to leave me again, but I fought it. "I have some very hard news, my loves. I wish I didn't have to tell you this, but you need to know. Great-Grandma passed away last night." My children, despite sharing the same genes, react to things very differently. Rob is controlled and doesn't emote right away. He is very much like his dad. Drew, on the other hand, is me. He immediately started bawling, which made me start bawling. Rob just stood there, staring at me, tears welling up in his deep, brown eyes. My heart broke. "I wish I could take this pain from you both. I wish I could shelter you from everything, including this. But I can't. Some things, I just can't. I'm so sorry." It was an honest sentiment. I want to protect them from everything this world has to throw out them. But I'm only human and death can't be stopped by mortal hands.

We sat and talked for a little while, as Matt walked through the door. I immediately stood and wrapped my arms around his neck. My earthly rock was home. I lost it again. I couldn't believe this was happening. It's not like we didn't expect it to happen one day, and I attempted to mentally prepare myself for the eventuality. But it was futile. Nothing fully prepares you for something like this. That hallow ache in your chest that just doesn't wane. A deep, shocking sadness. The desire to be near to someone, knowing you never can be again. That's a special kind of hurt.

Matt and I briefly talked. He hugged the boys and then headed out the door to go be with my grandfather. When he arrived, he was met by a sheriffs deputy outside. He was told that my grandmother was still in the back room and they were waiting on the coroner. He sat with my grandfather, who just sat in his chair, staring out the window. Matt probed him for more information. Grams wasn't feeling well the day prior and ended up going to bed early. Gramps offered to take her to the doctor, but she refused. I'm not at all surprised by this -- they are both so stubborn. When Gramps woke up the next morning, Grams wasn't up by the time she normally was. He went into her room and noticed she wasn't awake. She wasn't completely covered, so he went to cover her, expecting her to stir. But she didn't. She didn't move. He touched her, trying to wake her, but she was cold. It was then he knew something wasn't right. I am certain he was panicking as he called the paramedics. When they arrived, they confirmed his fears. She was gone. We surmise that she went to sleep and never woke up, peacefully passing in her bed. The coroner later confirmed that she had a heart attack, which probably explains why she didn't feel well the day prior. I pray for her sake that it was quick, that she didn't suffer. Looking at her spot in the bed, the outline of her small frame still visible as we stripped the bedding, she didn't thrash or struggle. Just simply went to sleep. And her poor husband of 68 years was the one who found her. Oh, my heart.

My mama and aunt purchased plane tickets and made their way north as quick as they could. They were there by the evening. We sat with Grandpa until they arrived. I had all day to sit and think and allow the shock of it all to sink in. I removed myself from the room, giving them space and time to deeply mourn with their father. The pain and tears ripped at my chest. I lost a grandmother; they lost their mom. Yes, she took me in at four, when my addict birth mother decided she didn't want me, and gave me a stable home. She raised me as one of her own, as best she could, especially when she didn't have to. But she was never a replacement for my mother. She was still Grandma. Extremely dear to me, but still Grandma. I could only imagine their heartache in the moment. Someday, I will fully understand. I won't foolishly attempt to prepare myself for that one. Absolutely nothing will buffer that blow.

The days following were nothing but a blur. Somehow, I was able to get up, take the boys to school, and continue breathing, all while Mama and Janice got Grams' funeral and Gramps' future in order. Matt and I helped where we could, calling on our sweet church body to help fill in some of the gaps. They rose to the occasion, providing meals and words of comfort along the way. I will forever be in sincere gratitude for them. Our pastor stopped by Grandpa's house one night, to provide comfort and to gather information for her funeral. Grams had split from her church a number of years ago, so I knew the pastor wouldn't be able to provide a decent service for her. Thankfully, my family agreed to have our church host and our pastor preside. He is a loving shepherd and dear friend and actually knew my grandparents from past hospital scares. I knew he would do right by her and, more importantly, by God. He sat in my grandparents' living room, surrounded by family and wild stories about my grandma. I assumed it would be a sad affair, but the more stories we told, the more raucous the laughter became. How could you tell a sad story about someone who provided so much joy? She touched so many lives and did so many things. It was fun to share that with someone. She was definitely one-of-a-kind.

The day of the funeral arrived and we were met with snow and sunshine. My church family had gone above and beyond preparing the church to receive our family and friends. Pepsi had so generously donated drinks and members of our church had provided food. The church was bright and decorated with Grams' pictures, one of her best paintings, and the aroma of sweet smelling flowers filled the sanctuary. The service itself had a simple elegance to it. Yes, it was sad, but just like the night we sat down with Pastor Bear, it was also filled with laughter and precious memories. Her favorite songs were played on the piano and a slideshow of her life was shown, prompting even more tears and laughter. Our pastor presented the gospel and told of Grandma's deep love and trust in her Savior. Her faith became sight that night and she will be with Him, forever -- praise God!

Our time with family and friends dwindled to a close, as folks started to file out. Grandma was cremated, so there was no graveside service. I have never experienced a cremation in the family, so it threw me a bit. But it was also kind of welcome. Death, ironically, weirds me out a little. I do not feel comfortable around occupied caskets, but her urn(s) were a little less threatening. For whatever reason, I agreed to take a small one home with me when my mama offered. Maybe it was an emotional response. Maybe I just didn't want to fully let go just yet. Who knows? Currently, it is sitting on my side table near photos of her, but I have plans to take it with us to the Oregon Coast, to "our" cabin that we stayed in for our honeymoon. She was so excited to hear about our trip and so badly wanted to experience it, as well, so I decided that I would take "her" with me next time and spread her ashes on the beach. My aunt and mama plan on doing the same, spreading her ashes on the beach in Hawaii and at the pier in California, respectively. Why not take her to the places she loved or always wanted to go? She adored the ocean -- what a great way to honor her, I think. The rest of her ashes will be spread on the farm and the majority have been buried in a plot adjacent to my uncle, Russ. Someday, my grandfather's ashes will join her.

The next day, we (the immediate family) had a small memorial at the cemetery. It was a beautiful, clear day and the snow sparkled like diamonds. It was cold, but the wind was calm just long enough for us, almost as if she had nudged Jesus and asked Him for a small favor. I could see her doing that, for sure. We sat before her beautifully decorated urn, placed next to a vase of flowers that could have easily came from her own garden. It was quiet and peaceful. Perfect. The 23rd Psalms was read by my cousin, Emily, Matt said a prayer. My aunt, Janice, unfortunately, became ill and had to settle for Facetime from the couch. Thank goodness for technology. It was hard knowing this was our final "goodbye, for now", but it felt right. It was closure; permission to move on and make more stories. Personally, I am driven, more than ever, to stay here and have one heck of story to tell her when I get there.

Before we left, I pressed a kiss to my hand and placed it on her urn. She has been a constant in my life since the beginning and I will miss her every day until the end, when I, too, get to go home. Yes, we butted heads from time to time, only because we were so much alike in many ways. But I will always love her and appreciate what she did for me. I will miss sharing my boys with her. Miss her phone calls. Miss making her laugh, which was was too easy. She was such a fun grandma and I know she loved me, even through my rough parts. She always had a game to play, a story to tell, or a craft to make. In fact, I'm pretty sure I have her to thank for my love of creativity. There will never again be anyone like her and I bet you anything she's sitting at our Savior's side right now, eyes twinkling, laughter cackling, telling Him one of her wild stories.

The broken parts of my heart are being softened with time, but they will always be there. I pretty big chunk was taken out and can't be replaced. But God will fill it someday -- the same day I get to feel her warm hug, again. I love you, Grams. Forever and always.

- - -

The day that Grams died, I sat at her computer, her possessions all around me. Time had paused for her; everything was where she had left it the day before. It was an odd experience. I happened across a notepad, filled with phone numbers, important dates, and quick math. But then I saw this. It was the reassurance I needed to know she was okay. She was with Jesus.


Later, my family came across this note penned by her. It came during a time when I felt lost and uncertain of the future.

I swear she was leaving these notes just for me. Thank you, Grams.