I am still not quite believing that today we buried my beautiful, wise, strong, kind grandma- just nine days after my grandfather's funeral. The only cause of death we have been given is of a broken heart.
This time feels more tender, more final- when Grandpa passed there was still Grandma to love. And yet we are gratefully aware of God's mercy. They had been married for sixty-seven years; she was only a widow for nine days.
They lived such a simple life- in their closets hang so few clothes, many made by my Grandma. My grandfather made most of their furniture, most of their drawers are empty. The only room that is full is the kitchen, where my Grandma performed her magic, and the study where she kept her books. She had a fancy sewing machine. They both had only an eighth grade education.
When they moved from the farm 17 years ago my grandpa built her her dream house- she had a pink kitchen, in fact nearly every room in the house is in some way pink. Frilly curtains hang from the windows. They designed it with family gatherings in mind, so that all the dozens of us could fit comfortably around tables, with a long, narrow closet off the dining room to store folding tables.
They grew up poor and were poor most of their life, and yet how rich they were! They were rich in faith, rich in love for each other and for people, rich in good works, and died without regrets.
She lived her one wild and precious life well. Very, very well.