Changing of the Guard

Nothing in this world is harder than losing a loved one, unless you count those who have to sit and wait while that person slowly slips away. Everyone and everything dies. That’s just a fact of life. Does it make it easier? No. Of course not. No kind words, prayers, or morsels of wisdom can dull the jagged edge that’s ripped into your soul when you lose someone you love and who has been an integral part of your everyday.

As I sit here, my husband’s grandmother is slowly releasing her grip on this world. It hurts me. It hurts to see the pain that creeps into his eyes when he thinks about it. It hurts to know that, that look will go from every once in a while to a constant state in the coming weeks. It hurts to know that the woman who has become, not only a friend to me, but grandmother to my children, and who owns a prominent spot in my memories for the last 10 years won’t be there to populate the ones that are still to come.

Colt is the same age that I was when I lost my father’s mother. I have only a couple of memories of her and they’re vague. It’s difficult to realize that is all Colt will remember of her. . . a vague picture in his mind coupled with the stories that his family tells. It’s not fair, but it’s part of the transition.

Each generation deals with this. First you’re the kids, all play and fun. Then the teen that looks forward to “finally” starting your life. Then the young adult, marrying, starting your own family. It’s not until that point, the one when you’ve got kids of your own, that it starts to happen. Yes, every family has deaths. Accidents and illness are as much a part of life as births are. But those are different. Those are sharp jabs. Pain that comes sporadically and leaves you with a lingering ache. What I’m talking about is the tearing away and reshaping of your world that happens when the old die and the next generation moves up to take their place.

My world started shifting in the 80s, though I didn’t know it then. The first change was the loss of my father’s mother when I was three. The second my grandfather (my mother’s stepfather). The third the death of my great-grandmother (my father’s grandmother). The fourth, with my mother’s father. Mercifully, I still have my grandmother (my mother’s mother) and my grandfather (my father’s father). I know the change is coming, but I pray every day that it takes a long, long time to get here.

For my husband and his family that momentous change is here. There is no turning back and no reprieve. His father’s parents passed years ago, back in the late 80s and early 90s. His remaining grandfather passed the month before we met. And so it was that his Granny was the only person I knew of the “old guard” as I call our older generations.

Doris was the kind of person whom you always picture in the grandmother role. She was sweet, gossipy, and always cooking something. She loved her kids and grandkids. She loved talking to them and about them. I can’t count the number of times we’ve laughed over the fact that she’d complain about one set of grandkids to us and then turn around and complained about us to them! We all knew she did it and it was funny. That was just Granny.

And though she’s in most of my memories I’ve made with my husband and his family, the ones at Halloween stand out most in my mind right now. Granny always dressed up as a witch. She had a cauldron and sat outside, talking and laughing with whomever drove up the little dirt road to her house. She always had way too much candy and would spend weeks afterward trying to foist it off on whichever of her great-grandkids showed up. She was quick to laugh and quick to forgive. She spoke her mind, but always listened with an open heart.

When she broke her back last year and had to be put in the nursing home, we all talked about bringing her home with a nurse, but we all knew it wasn’t to be. We’ve watched this once vibrant lady slowly slip away, no matter how hard everyone has held on. She’s changed, just as everyone does at this point. Her full rosy cheeks have become sallow and sunken. Her ringing voice is silent and her eyes remain closed as she sleeps to the sounds of the oxygen and IV drips by her hospital bed.

The doctors have done what they can and we know what is coming. She is the last of the grandparents for my husband and his siblings. The changing of the guard is upon us. In less than a month my in-laws will become the next in line. My husband, myself, and my sisters and brothers-in-law will take their places. My son will continue his rapid race towards the place where we are now.

In less than a decade, it will be our turn to become the grandparents and my husband’s parents the great-grandparents. God willing, we’ll have many, many more years before another change takes place, but I know it’s coming. Child – teen – parent – grandparent – great-grandparent – change.

It hurts. God how it hurts. But it’s a cycle as old as time itself. And, as we prepare for the hurt and the healing that is rapidly approaching, I try to remember that it’s not the end. We’ve been through this before with other loved ones. Knowing that there is a God and that there is life after death for those who believe, I can’t help thinking that it’s just the cycle starting over. She is leaving this world and being born into the next as Jesus promised. Sad for us, happy for her.

I know she’ll be there waiting, along with those who went before, for the next generation to join them. Eventually it will be our turn and, while I intend to enjoy this life with everything I have in me, I’m not afraid. Knowing that my turn will come helps me get through. One day we will see her again. We’ll shift from this world into the next to be with our loved ones and our Lord. Until then, all I can say is good journey, Granny. We will miss you always and we will see you in God’s good time. Until then, remember us and know that you’re forever in our hearts and our prayers. We love you.