Grandma Wolf was an amazing woman. At 95, she slipped away today to be with Jesus. She was a sharp thinker, a hard worker. A strong Christian woman with plenty of words and opinions *smile*.
She was so strong, my dad commented one day..."I'm just afraid it's gonna be hard on her to bury the rest of us." She was always bouncing back. Yesterday, we thought she might this time again. But her race was run.
She lived with us in Cincinnati for many years. I am so very grateful for those years that we had with her part of our daily lives....through boyfriends, dates, senior recitals, showers, weddings, babies. What a priceless gift to have had her there in our home for those milestones in our lives.
She had her own little kitchen and pantry in her room, and she would putter around doing her daily tasks....I remember her morning coffee and toast with jam. We used to ride her chair lift up the massive flights of stairs in our old Josephine house. I remember one adorable picture of her in a hat at our little family Christmas celebration.
She was a writer. She wrote her own book...a dramatization of the Isrealites' Exodus....titled "Trip to the Promised Land." I can't wait to make copies of the book for my kids.
When we visited with her in July, she held Dad's arm and patted it and looked at him not unlike I look at my Corin. "This is my baby boy," she'd say, and smile and pat his arm. It was in the last days before her memory darkened completely. We are still smiling today because she was convinced during that visit that my three oldest children were my siblings and I. She was miffed at Kayla because Kayla said that my Dad was "Grandpa." Grandma said, "You don't know....Where's your daddy?" Kayla (wide-eyed) pointed to David. Grandma wasn't convinced and thought that Kayla (aka de? me?) had surely lost her mind. She was completely thrilled with Caiden's overalls. (Thinking he was "baby Garen II", no doubt.) Precious memories. Today, when I told Kayla the news of her flight, Kayla had sad eyes for a minute. Then she started giggling as she remembered how convinced Grandma was that my kids were us.
When Dad first called me today, I had several reacions. Tears and sadness, yes. And that relief that comes from knowing her suffering days are over and she has beat us to the finish line. Then my mind started scrambling for the regrets....the if-onlys. And of course, there are a few twinges of wishing I would have recorded more stories, asked more questions. But there is a sweet sense of joy...of NOT having regrets. Having her in our home and sharing so much of our life was a gift. And I have several books chocked full - in her own writing - of memories and thoughts and histories. I have her journal. I have her blood running through my veins. I lived with her the summer I turned 18 (I think it was) while I worked in Kansas. It was there - I remember the spot on her couch - where I made a drastic life decision. Her practical, honest words were guidance.
No...not regrets. Only anticipation.
And Heaven grows sweeter still....