Dear Mema

I have too much STUFF!  I am simplifying!  I am throwing things away!  As I type this, I have FIVE bags of clothing waiting on the developmental disabilities organization to pick up.  I am cleaning out attics, closets, toy boxes, and all other  “storage” places.  Yesterday, I was sorting through old disk and found one with just my name on it.  I threw it into my computer to discover it was a back up disk Aaron must have made while he was fixing a computer for me.  In it, I found this.  I am posting it on here mainly to store and keep it.  There was nothing else on the disk I want to save. 

I wrote this at a time I was dealing with the passing of my grandparents.  They died within months of each other.  One died from a lengthy illness and the other was sudden.  In order to try and sort out my feelings and heal after their passing, I wrote this letter for to my grandmother, my mema.

“Dear Mema,

            I really don’t know how I am supposed to come to grips with your death to when I don’t understand what it means at all.  Sometimes I think Logan has a better understanding about what death means and he is only two.  Everyone expects an adult to understand the concept of death and accept it better than a child.  After all, we know what our faith teaches us.  We know the medical aspect of it.  Yet what it really means eludes me.  Logan just points at your picture and says that you have gone to heaven or you are asleep.  I guess that is the gift wrapped version of death, the nice pretty little picture that we paint in our minds to make us feel better.  How am I suppose to understand what losing you, my grandmother, really means?  How can I understand that I will never hug you again or see you run onto the porch as I pull up to visit you and Woodrow?  Forever?  Surely I will meet you again in heaven, but what do I do in the meantime? 

            I know that God has blessed me far beyond what I deserve.  I believe in his power and his love.  I know that God has a divine reason, a plan.  I wish he would fill me in on it.  I want answers and I’m sorry but I am angry.  Not at God, but at the plan.  Why can’t I see you again?  Why can’t I have one last conversation with you so that you can explain this to me?  What kind of plan takes an active, wonderful woman and causes her to suddenly fall into a state in which she cannot even do the littlest thing?  What kind of plan traps you in this state for six months before taking you away from us?  This is what I want to know.  I want answers.  I spent six months praying for God to take you and give you peace from the heartbreak and pain.  I’ve spent everyday since the day he answered that prayer begging him to give you back to me.”