God be with you ’til we meet again
By his counsels guide uphold you
With his sheep securely fold you
God be with you til we meet again.
Til we meet, Til we meet.
Til we meet at Jesus feet.
Til we meet, Til we meet.
God be with you til we meet again.
Gramma died tonight at 10:35.
I had a feeling it wouldn’t be long when we visited her on Thursday. She was sitting at breakfast, but entirely unresponsive. She had her hands folded in her lap, clenched together, and she was bent over like she was trying to fold into herself. Her body was so visibly tired that I knew it must be wearing out, and I had the sense that she was finding that central place of letting go. I think she was doing things on her own terms. She didn’t want to be in the nursing home. She was in pain. She wanted to be done, and so she was…. Less than a week shy of her 93rd birthday.
As for me, it seems like the roll of the detachment dice landed on, “Once more for old time’s sake.” One more death to do by myself. I won’t bore you with the laundry list, but detachments and deployments are notorious times for our family to get the worst kind of news. I guess this last one couldn’t go out without something. That all sounds incredibly bitter. I really don’t feel that way. Mostly I just feel matter of fact. I made the The Red Cross notification call, and I’m mulling over what to do about the funeral. We just got home from going to see Gramma yesterday evening. She apparently expressed that she thought it silly for people to travel long distances for funerals and so she thought that I should stay where I was for hers. On the one hand, I believe in honoring people’s wishes. On the other, I’d like to be there to grieve with my family.
Anyway. My Grammy is gone. My last remaining grandparent. My heart will continue singing, “God Be With You,” the song that I sang with Gramma, and the whole congregation, holding hands at the Walnut Grove Methodist Church every Sunday I went with her.
God Be With You Til We Meet Again, Gram.
Stumbling Barefoot... 
I’m so sorry, Val. My thoughts are with you and your family.
Oh, Val. My heart just breaks for you. My thoughts and prayers are with you and your family. *hugs*
(((((Val))))) So sorry to her about your gram.
I am so sorry to hear about your gram.
Hugs to you Val.
Val I saw your update on facebook and “ran” here to get the details. My heart also breaks for you. Know that we are praying for you and your family and sending lots of love and hugs your way.
I’m sorry. Lots of prayers for you and your family.
I am so sorry, Val. No matter how old someone we love is when they die, it still hurts. I wish you peace as you go through this difficult time.
Praying for you today. Sorry things aren’t easy right now.
Oh, Val — I’m so very sorry! I honestly don’t know why things happen the way they do — it never seems fair. I don’t think you sounded at all bitter in this post. You just sounded like a wife, mother, and granddaughter who has been stretched to her limit — again. I’m so sorry it had to happen like this again — I wish I could do something to give you some space and time to ‘just be’. Know you have my most heartfelt prayers for your family.
Hugs,
~Michelle