Happy Little Trees

I lived most of my life expecting my granny’s death. It’s an odd way to always have a holiday prefaced with this statement: This could be Granny’s last ______ (fill in the blank, but usually most effectively filled in with “Christmas”).

Before I would leave for vacations and before I moved to California for a six-month mission trip, I was again covered with the fear that Granny would die, and I would be too far away to be there for her.

Don’t think that Granny didn’t enjoy enforcing this thought. Before leaving for the aforementioned activities, Granny would keep me on the phone to tell me in a tiny, half-crying voice, “I’m just scared that my sweet little Bethy will be too far away to come to my funeral!”

I would have to reassure Granny, “I’ll be there. I will not miss your funeral.”

All of my siblings and cousins and aunts all experienced the same thing. Granny’s funeral would be a must-not-miss family event.

Granny planned her funeral like most girls plan a wedding. She had every pallbearer listed, as well as the hymns to be sung, the officiate, and even the dress. To make things easier for the family financially, she also pre-paid for her funeral.

My sweet Granny did finally get her wedding with Jesus, and it was absolutely beautiful.

I miss her so. She was one in a million. She could make me laugh so hard, and loved me and spoiled me relentlessly. And her funeral was a not-miss event. Although most of the pallbearers on the list had already preceded my Granny in death (my sister’s nickname for her was Timex), she had a beautiful funeral. All the family was there. And I found out some beautiful things about her life, like how she visited and supported her long deceased 11 year old son’s class all the way through their high school years. The class had dedicated their yearbook to my granny.

I miss Granny. And I’m so glad she engrained in each of her grandchildren (although perhaps in a bizarre fashion), a yearning for the life beyond the life we live today.