Two nights ago, my grandmother on my dad’s side passed away. She was an extraordinary woman who lived an extraordinary life.
I went home this summer for her birthday. Somehow, I knew her 90th would be her last. I’m glad I got to spend that last birthday with her but am sad I can’t make it home again for her funeral. Grammie loved to travel. She was one of our biggest supporters when Benjamin and I were planning our move overseas. I know she was proud of me, and that knowledge brings me no end of joy.
I will miss her, but I’m so happy to know her earthly journey and it’s pain are over, and she’s home with Jesus and Grampa. If I were to write her a last letter, though, this is what I would write.
Dear Grammie,
I won’t be able to make it home for your funeral. I’m so sorry about that! I always thought I’d be there.
You’re going to have a big crowd, though! With ten kids, almost 50 grandkids, I-honestly-can’t-remember-how-many great-grandkids, and all the many other people you knew and loved, you’re liable to have people sitting in the parking lot for lack of space! You touched so many lives throughout your 90 years of living. I was always proud, growing up, when people asked me if I was Esther’s granddaughter. You lived a rich, full life and you added richness to the lives of many others.
You were a sweet woman but a sassy one, too. You were the godliest woman I knew but were also the person who, upon the occasion of my marriage, gave me the raciest gift at my Bridal Shower. I remember how your eyes danced as everyone gasped. I’ll never forget your recounting the adventures you went through in hunting down that gift.
I loved you for that sense of humor, for your willingness to push the limits and give people a little shock from time to time. I loved you for your sparkling eyes and big smile. I loved you for your gigantic heart. I don’t know how you fit so many people into that heart. It seemed you never stopped loving. Through joy and pain, your heart just kept getting bigger. As one of my cousins put it, “Everyone of us felt like your favorite because you had so much love.”
I’m sad I won’t make it to your funeral, but I hope and think you would understand the reason why. I remember you once told me how when you were young you made a list of all the things you wanted to do and the places you wanted to see. I think you accomplished a lot of the things on that list. But you said if you were to make another list all those years later it would be longer than your first list. You were an adventurer.
You and Grampa traveled before traveling was the cool millennial thing to do. You trekked across the US by bus with nothing but a tiny suitcase between you. You traveled to Germany and Israel and Mexico and I don’t know where else. Even after Grampa died, you didn’t stop traveling. You went to New Guinea to visit your missionary son. Cross country trips were regularly made for the sake of a wedding, family event, or just because. One of my favorite memories is ten years ago when we went to Jamaica together on a mission trip. We travelled to schools and worked with children. You were 80 at the time, but I think you outworked the rest of us. I’m not sure you ever stopped smiling.
I remember how happy you were when you heard I was moving to Taiwan to teach children. I hope you were at least a little bit sad to see me go, but I think what made you saddest was that you couldn’t come and visit. I remember your wishing you were just five years younger and able to make the trip. When we talked after I moved, you were also so full of questions about the culture, the people, the children, the food, and basically anything you could think of. You shared stories about your own travels with me. I never told you this, but I was scared stiff about that move. It was you and your example that gave me the courage to go.
I think you knew when you went on this most recent trip that it would be your last one. You were 90. You could barely walk. But you were determined to have one last hurrah. You traveled from Maine to Pennsylvania to Idaho to California. There your earthly journey ended.
I will miss you, Grammie. I’m happy, though, that you’ve finally gone on the final trip anyone ever takes. I know you were ready for it. You were ready for the pain to end. You told us again and again that you weren’t afraid of going. I’m not sure you were ever afraid of anything.
You will always be my hero. Your memory will travel with me and give me courage for the rest of my life.
You were a traveler, Grammie. And now you’ve traveled home.
Much love until we meet again,
Rachel
Words by Rachel Kaye. Photos by Ben.