Five More Minutes
“She’s gone, chief,” my family and I lovingly admonished several times a day in the weeks following my great-grandmother’s departure from this earth. An ode to a David Letterman skit, the one-liner has been a go-to tagline for our family concerning the death of my great-grandmother, Pat.
She’s gone, indeed. And as it were, I find that in many moments following the death of a loved one, I realized how much I cherished, admired, and appreciated my great-grandmother for who she was, in the days following her death.
My great-grandmother could’ve brought empires to their knees.
A completely unique individual, Grandma Pat inspired me for many years and will continue to inspire me on into my adult journey.
Having traded in her troubles for a crown, we traveled back to her home just outside of St. Louis, Missouri. It was odd to wander through her house knowing she wasn’t there. It felt as though she were merely around the corner, taking a nap in her room, simply present but outside of our eye line and earshot; the light in her guest bedroom window tricking you into believing that she was home, yet when you came inside, the atmosphere was hollow and silent; the light merely a deterrent from detecting the house to be void and vulnerable.
The useless grandfather clock with his hands frozen in time, dead and no longer functioning, losing all sense of purpose, sat broken, as it had done for many years, in the dining room. The dreadfully out-of-tune piano with the forever-present wooden nativity scene depicting a lovely Mary and Joseph cradling a newborn baby Jesus sitting atop it, displayed sheet music with the title, “Leaving on My Mind,” in bold black letters left open; a memento to her abrupt departure.
There were certain things that came to me following her death; that mischievous twinkle in her eye; our shared love of Rootbeer soda; how, if we were sitting beside each other, her hand would fumble blindly for mine, merely wishing to hold it, lovingly stroking the back of my hand with her thumb; the way she would lean in as if to share a secret, only to whisper the most hilarious one-liner; the old beater car she drove with the missing hubcap and the license plate all wonky. (Seriously, it was missing the top right screw, and hung at a diagonal.) Not to mention, the bumper sticker slapped on the back reading, “Next mood swing in 60 seconds!” The way she always had the oddest assortment of things for me to take home – such as a pair of XXL pajama pants and a receipt from 1987, and how she wanted to have you over for dinner, always, even if it was just to have Subway sandwiches on a China plate.
I have two handwritten notes from my great-grandma that I have kept for many years. Her sprawling handwriting gracing the space for personal annotations and notes.
One, a Christmas card, reads,
“Dear Elizabeth,
We hope your college classes don’t keep you so busy you don’t have time to dream. We think you’ll do BIG things in your time here on earth,
Loads of love and prayer,
Grandma Pat & Grandpa Ben”
So simple, yet that line, “so busy you don’t have time to dream,” pierced the romantic in me, the sappy part of me that nobody ever really sees. It’s like she could see right into my soul from thousands of miles away, how growing up and leaving childhood behind and facing the daunting adult world was a lot harder at the beginning of college than I thought it would be.
Of course, adult life is great, now, but there was a loss of self, in some ways, at the beginning.
And somehow, she knew that.
The other card was for my 15th birthday.
For perspective, I turn 23 in two weeks.
I’ve hung onto this birthday card with a cat riding a bicycle for 8 years and probably will have it until I see her again one day.
It reads,
“Dear Elizabeth,
Fifteen! You’re all we hoped for and a whole lot more. Elizabeth, we pray God gives you just what you need, and that what you need is what you want. We pray for your education and your mate. We pray for your children whom we might not meet. But we do know that we want to be in heaven with you and yours. We wish we could see you more and know all the wonderful things we just have to hear about. We trust you’ll have a really great birthday - one to remember all your life.
Loads of love,
Grandpa Ben & Grandma Pat”
I couldn’t fathom it.
She and Grandpa prayed for things they would never see come to fruition. And they never did. Both have gone home to the Lord, but they prayed for my future husband, my future children, and the education they never saw me fully complete, leaving this world a few months shy of graduating with my Bachelor’s.
She wanted things for me, she was so selfless in that way.
It reminds me of that Elevation Worship song, “The Blessing,” based on Deuteronomy 7:9,
“Know therefore that the Lord your God is God; he is the faithful God, keeping his covenant of love to a thousand generations of those who love him and keep his commandments”
What I wouldn’t do for five more minutes with that woman.
A godly, selfless woman who gave me so many stories to tell.
The woman who sat and had tea parties with me, decadently served with Oreos and milk; the woman who always knew what to say and when to say; the woman who wasn’t afraid to go head-to-head with the best of them.
Can’t you give me five more minutes?
