The Unexpected Visitor

I was in Pennsylvania last week for my grandmother’s memorial service. In the week before leaving, I accepted people’s condolences, while at the same time assuring them that, on at least one level, her passing was a good thing.

It was fifteen years ago I’d gone to a family reunion in the Pittsburgh area. The kids and I were staying at the same small motel where my parents, brother and grandmother had taken a couple of rooms.

Sunday morning I’d gotten up, taken people’s coffee and baked goods orders and walked across the street to Dunkin’ Donuts. Back at the motel, I knocked on doors to share the bounty. After being unburdened of some of the load, I stood at the open doorway of the room Mother and Mom-mom were sharing. Mom-mom was sitting up in bed and I remember her saying to my mother, “Barb, give something to the boy,” referring to me.

My hair was short, though not as short as it is now, but I can easily dismiss this, even remembering that her eyesight was as good as mine. I’m not as well-endowed as some, and was probably dressed in baggy morning clothes.

But, that comment marked the moment I realized that Mom-mom was disappearing. I’d noticed other memory issues a year or so earlier - like when she made notes about our order before going up to the fast-food counter. But this was different. She hadn't recognized her oldest granddaughter.

Two years later, at the age of eighty, Mom-mom entered the security of a nursing home. I say security because she needed that, as she seemed quite adept at trying to go home. How many times did Mother go to collect Mom-mom from somewhere along the highway?

Death, in this instance, was not unwelcome, or even unexpected. This is not always the case.

Earlier in the month, our church lost someone in quite a different way – unexpectedly, leaving many of us in shock. After hearing the news I sat on the yoga ball behind my desk, staring, trying to take it in. Death can catch the breath out of us that way.

In one of his parables, Jesus confronts us about our assumptions. He speaks of the bridegroom not arriving as anticipated. The wait is longer than expected. And some of those whose part it is to watch, and then to alert the rest of the wedding party, are caught unprepared (Matthew 25:1-13).

How often do our assumptions get in the way of living the way God would have us live? Particularly our notion that life will go on indefinitely? I had wondered about Kay. How was the experience of Mom-mom’s death for her? She was only four when my dad died. Though she was never close to her great-grandmother, this was her first close, fully-aware experience of human mortality.

Sometimes people seem to think they’re invincible. They don’t think about death, so it isn't real for them. And this isn't just young people.

How do you find yourself experiencing life differently after a death? Would you take a moment and share what you have noticed in a comment below. If any conversation is worth having, this is one of them.

After our church friend died last month, I found myself saying or hearing over and over, “We just don’t know when… “and “live each day fully…”

With death’s unexpected visit, I faced mortality differently. I made more phone calls to Pennsylvania. I was more aware of the people who are most precious to me, longing to see their faces. And when I saw them, was surprised and even confused by the depth of emotion I felt. I’m not through unpacking all of this for myself; I’ll keep at it. Maybe you’d like to join me by looking inside yourself as well.

What assumptions keep you from living life fully?
What is God inviting you to let go of so that you can cherish each moment?