It's been a trying week, and as I climbed into bed last night I was eager to see Sunday take it's bow, knowing Monday would bring a new week. Next week would bring me back to feeling better (this respiratory infection was holding a grip!) and I was eager to see the Plastic Surgeon on Wednesday. I simply wanted to hear his vantage point. The ultrasound/mammogram results were still non-conclusive citing "possible implant rupture" (that wasn't on my radar), "possible alloderm sling", "possible" we don't know what it is. Well, I like knowing. I'm a known kind of gal. "Possible" won't work all that well for me for the long term, so meeting with Lead Plastic Surgeon surely can help me narrow that down. We did this mastectomy to be peaceful and sure. "Possible" doesn't meet that goal. I'm feeling a biopsy in my future because "definite" is way more my style. "Definite" is something I can do. You simply pick it up and walk forward. "Possible" is too wayward for my liking. In just a minute you will understand, but we had to push the appointment from this coming Wednesday now to September 14th. I'm trusting God's timing. He's choosing this timing for some reason. So I'm being patient, and I'm pushing thoughts of "possible" aside while we wait. And I thank you in advance for prayers for this upcoming week and on into September as we continue on this path.
Late last night, my grandmother, Gena, passed away. She would have turned 98 this October. She shares a birthday with my wedding anniversary, and I can still see her smile as we brought her the birthday cake during our wedding reception. She had that kind of smile that was easily remembered. It was soft, and genuine, and seamlessly seeped into the rest of her face. Her soul was quiet, rugged yet softened by life's experiences, yet she had a hilarious candor and frankness about her. As I grew up, I started to detect an endearing pride and astounding faith underneath her surface, not newly surfaced, but newly discovered on my end. It's as if there was this whole side of her I was not mature enough to see before. I like that, discovering new nooks and crannies in people as you grow. It's like a gift that you get to keep unwrapping. But what I remember most about her was that she was resilient. She lived through the hard years of her generation and kept stepping forward. And in that, she was humble. Her last few years in life proved her resilience time and time again as she teetered in her health but continued to bounce back as if death was something she got to choose, when she was ready. She must have been ready on Sunday, and then, Monday came.
I wish I could step back and ask all the questions. I wish I could dig into the stories I've yet to hear. I simply wish. I'm built that way, nostalgic for yesterdays. Fearful of never discovering, or afraid of losing what stories just left this surface. I'm acutely aware today, the morning after, of how my memory of the deep set lines around her face will fade with time. There will be a day when I will have to rely on a picture instead of readily pulling the details of her face back into a memory. But I won't forget her resilience. Or the way her smile pulled you in. She's whole again now and her smile now permanent. It was 98 years of a life well lived, she serving me better than I could ever had served her, and I'm left in awe. This is a tribute that doesn't even begin to do her justice, but it's where my heart landed in these few spare moments I had to write before starting work today. She simply wasn't meant to be captured in the confinement of a few words. Her's is a story that will continue to be told.
She was my last surviving grandparent, so now I step over that threshold from grandchild to simply child. It's a place that may take some time to get used to, but we are all in good hands. Prayers for my parents and aunts and uncles as we all gather this week to celebrate "mom" and "mamaw". Prayers as we pull back into view the memories we've gathered over 98 years. She will be celebrated. Family will be celebrated. And I'm grateful in knowing that even in her death, there are memories still yet to be made. God has an uncanning way of bringing you back to awareness of life outside of yourself, back into a better defined perspective, and back into reliance and trust that his timing is nothing short of perfection. This coming week, that I was so acutely looking forward to last night as I climbed into bed, brought something different than I expected. But I dare say it will be absolutely full of blessings and renewing as only He can do if I just stay focused on His plan. For even in the loss of someone we hold dear and in the ongoing wait of life, he makes all things new.
