Death and tomatoes

I've been thinking about my Grandma lately. I always think about her in the summer. I picked my first tomato of the season this evening, and it smelled like 1989, and Ohio, and warm earth that squishes between your toes. Fresh tomatoes will always be Grandma. I grow mine with such pride and joy, even if they fail me, for to grow them is to blossom memories.

My Grandma was a strong, sassy lady. She was a farmer. A school bus driver. A dog lover. A floribunda fighter. A pyromaniac. She was amazing in the kitchen - I loved everything she made except scalloped potatoes. The only good potato, frankly, is a mashed one. My beloved Grandma died from cancer two years ago. Over and over it was said, she simply clings to life as one who does not want to die. She prayed for healing and I think she believed God would grant it to her. She wanted to stay. Even though she knew heaven would be amazing.

When you get the opportunity to wait for death to claim a loved one, your experience is much different than when death arrives unexpectedly. The grieving process begins much earlier, but does not lessen the pain of loss. You live in memories while the person is yet before you, but gradually, with certainty, slipping away. You have the chance to make all the plans, even get input from the person themselves on what they might desire for funeral arrangements. You possibly check off bucket list items. You go places. You talk. You cry. You say all the necessary words. You cry. You say all the words again. I don't think there is a process more physically, emotionally, and spiritually draining than waiting for death.

This is from the perspective of the living.

I always wonder just what is the perspective from the dying. Truly. What is it like to breathe your last? What parts of those final moments do you even understand? If it's painful, do you let go more quickly? If it's peaceful, do you linger a moment more to see the stars come out one last time?

We applaud those who make it back "from the brink." We call them heros - of what I'm not sure. You what, cheated death? No, you simply will face that spector another day. What indeed makes us fight so hard to stay here? To be heros? What reasons do we have to avoid death? One good reason might be fear of the unknown. Truly none of us know what it is to take that last breath. The door to that hallway is big and scary. We love big here. And leaving that behind is also enough to cause us deep pain. This life is good. Painful. And good. We do well to cling so tenaciously to such a gift.

My Grandma pointed me to Jesus, as a child, as an adult, and now in whose presence she is fully healed. She knows more joy today than she ever knew growing tomatoes. She has seen the nail prints that made it possible, and therefore, she now understands fully what love is. I can't imagine how the last two years have flown for her. Eternity is not something we can grasp. But eternity in beauty. In love. In joy. With the God who desires so much to be with us that He provided a story of redemption....

I have no doubt I will cling to this life with all my being when the time comes, because I love my babies, my friends, rain, trees... I hope it will not be painful because I know I would linger to watch the stars...

....and find myself in the presence of the One who created the stars. The One who calls me beloved. The One who traded his life for mine. The One to whom I owe a debt I can't pay.

And somewhere, I'm still so hopeful it will be on a big swing, under a big tree, my Grandma will be waiting to welcome me.