Watch-keeping

We just arrived home from a "suicide visit" to East Michigan (12 hours of traveling in a thirty hour period). My grandma, who seemed to be improving shortly after my last post, has taken an irreversible turn downward. Hospice. Hospital bed. Nothing to eat since Wednesday, barely drinking. All along I felt that I was okay with letting Grandma go from a distance. Friday as I was out running errands I felt this pinch in my gut. I needed to go home to say goodbye. I hesitated bringing it up to Matt, I didn't really know how we would execute this, but within minutes of me sharing it, he had come up with a plan. My husband is my hero. He works hard, loves well, sacrifices willingly, and engages fully. No post seems to be adequate to capture my utter admiration and adoration for him.

We bolted for my childhood home after Matt returned from church. Arrived about 9 o'clock EST, which is WAY, WAY past my kids' bedtime. There were several meltdowns, but once they got to Grandma and Grandpa's they were fantastic.

My grandma is a first generation immigrant from Czechoslovakia. She came in 1916 on a ship with her mother, Frances Kathryn Ledvinka. They left under threat of death during dangerous days. She came to Ellis Island. She was one of the nameless faces that you see in the pictures.

Through a series of events she found herself in Canada trying to farm in Saskatchewan. It was a hopeless situation. Great-Grandma and Great-Grandpa re-entered the US by indenturing themselves to wealthy land owners to work their fields as a means of passage. Upon arrival to Owosso, Michigan, my great-grandfater was diagnosed with inoperable stomach cancer. He died a painful, tragic death, leaving behind his wife, who spoke no English, and his two little girls. You cannot imagine, you cannot imagine the stories she's shared with me over the years. Perhaps I will share them with you over time... . You must not think of Grandma in soft, fluffy terms. She has always been proud of her nickname as the "Battleship of the Fleet." She was a tenatious, scrappy woman who has had to fight for almost everything in life. Tough, yes, but good? Oh, yes.

What you must know is that my grandma was the first one in my father's line to become a Christian. She began hanging around with the local minister's daughter, and part of their time together involved going to church. My grandma began to listen, heard, and received the message of Christ's salvation into her young heart. She dedicated her life to following the Lord, and has always been quick to recount the ways He saved not only her soul, but her life here on earth. When no one was for the "dumb Hunky," she was convinced the God was for her. When she was humiliated, victimized, shunned, God stood by her. When they had nothing, no food, no money, no hope - when Great Grandmother sat her two little daughters on the table and said sadly that she was sorry but since there was nothing left she would have to kill them now, rather than see them starve to death - how in that very moment a kind hobo knocked at the door, looking to rent a room for which he would pay a proper amount. God saved her time and time again. He gave her dignity and hope... which she gave to others... Her mother was a stoic, tough woman, who drilled her daughter about her whereabouts, so Grandma would have to recount the sermons for her, word for word. Great-Grandma became more and more interested. Grandma was convinced that if her mother found the Lord it would be awkward, she was sure she would shout and cry - and when Great-Grandma found out there was a way to be saved here on earth and in eternity she did shout with tears of joy.

So with great joy and bittersweet sadness I took a short watch with my grandma. I sat in the chair at her beside in which my mother has spent countless hours. I looked at the pictures of the old ships on the wall, ships that have reminded Grandma of her voyage here for as long as I can remember. Her breathing was labored, erratic at times. Her eyes were closed, her body was quiet. She would open her eyes and smile and little when I would say, "Grandma, it's me, Heidi. I'm here." I told her I loved her. I told her thank you for finding God and for giving me a godly legacy, how it has made my life so much better. I told her that Heaven awaits her, that she will see her mother again. But mostly I sang. My grandma has always been fond of my voice (this is the same woman who taught me the saying "Every mother crow thinks her baby is the blackest."). So I found an old, old hymnal and sang. One Day, Abide With Me, My Jesus I Love Thee, When The Roll Is Called Up Yonder, What a Friend We Have In Jesus, many more... but the one that really grabbed me was this little hymn:

Pass me not oh gentle Savior, hear my humble cry
While on others Thou art calling, do not pass me by

Savior, Savior, hear my humble cry
While on others Thou art calling, do not pass me by

Let me at a throne of mercy, find a sweet relief
Kneeling there in deep contrition, help my unbelief

Trusting only in Thy merit, would I see Thy face
Heal my wounded, broken spirit, saved me by Thy grace

Thou the spring of all my comfort, more than life to me
Whom have I on earth beside Thee, whom in heaven but Thee?

Indeed, Grandma, who is there on earth who has loved you half as well as God loves you? What hope is there in the Heaven other than that of the reality of your Savior, your Champion, Jesus Christ? Do not wait for me. I will find you there.

Love, Heidi