Indecision and anxiety plagued me that day in April, 1992. Most of my classmates from Anderson University had gone home for Easter break. I hadn't. I had already flown from Indiana to Texas five times that year and was saving my last $250 for an emergency trip home for my grandmother's funeral. The decision not to go home had been a very difficult one.
Granny was in the final stage of cancer which had been found in her breast in 1989 and had metastasized despite removal of the breast. The metastasis was discovered in April, 1991, during a routine examination. We were all shocked. Granny had been doing so well! She had not had any pain or discomfort. Her doctor expected the cancer to progress slowly and advised that she spend time with her family and get her affairs in order.
During the summer of 1991, Granny continued to attend church and participate fully in family and church events. Her ill health did not become evident until October, when she began having pain in her hip. An examination showed that the cancer was progressing and now affected the bone. She was treated with chemotherapy and radiation in the hope that the progress would be slowed.
On November 6, I received an email from my mother informing me of these recent changes in Granny's health. I was aware of the seriousness of the situation for the first time. Sitting in my dorm room at Anderson University, 1100 miles away from home, I composed an email message to a friend. "I want to know my grandmother," I wrote. "I've never had a chance to know her as an adult."
Granny did not attend the Christmas Eve service at church. She was too tired. I felt strangely empty that night. Some huge aspect of being at church on Christmas eve was missing--Granny.
I went home again at the end of January, 1992, because I needed to see the eye doctor for follow-up treatment of a recently discovered complication of an eye condition which I had developed in infancy. Granny struggled with constant fatigue by this time. She did not feel like playing Scrabble, an activity we had shared regularly since my childhood.
Soon after I returned to school, Granny began to have difficulty with her memory and cognitive skills. One day in February, my grandfather found her walking down the hall with soap on her hands because she had forgotten to rinse them. This event seemed to cause her great distress. An examination shortly after this event revealed that the cancer had spread to her brain.
My father called to tell me of these changes late one March night in 1992. I became acutely aware that time was precious. My suffering grades ceased to matter to me. All that mattered was that I made the most of the time left to spend with Granny. During my spring break, I took meticulous notes about things we did as a family. Granny was confined to a hospital bed in her home by this time. In the evenings, the family gathered in the small room which had once been a dining room but was now a makeshift hospital room and sang hymns and reminisced together. We were fortunate to be able to capture much of these impromptu sing-alongs and discussions on audio cassette. This proved to be a valuable resource since Granny gave us specific instructions regarding her funeral--and, by the way, she didn't want a funeral. She wanted a celebration service. She was going home!
For the most part, I was at peace with God's decision to take Granny home rather than to heal her. My only regret was that I had not had time to appreciate her as an adult or to know much about what she believed. I wanted to ask her so many things! I wanted to ask her about her faith and about what her life had been like as a young woman. I would not get the chance. The cancer was moving too quickly.
On the day before I was to return to college, the decision was made to hospitalize Granny. I needed to spend some time alone with her. The rest of the family left the room, and I climbed up into her bed as I had done when I was a little girl.
"Always trust in God," she said to me through tears, "and you can never go wrong."
Not long after I returned to school, I began to experience fear and nagging anxiety about Granny. I did not understand it. I had been at peace with the situation when I had returned to school. Was God trying to communicate with me? Or was I simply anxious because I was unable to be with the family? I spent much time in prayer and writing in my journal. Finally, I decided to consult my parents. I could not find them, but I did find my aunt.
"Let me tell you what happened last night," Cheryl said. She described how Granny had spoken very clearly of things she believed that God was doing in my life and in the lives of other family members during the night. Granny had not spoken since then. After spending more time in prayer, I decided to go home again.
My trip home was less eventful than the first. I was upset to see that Granny was in severe pain and unable to communicate effectively. I spent evenings at the hospital and days at home while my parents were at work.
One day, I was looking for some files which I had stored on my parents' computer and came across a file called "Granny". Curious to see what it was, I opened it in the word processing program. Granny had been writing about her memories, beliefs, and feelings! I began reading with a slight feeling of guilt, feeling as though I was reading something I shouldn't. Then suddenly a phrase caught my attention: "I hope someone will read them." I began to read excitedly, knowing that Granny had written these things for us, her family, so that she could be known!
At the end of the week, I was left alone once more with Granny. "Would it be ok if we prayed?" I asked. Unable to speak, she squeezed my hand with an old familiar squeeze that she had always used to communicate that she loved me. I prayed aloud, asking for strength for her and the family in the days ahead, for her to have no pain or discomfort, and for all of us to be at peace. The next day I returned to school once again.
Now it was good Friday. Ten days earlier, Granny had been given a maximum of six days to live. I remembered that she had wished to meet her Lord on Easter. We had all thought this was not very likely. My mother had told me to wait to make any more trips home until she told me that Granny was gone. I was disturbed about this. Secretly I had prayed that I would be given the chance to be there when Granny met her Lord.
Late that night, my mother called and said that if I wanted to come home, she could assist me in paying for the ticket. I struggled with the decision all night. On Saturday morning, I called the airlines. There was one seat available on the last flight out that day. One of the few classmates who had stayed in the dormitory took me to the airport. I arrived just a few minutes before the final boarding call was announced.
When I arrived at home, I went to the hospital to visit Granny. Her breathing had become very labored. I found myself wanting to stay at the hospital rather than go home to bed. Mom sent me home, worried that my younger sister might need my company. We both slept soundly until 4:15 AM on Sunday morning.
I woke up with a start and sat up in bed. I had heard nothing, but I could not shake the feeling that I had been awakened for a reason. A moment later, my dad came out of his room and told me that my aunt had called and suggested we come to the hospital. Granny's vital signs were slowing down.
We arrived half an hour later, and the family all gathered around Granny's bed. I held her hand once more. Her breathing was no longer labored.
We tried to sing but could not. Slowly Granny's hand relaxed, and her breaths became more and more shallow until they were no more. I stood in awe that I had been given my secret desire. I was truly at peace.
Later Mom told me that when she had told Granny that it was Easter morning, one tear had fallen from Granny's eye. She too had been given her secret desire. She had met the Lord on His special day. The meaning of eternal life suddenly became more apparent to us than it had ever been in the past.
I heard a lot of talk during my two years as a student at Anderson University about the will of God, and I wondered how people could ever be so certain that a plan of action was within the will of God. As I was urged by my anxiety to make those trips home and provided each time with just the resources I needed to carry out my plans, I understood that I could trust God to lead me in even small things like saying goodbye to my grandmother.
On the evening before Granny went into the hospital, when I was alone with her, she told me that what she wanted more than anything else was for God to be glorified. "Whether by my life or by my death, I want Him to be glorified." What better way to be glorified than for His children to learn to trust Him and listen to His voice!