Grandma’s Bible
I didn’t really cry at my Grandma’s funeral.
I wasn’t trying to be strong and I definitely wasn’t trying to be stoic. I just didn’t have anything left, because I left it all at the viewing.
Nothing prepares you for the first time you see them and nothing could.
Along with my mama, Margaret Lee was my favorite person in the world. She was my very heart and that’s why I have her name tattooed next to mine. I was used to her being so full of fire and life, even as she approached 90, and seeing her lying there in eternal sleep broke me like nothing ever had. The pain was not physical, and it was more than visceral; it was existential. No amount of analysis, logic, or reasoning could ready me for life without my Grandma because I have never known life without her. Death is a lot of things, but more than anything, it just don’t make no damn sense. A person who has always been there is suddenly gone, and there is a space that can never be filled. Knowing why doesn’t stop you from wondering why.
The casket was beautiful, and so was she. As I requested, she wore the ruby earrings I’d bought her for Christmas, less than two months before. It was bittersweet, because I never thought she’d wear them for the first time when I said goodbye for the last time. Grandma was at peace, but I wasn’t there yet. As I stood there, I was unconsciously gripping the sides of her casket so tight that my mama was worried about me, even through her own all-encompassing grief. I’m not good with subtlety and I truly did not want to let that lady go, even though she had been more than ready.
For the first time in my life, I cried so hard that my legs almost gave out from under me. The second time was when I could finally bring myself to place her picture on my altar, something that somehow felt even more final than watching her be lowered into the ground. On that same altar, in the middle of other photos and mementos of people who have transitioned, there is an old leather Bible.
Grandma’s Bible.
As an atheist who is also a Southerner, religion simultaneously occupies no place in my life, and one that is nuanced. My Grandma was the living representative of this duality. I say she kept me near the cross because she kept me near to her, until her very last breath. That woman was the truest Christian I’ve ever known, and she was giving and compassionate to her own detriment at times. She was the embodiment of what even the most pious only claim to be. I like to joke that Grandma was the only one who could get me into a church, even though it was only about once every 15 years. I just wish the last time hadn’t been to say goodbye.
No amount of time would have been enough with her, and even if she didn’t a lot left, the sudden way in which she was taken from me was especially cruel. I walked in that door too late and I never got to hear her voice again. I watched her slip away in front of me, the woman I’d sworn to protect from anything, and there was nothing that I could do. I sat by that hospital bed, even after I knew she was never coming home.
Though my Grandma is gone from this Earth, she is not gone from me. I see her more and more when I look in the mirror, I hear her when I open my smart-ass mouth and my sharp tongue unfurls like a whip, and I feel her in the way that I know my mama prays for me. She is in my heart, her blood is in my veins and she will never truly leave me because I am of her.
My Grandma was there when I took my first breath, and I held her hand as she took her last. She witnessed my birth and I guarded her crossing. Her homegoing was held in the same church in which I was christened.
The circle remains unbroken.
What is belief to a non-believer?
Even though I don’t seek out gospel music, it’s meant to stir the very soul, and certain songs do just that to me.
Naturally, they played every single one at my Grandma’s funeral.
“Through many dangers, toils and snares,
I have already come;
‘Tis grace hath brought me safe thus far,
And grace will lead me home…”
“I sing because I’m happy, I sing because I’m free…”
I’ll be alright if I don’t, but I’m stubborn enough to think that I’ll see her again. I don’t believe that heaven is a place, but maybe it’s a state of mind. I also know that she would defy all of space and time if she could get to me, and I’d do the same.
One glad morning, when this life is over, maybe I will fly away.
And she’ll be waiting with open arms.
Until then, I’m a heathen with a Holy Bible.
Grandma’s Bible.
