During Mama’s funeral I begged God for mercy. I fully understood all the reasons she had to go. But it was so painful thinking of a world without her. A world she had softened for me (all that she could), a world made better when I thought of her, went home to her, embraced her.
From day one all I can remember is my grandmama loving me, teaching me and showing me everything for this life. She even introduced me to the man himself so I’d have everything for eternal life. I would never wish her to suffer here and I do believe to be absent of the body is to be with Christ. But I hurt because she was gone and because I was still here.
I cried because I had grown up in her home, under her watchful eye and in her love. I had a rich and wonderful childhood even though we didn’t have much material stuff. And it’s not to say we had nothing or that I ever went hungry. No. She worked and God provided. I wept when I realized that I was blessed many times over by having my grandma who acted as a mother and a father, because she was truly that. I didn’t cry because I disappointed Mama in my rebellious years or when I was simply disobedient. I cried because she knew all about me and could have guessed even worse that I’d done. Yet knowing me she still hoped out loud, the best things for my life. Mama prayed for me and continued to love me regardless of my faults.
No one has ever affected me like that woman. Never, never a hurtful or discouraging word from her. Later she even admitted her own mistakes and regrets to me as if I were an equal and guided me to the point where I am today. After grieving I realized that if my grandma being human could love me like that, so wholly and completely, then how much more does God love me? I think that was her point all along. Now I get it. So no more tears. Just joy.