Missing Wise Nana

My very earliest memory is of my Grandma Carlson. I must have been three or four–about Clara’s age now–and we must have been having some kind of summer party and I must have fallen and scraped my knee and someone (quite possibly Grandma herself) must have carried me inside because the first thing I can remember in this life is my grandma setting me on top of the washing machine (it was gold) and using hydrogen peroxide to clean up my bloody knee and then putting a bandaid on.  It’s not even an actual story as much as a feeling, a knowing.

I am incredibly thankful that I have so much more than just that first, now-faded impression of my dear grandma. In fact, I have close to forty years of memories and the understanding that I was deeply loved by her before I can remember loving her back. I have a lifetime of being prayed for and delighted in and cheered on. (I am especially thankful that my kids have gotten to be loved by her as well. What lucky ducks. The kids, and then all of us, call her Wise Nana, which I’m pretty sure is the best, most appropriate name ever.)

My grandma died last Saturday. I hate that sentence just about as much as anything I’ve ever written down. And yet I wouldn’t wish her back even for a moment. She is in glory with her savior, receiving her rest and her reward, and as for us, we do not grieve as others who do not have hope (1 Thess. 4:13).

Still, I miss her. So much.

I suppose it’s appropriate that my first memory of my grandma is mostly a sense of her presence. Especially in the last couple of years, I had noticed how quiet my grandma was–unassuming, never demanding attention. A quiet and gentle spirit if ever there was one. And I think what I’ll remember most is simply her presence. She was one who showed up–to bring a meal to my grandpa in the field, to play endless games of Candy Land, to make a Thanksgiving feast, to look at my pictures, to tie a quilt, to pray, to write a note, to call me on the phone. This is not to say that I don’t have any specific memories of things she’s said or what made her (or me) laugh or what kinds of things we’ve done together and places we’ve gone or things she’s taught me; I do have lots of those. But really, what I’ll never get over is the sense of simply being with my grandma. What a blessing that has been for all my life so far, and what a deep loss I feel without her here.