When I was five years old, my father preached a sermon in which he talked about his mother dying. Well, this was news to me, as I’d just seen my grandparents both alive and well not too long before. My mother realized very quickly that I was not only paying attention but also very upset, thinking Grandma was dead. She explained that my dad’s mother died when he was seven years old and that Grandpa remarried, so I had two Grandmas. My parents did not keep this information from us; this is simply the age when the information “clicked” in my brain. Though I didn’t know that first Grandma, I lost her that day.

Fast forward 17 years to 2002. I had just graduated from college and had a couple of weeks left in on-campus housing before moving into my new apartment. I received a call that my Grandpa had passed away. He had been in the hospital with complications after heart surgery, and the prognosis had gone back and forth, but the loss was still unexpected.

My college minister and his wife helped me move the rest of my belongings into my new apartment so I could be cleared with housing. My flight home was my first post-9/11 flight. With a one-way ticket and only a small carry-on, I became a red flag for additional screening. The screener put my toiletry bag back into the larger bag upside down, which meant my contact case was upside down, too. This still aggravates me.

I remember walking down the steps toward the area where people met arriving passengers and seeing my dad. We cried as we embraced. So many people came to the memorial service to honor a gospel preacher of just over 50 years. I learned a lot about Grandpa that day, which made the loss more complicated.

Yesterday, my Grandma died. She’s been unwell for a while. Her suffering is finally over. Like Grandpa, she spent a lifetime in the Lord’s service, teaching Bible classes, helping with church secretarial tasks, typing for my grandfather, leading Ladies’ Bible studies, and generally serving alongside her husband as a preacher’s wife.

Here is what my own father wrote about his mother for his church bulletin:

On February 14, 1960, fifty-five years ago, a Christian woman named Mary became my second mother. When she married my dad she knew the job that lay ahead. She became “instant mama” to three sons: a seven-year-old, a five-year-old, and a five-month-old. Many women would have run from such a task, but my mother took on the challenge and met it well. She encouraged me to become a preacher, provided a listening ear, and gave me the little sister I wanted. My first memory of hearing the phrase “treated like a stepchild” was as a young adult. I didn’t comprehend what it meant. Technically I was a stepson, but I never felt like one. Yesterday mother went home to be with the Lord. Although mom was eighty-four years old, for her children and grandchildren her death was still too early. I’m thankful to God for two wonderful mothers: the one who bore me and the one who finished molding me.

Grandpa asked me during many visits when I was going to get married and start having great-grandbabies. He died five years before I married and six years before his first great-grandbaby was born. I am so glad that my Grandma lived long enough to meet both of my babies in person.

I didn’t take any pictures of our last visit because she didn’t look like herself, and I wanted to remember her as she is in these pictures. Our visits were not as often as I would have preferred, but distance, her poor health, and my son’s severe allergy to cats all acted as barriers.

I made efforts to call regularly, even while living in Germany. I set an alarm on my phone with Acappella’s “I’m Gonna Keep on Workin’ ’Til He Comes” so I would remember to call at a good time despite the time difference. The song fits her personality. She taught Ladies’ Bible Study until she felt unable to give it her best effort and continued participating until worsening health made even that impossible.

In all of my phone calls with her, she told me she was proud of me, that I am a good mom, and that she loved me. Just as my dad never felt like he wasn’t really her son, I’ve never felt like less than her granddaughter.

This week, we prepare for a family reunion of sorts as we gather to say an earthly goodbye to Grandma.

I am so glad to be a Christian, to have hope beyond this life, and to know that the end of Grandma’s suffering on this earth is the beginning of a beautiful, joy-filled, pain-free eternity.