“Where is my Starbucks Iowa coffee mug? I’ve used it every morning for the last 4 months, without fail. I don’t want to drink my coffee in anything else. It’s probably dirty, and in the dishwasher. I need to tell Chuck not to put my Iowa mug in the dishwasher. Oh, the dishwasher is clean. There it is.”
This morning I mindlessly filled up my Starbucks Iowa coffee mug, added my Silk Mocha Almond Creamer (that sounds so extra!) and continued putzing around. I pulled out my prayer journal intending on spending some time with my Big Papa (AKA: God), and noticed a little flaw in my mug I hadn’t seen before. In a split second, I was flooded with sadness. Grief gripped my heart and squeezed. I knew what to do. “It’s ok. Let the pain come. Feel the sadness. Cry the tears.” It wasn’t about the mug’s flaw. It was about my Grandma. The last time I saw her….
***
“Hon, I think you should fly out to Iowa to see your Grandma…” It had been my Mom on the phone. “Your Aunt Sara called, and it seems things are starting to get worse for Grandma…” I had been told this would happen. I had been told the test results weren’t good. I knew all the information. I just couldn’t believe it. My life wouldn’t make sense anymore if Grandma wasn’t here.
A few days later I was on a plane heading to Iowa from Virginia. I got to spend precious time with my Grandma, aunts, uncles, and cousins. There were sacred moments on that trip I hold onto, and ponder deep in my heart. Sweet blessings including moments of comic relief. Grandma loved to laugh. She couldn’t wait to show me a card her mailman had given her as a “thank you note”. When she handed it to me I looked at her inquisitively, “It’s a baby shower card?!” We cracked up laughing.
When the time came for me to fly back home to Virginia, I knew I was going to have to say good-bye to my Grandma. I had hope that somehow, I might see her again in this life, but I also knew there was a chance this might be my last moment with her on earth. She wanted to stand up out of her chair where she had been resting, and I fussed, “No, Grandma, you don’t have to get up.” I’m so glad she did. I think she knew it was our good-bye. Our moment.
I wrapped my arms all the way around her, and she wrapped her arms around me. She had gotten smaller. I could sense her physical frailty, but her spiritual strength. I wanted to hold back my tears. I didn’t want her to know that I knew this could be our end (for now). When I turned and saw my aunts were crying, I let go of my resolve and followed their example.
“Grandma, I’m going to stop at the Starbucks near the airport and look for an Iowa mug so I can have one that matches yours! I’ll let you know if they have one! I love you.”
“Love you, too.” She said. And she did. She always had.
An hour later my Aunt Keren waited in the car while I ran into Starbucks.
They had the mug.
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