A Eulogy

“You have not come to a mountain that can be touched and that is burning with fire; to darkness, gloom and storm; to a trumpet blast or to such a voice speaking words that those who heard it begged that no further word be spoken to them, because they could not bear what was commanded: “If even an animal touches the mountain, it must be stoned.” The sight was so terrifying that Moses said, “I am trembling with fear.” But you have come to Mount Zion, to the heavenly Jerusalem, the city of the living God. You have come to thousands of angels in joyful assembly, to the church of the firstborn, whose names are written in heaven. You have come to God, the judge of all men, to the spirits of righteous men made perfect, to Jesus the mediator of a new covenant, and to the sprinkled blood that speaks a better word than the blood of Abel.” Hebrews 12:18-25

Gran Jean used to tell me that I was her favorite granddaughter. The fact that I was her only granddaughter was always overlooked, because the only child in me believed that I would have been her favorite even if I had brothers and sisters. It’s so difficult for me to stand up here and tell you about my roommate and dear friend, my confidant, my sweet and feisty, favorite Gran Jean. Not because I don’t want to share, but because I struggle to find the perfect words to describe this amazing force in my life.

What do I tell you about? Where do I begin? With the bus trip we took together my senior year of high school? With the Monday nights of watching The Bachelor and eating popcorn for dinner? With the family reunions at Fall Creek Falls and the subsequent fights with the reception desk when they didn’t put us on the first floor? It’s hard to sum up a life that is filled with such joy and passion in a mere page written by a grieving granddaughter. And my grief is strong. Because I loved her dearly. We all did.

In times like these, we search for the best way to remember: old stories, inside jokes, pictures, music, food. And we continue to mourn…we mourn for a sister who can no longer call us, a mother who can no longer hug us, an aunt who can no longer laugh with us, and a grandmother who can no longer live with us. Praise God that our mourning is a short mourning. Praise God that He has the final say in this story. Yes, it’s true that Gran Jean has left this earth. But I don’t worry about that. Because I see Gran Jean everywhere. And I guess that’s the goodness of a Father who, even through death, can bring beauty from pain. A King who takes time to bring us the comfort of her peace in the smallest of ways. In my Mom’s smile. In a cup of coffee. In a butterfly or these gorgeous flowers. And as her spirit resides in heaven, her memory stays with us here. When we see a show at the Grand Ole’ Opry or work a particularly difficult crossword. When we order porkchops with a side of okra and white beans, or watch shows like Brothers and Sisters or Keeping Up Appearances. These little moments, these things that seemed so insignificant and habitual, have, in these short days, become invaluable to my memory. The overripe bananas that had to be black before eaten. The newspaper that had to be read from cover to cover. The Red Xterra that made her feel like she was sitting on top of the world. These are the things that I will tell my children. These are the memories that I will cherish.

This is not a story about a woman who lived and died, rather, it’s a story about a woman who lived, lived awesomely, and now lives forever with our Savior. And what a story that is to tell! We have not come to a forbidden mountain of gloom, but to Mount Zion, to a joyful assembly—to Jesus. In typical Gran Jean fashion, she has taken the bus trip of a lifetime. So, Lord, haste the day when our faith shall be sight. And, Gran Jean, save me a seat next to you at that banquet table.