What God Hath Promised

One year ago today my grandmother died. And on this day, her favourite poem comes to mind. She handed me this crinkled and torn piece of paper she had cut out of the church bulletin one day, telling me that it was her favourite poem. She asked if I would please type it up for her. Not until after she had become sick did I remember to do what she had asked a few months prior. On blue paper written in cursive print, I typed up her favourite poem, and hung it on her bedroom wall where she could always see it.

God hath not promised
Skies always blue,
Flower-strewn pathways
All our lives through;
God hath not promised
Sun without rain,
Joy without sorrow,
Peace without pain.

But God hath promised
Strength for the day,
Rest for the labor,
Light for the way,
Grace for the trials,
Help from above,
Unfailing sympathy,
Undying love.
--Annie Johnson Flint

Grandmotherly Love.

I've had to clean out my grandmother's house. Say goodbye to that chapter of my life and move on. Hopefully I can move on without her.

It's nearly been a year since she's died and I've definitely had my moments of missing her. It usually comes late at night while laying in bed, thinking about her hands- oh goodness I can feel her hands like she is holding mine now. The thought now is making me tear up. See, this is how it starts. Thinking about her. Thinking about those phone calls I got from my brother telling me I should come home because he thinks something has happened. I hated that night. I still hate that night. Goodness, now I'm crying. Making certain that no one can hear my tears, for fear they would cry with me. Oh dear, I miss her lots. The thought of never being able to go to her house again, never smelling her. That grandmotherly smell that is just so delightful. I miss her.

But it's all for the best. After all the struggling with doctors who went against her wishes, after all the pain she endured because of that, she is in a better place. I know that. I'm just being selfish.

A few days before she died, she started seeing her dead brothers and sisters in the room with her. She would be talking to you and then all of a sudden she would switch over and start talking to them. It was amazing. And it makes me feel so much better to know that she wasn't alone. She was surrounded by her family. She is with them now.

After her death, I searched the internet for quotes and poems on death. They seem to put things in perspective, making me feel better about my current situation.

Do not stand at my grave and weep,
I am not there, I do not sleep.
I am a thousand winds that blow,
I am the softly falling snow.
I am the gentle showers of rain,
I am the fields of ripening grain.
I am in the graceful rush
Of beautiful birds in circling flight.
I am the starshine of the night.
I am in the flowers that bloom,
I am in a quiet room.
I am in the birds that sing,
I am in each lovely thing.
Do not stand at my grave and cry,
I am not there-- I do not die.
--Mary Frye