She's dancing

My extraordinary, purely wonderful grandmother, Mama Joyce, went home to Heaven last night. She lived 83 years and is so treasured in my heart. Samantha said that for the last month or so Aiden had prayed for her to walk again. Her Alzheimer's had taken those steps away. Now and forevermore, she's dancing. With Jesus. And her Mansker, the man she fell in love with and married as a teenager. The one whose last breath was breathed almost half her life ago. The one she cried over any time Bing Crosby's I'll be home for Christmas came on the radio. Those years apart are now but a blink. And I bet my baby is right there on her hip, Mama Joyce's feet keeping time with the forever chorus. Oh, the glory she's seeing. Oh, how big her smile is.

Mama Joyce. In a way, I've grieved her a dozen times since her diagnosis. But her absence now is tearing me up. Maybe it's the timing. I don't know. But I've missed her for years. I miss talking to her. She had this light in her eye that was so special. For every single childhood event, I can remember her presence. Sports, birthdays, plays, awards days, graduations. All of them. She was always always there.

The werther's originals and Kleenex she always had in her purse. How she hid her billfold under her car mat. The tiny metal coaster on her side table with always a half-drunken glass of tea sweating the table. Her pretty "permanent"s every few months... never calling it a perm. Always filed and buffed nails, the manicure kit in the credenza. She had an amazing ability to capture every moment on film and develop the pictures and put them in albums as soon as possible. Her sweet smile and the most endearing Southern belle accent... calling my brothers Grant-boy and Parker-darlin. As precious as could possibly be, and that sweet woman would have us pick a switch which she would use to never spoil the child. Her love for us was such a constant. So proud of us and sincere and faithfully present. Our long phone calls from my dorm room. Hard naps on visits home from college. Sweet kisses goodbye and then her waving from the driveway until she couldn't see me anymore. The way her face lit up when she saw Travis... long after she had forgotten names and even after the words left her. She remembered him. Our last goodbye we both cried the hardest. Mama Joyce became my dear adored friend. I can't stand how much this hurts.

I could write of her for days, but I can't wrap her up in words. They're not enough. The ache is just too big. My heart could honestly just burst in happiness for her and the clothes-tearing-grief of the blink between us.

So this is that thin place that Ann Voskamp speaks of. That if you reach just far enough, you could touch the very essence of God. The heart pounding ache in rhythm with His. In the middle of this deep sadness, I see Him. I swear I could touch Him. His goodness has not left me.