It's the day my grandma passed away in 2014.
A lot of people have asked me: "Why would you want to make sure you remember a day like that? Doesn't it make it hard?"
Let me say this: It's not that I want to remember the day she passed. It's that I can't help but remember this as the day she passed. I'd love to be able to forget that March 25, 2014 is the day my grandma passed away, and instead remember only all the years before that day.
But when that's the last thing you remember about a person, it's very difficult to not focus on that.
Recently, I have begun choosing a Bible verse for important dates in my life. Since she passed on March 25, it would be considered 3:25. The verse that jumped out at me for this particular day was Job 3:25, NLT: "What I always feared has happened to me. What I dreaded has come true."
These words are so true. I don't like thinking about any of my family dying, even though I know I'll see them again one day. I guess that makes me selfish.
For about a year after she passed, I was angry. If you have been following this blog, then you probably read the post titled "Yes. No. Later. Different". In that post, I explained why I was angry, and who with.
For those who didn't read it, here's a short (or, not so short) refresher:
My grandma was suffering from Alzheimer's. It started with small things - she couldn't remember an address or a phone number - but soon progressed to where she couldn't remember people's names. Eventually, it continued until she didn't recognize anybody. This severely crushed my sister; when she came home to visit once, my grandma didn't even know who she was.
Then she didn't want to eat, and my family had to do whatever they could to get her some nourishment. Then, she stopped talking. Then, she stopped walking. Then, she couldn't control her bladder. Eventually, she was bed-ridden without the ability to speak, the desire to eat, or the capacity to understand how much we were all doing for her.
Nobody knows if she even truly knew what was happening to her - it's not like she could tell us. For all we knew, she was trapped inside her body, mentally screaming to escape, beating mental fists against her brain, hoping that we would notice.
Or, she could have been completely unaware. She could have assumed that life was normal, there was nothing wrong, and she was just enjoying her life.
I'm not sure which is worse: the thought of her trapped without a way out, or being trapped and not realizing it.
When she finally passed, I was angry because I had prayed daily for God to heal her. How could a God who 'loved' my grandma allow her to go through such torture? How could He allow my family to have to see her wither away? How could He not do anything, when He was the only one who could have?
But I was also good at hiding my anger. I put on a mask of gratitude that she was no longer suffering, while inside I was seething. Nobody knew I was angry. Eventually, I didn't even realize that I was angry anymore; it was just a part of who I was.
But, I was angry at God.
This time last year, two or three days before the one-year reminder of her passing, my pastor preached about how God always answers prayers, but the answer could either be 'yes, no, later, different.' During the sermon, God spoke to me more vividly than He ever had before.
My pastor got us to look up a Bible verse: "For to me, living means living for Christ, and dying is even better. But if I live, I can do more fruitful work for Christ. So I really don't know which is better. I'm torn between two desires: I long to go and be with Christ, which would be far better for me." - Philippians 1:21 - 23, NLT.
Then he continued and said something that I will never forget. He said: "Death is the ultimate healing for the believer."
Hearing this, I began crying in church. I don't mean 'a-single-tear-trickled-down-his-face cry'. I mean, full on ugly-crying. I knew that I had to let go of my anger against Him, because it was completely unjustified. God convicted me of my anger against Him, because He had answered my prayer - just not in the way I wanted.
He had answered my prayer for my grandma's healing with 'different'. He did heal her. Personally, I was praying that He would heal and restore her to us. But in God's perfect plan, He healed her for eternity. He allowed her to go to her true home, where Alzheimer's is non-existant.
I knew that my selfish desire to keep my grandma here with us was the exact opposite of what she needed, and He knew that. As I said earlier, she could very well have been trapped inside her own mind, screaming for help. But because of my selfish prayers, I was willing to ignore that to keep the shell of the woman who was my grandma.
With all of that being said, March 25 is going to be a difficult day. It's a day that I've realized I have to keep myself distracted, or else I'll just constantly think about my grandma's last few days where she was wasting away.
I'd much rather keep thoughts of her singing "Swing low, sweet chariot / Coming for to carry me home" as she pushed me in the swing in her yard. Or making homemade playdoh. Or picking flowers from around her yard. Or making 'cowboy cookies'. Or playing Rummy and Phase 10 (she was always up for a card game). Or teaching me to crochet - even though I no longer know how. Or going for a walk down her road, picking up cans. Or all going to her house on Christmas Eve and opening presents with the family, then staying up as late as possible playing games. Or, my all-time favorite memory, when she grabbed my hand and showed me how to 'dance hot'.
These are the memories that I cherish, and that I hope to never forget. But, I also don't ever want to forget about those last few moments before she passed, as hard as they are to remember.
Because I know that she's now in a better place, smiling and dancing on streets of gold; that she's no longer in pain, bed-ridden, plagued with memory loss; that she's at rest.
And that one day, I'll get another lesson in how to 'dance hot', and this time, we won't have to stop.
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