Farewell, Tutu!

I did pay tribute to Grandma McKinlay a few months ago, but I thought I’d post one more time as sort of my way of working through the experience of her passing. A way for me to explore my feelings a bit.

I have a habit, from time to time, of shutting down emotionally (not entirely, but for the most part). The last couple months have been one of those times– for some reason or other I withdraw, I throw on some armor. All I have to do is control where I allow my thoughts to go.

Well a little over a week ago came one of those experiences that the armor can’t withstand. We kind of knew that Grandma’s days were numbered as her health deteriorated more rapidly. Then on Friday, November 7th, I got a text from Soogie saying that grandma was bleeding and likely wouldn’t be with us much more than a few days, and that we should come and visit if we wished to say goodbye. She’d stopped eating and drinking as well, and at that point it’s only a matter of time anyways.

So I wrapped up a couple errands and headed down to where Grandma lived. It was difficult to make out anything that she’d say, but even in the state she was in– mouth all dried out, unable to do much more than move her arms a little and look around a bit, she still had light in her eyes. There are some things dementia could not take from my grandmother over the last few years, things that not even those final, likely painful moments could take from her. This light and boundless love were such things. I was always able to make her smile and laugh by making silly faces at her, and even as she lay there a little over a week ago she would still light up and smile.

It was a tender moment to spend holding grandma’s hand during some of her last hours. Though, as I mentioned, I couldn’t understand much of what she said, there was no mistaking the “I love you” that came from her. I do love my grandma, too.

I shared with my cousin-in-law Emily how as I stood by and watched others with her, the photographer in me saw some really tender images. And while the photographer wants to capture things like that… it was too heart-breaking to do. Emily’s response helped give me some perspective on how I felt. She said she’d had similar experiences with her own grandparents, and that she had decided that the way she wished to remember them was the way they were before.

I also shared an inclination to make a picture she shared of grandma’s hand being held by her little baby girl into a monochrome / aged black and white look. She responded that she’d initially had the same thought– but that it just didn’t seem to fit with who Grandma was and what she was trying to convey, that sharing the photo in color was more true to the life, energy and light Grandma exuded throughout her time here on earth. Thank you, Emily, for your thoughtfulness. I whole-heartedly agree.

We should celebrate life, not dwell on death– as hard as those temporary absences may be. At the viewing last night, I couldn’t help but think that Grandma appreciated that atmosphere. It wasn’t dark or depressing– it was full of life, a reuniting of her posterity, in a way. I’m sure it filled her with pride and joy to see them enjoying one another’s company and to feel the bonds of love there. We all owe part of our existence here, not to mention part of who we are, to her.

Lastly, I’m grateful for the perspective I have as a Latter Day Saint. While Grandma has gone from us for now, her leaving earth ends an absence for someone else as she returns to a more heavenly home. And though her time here on earth has ended, our time together has only been put on pause for the brief duration of our remaining days in mortality. As I told Grandma a few months ago, we will be friends forever.

Thank you for being who you are, Grandma Tutu (I love that we called her that, I really didn’t know what Tutu meant when I was growing up.) Thank you for the life you lived, the light you shone, and the love you shared so abundantly. You are already missed, but I know you watch over those you love and that we’ll see you soon.