Soon

I would sit on your lap for hours. The creak creak of the rocking chair as you held me there. The smell of your skin. It was where I wanted to be. I told my brothers "She's MY Gramma." And you were. And you are. I don't remember a belly laugh, but I remember your giggles. When I visited you would buy every kind of fruit for me and giggle as I ate a whole watermelon. You held me as I cried after you let me watch Alfred Hitchcock's "Birds" and I bet you giggled after I finally fell asleep.

After a weekend with you when I was a toddler you handed me back to my Mom and said- "Well, she's potty trained!"

You travelled. You spoke of your travels. You taught me more of my Canadian history than any teacher. You painted. You loved puzzles. I cried into my pillow once when you left, begging God to bring you back. He did. And you giggled as I ran to you.

You told Jordan "Welcome to the family" long before we were engaged. You loved your children.

The last time I stayed with you we had the honour of sitting in on your devotions with Grandpa. You prayed for each of your children's family. Our family was Tuesday.

I am covered by your prayers.

You tied the bow for my bouquet as I walked down the aisle. You were so nervous you wouldn't get it right in front of the crowd. Once it was tied you breathed deep and giggled, I kissed your cheek and whispered that I loved you. I didn't have time to say that I hope to be half the wife you were to your first husband and second. I didn't have the time to say how honoured I was to have you as part of my legacy, my history. So I wrote it in a note instead.

You taught me how to glory in cooking. When something you cooked was divine you would voice it. "Aren't those potatoes tasty?" They were.

As I prayed on Wednesday, wishing I was beside you as you breathed, I listened to hymns and I pulled weeds. Flowers are poking up called "Grandma's Marigolds." You gave them to us in April.

You are in my garden.

I was surrounded by trees and people when the call came. It rained. I collapsed. Why is the now too soon? You loved to walk so I walked. And I marvelled in your life. I marvelled in our history together. My Grandma.

Even if I could beg God to bring you back this time I wouldn't. I am jealous of your new eyes. Your new arms that have held our Savior. I can hear you giggle together as you walk.

Jordan and I sang a song in church a few weeks before your beginning and I sing it now for you because your SOON is NOW.

I celebrate your life Wanda Evelyn Voth, you have given me breath, you have given me faith. You taught me what strong means by your wrestle with life.

And now, you are free.