My Nana raised an amazing mom. My mom. One of the things that this mom of mine was always diligent to do was to make sure her daughters had a relationship with their grandparents. I have so many memories of Nana and Pop-pop’s little house in Whiting, and of the sweet times we had together – eating Klondike bars, reading children’s stories, or playing hide-and-seek – during our frequent visits. It was as we were en route to one of those visits that I believe I first grasped the concept of death. I was three years old, and there was a dead squirrel lying on the side of the road. Death as a fact of existence may have yet been a puzzle to me at that time, but I knew there was something wrong about that squirrel. I asked my mom, “Why isn’t he moving?”
My mom told me gently, “Well, he’s dead, honey.”
“You mean he’s not moving?”
“No, honey – he’s dead.”
“You mean he’s never gonna move again?”
“No – he’s dead.”
I was quiet, digesting my mom’s words. It was then that the meaning of the word deathfinally sunk into my heart. This understanding transmuted itself into a burst of tears.
“I don’t want to see Nana and Pop-pop,” I sobbed, “because they’re going to die too.”
The same dreadful fate that had befallen to the squirrel on the road would befall the grandparents I loved. They would stop moving; they would “die,” and I would be hurt. It was a truth as inescapable to me as the squirrel’s demise was inescapable to him, and the only way I saw around the pain was to refrain from love.
But what life do we have if we don’t love?
God alone knows what might have become of that sobbing three-year-old had she not had a mom and a dad who pointed her to Jesus. Jesus, who conquered death. Jesus, who while we were His enemies – His enemies, and deserving of death! – willingly laid down His life, so that He could save our souls and give us eternal life. It was the same year in which I saw that squirrel that I gave my heart to Jesus, and accepted Him as my Savior and my Lord. Six years ago my family buried my grandfather; today we buried my grandmother beside him. Nana and Pop-pop died just as I feared, and I am in pain just as I feared. But because of Jesus, the sting of death and the sting of grief have been taken away. That sobbing three-year-old was terrified of having to say good-bye, but the grieving eighteen-year-old now knows she doesn’t have to. Yes, Pop-pop is dead. Yes, Nana is dead. But I didn’t stand beside their deathbeds or their coffins and say “Good-bye.” Instead I whispered what my dad taught me, which reflects the truth: “See you later.”
See you later, Nana.
