“Come on home, Malia.”

With that, my 100 mph NYC-life came to a screeching halt.

Less than 24 hours later, I now stare at her hands, those hands which took a gas mask to school every day during WWII; those hands which interlocked with Grandpa’s over the Charles’ River Bridge; those hands which cradled two sons and two daughters; those hands which cooked countless pots of look fun for her four grandkids and took them to karate practice every Saturday and had to break up fights on an embarrassingly regular schedule.  I continue to stare at her hands whilst I look inside myself for anything to feel and something to write about.  And I find nothing.  I feel nothing.  Not yet, at least.

Thus as my words fall short and inadequate and force themselves out with as much energy as her ailing 75 lb body under those many blankets made with love, my thoughts revisit the memories of past hospital rooms and memorial services, and I see a light.  Not that kind of light.  It’s not my time yet.  Anyway, I see this light vanquishing the pain and redeeming the sorrow; for in this reality, all is set right and hope is able to rise.  It is in this singular and infallible truth that I find comfort and letting go of my selfish inclinations, I declare– the best is yet to come.

The best is still yet to come, Grandma.

With that, take your time and enjoy eating as much custard pie as you want for breakfast.  I am not at all trying to rush you along.

Still while you walk through the valley of the shadow of death, do not be afraid, for He is with you.  In fact, take heart!  Be excited!  And see that you are going to dwell in the house of the Lord, with the Lord forever!  Thereupon when you hear your name called from that celestial roster, put the pie down and go on ahead.  He is so much better than all of this.

Go on Home, Grandma.

We’ll be okay over here.  We’ll be fine.  We’ll take care of Mom and won’t eat too much meat or drink too much soda.  We’ll continue to get together for Thanksgiving and go to Aunty Nora’s Christmas party, and I’ll keep my eyes open for a nice Chinese boy (though I can’t guarantee anything).

Jokes aside.  Sorrow aside.  And HOPE, here and in full force–

I love you, Grandma.  I will miss you a lot but will see you soon.  After all, this is not goodbye.