Florence Little

How do I begin?



There is nothing quite like the sting of loss; no other feeling to even remotely capture the heartache that it brings.  Even forewarned, death steals its victims and leaves those remaining stunned and numb.  We knew her days were numbered, and we knew she hadn't been herself in a long time.  She was ready to go.


I cannot even begin to tell you how highly I esteemed my great grandmother.  She was 90 years and 130 pounds of proud, powerful, faithful spunk.  For years she has been fighting her decaying body, and for years she has told the doctors what will and will not happen to her.  They told her they had to amputate her foot and that she would never walk again; she refused and was walking in what seemed like no time at all.  They told us after her stroke that she may never be able to form complete sentences again; she could carry on full, although limited, conversations a few short months later.  She never gave up for her family and, at the end, for herself.

She was my hero. No. She is my hero.


It's funny how the Holy Spirit moves within us on the day that a loved one departs.  I knew it this morning, but I didn't realize I knew it until after it happened.  When my Aunt Karen passed away suddenly in a car accident, I knew something was off that day.  It's like a piece of my heart had already started to break. Today was like that, and I barely held it together all morning....  All day I couldn't explain why I felt the need to run home and hide.

Grand Mom Mom went home to be with her Savior, her parents, her siblings, her friends, her son, her granddaughter, and many others that she truly loved.  I know that when heaven's gates swung wide open for her, she had an army ready to welcome her in and she found indescribable peace.  I know that heaven rejoiced in adding such an amazing new saint into their number.  And as strange as it sounds, I feel like her spirit is sitting here, watching me blubber through this, trying to tell me that she's found such great joy and to stop crying for her.

I know, very soon, I will be able to rejoice in remembering the amazing life that she lived.  I will share stories and pictures and maybe even videos (if I can) of her and you will fall in love with her as much as I have. Soon, I will celebrate her immense joy now that she is without pain and surrounded by those she hasn't seen in years. Soon.

But tonight, I cry. No, I weep. I weep surrounded by my pile of tissues and snuggled up next to my purring cat who is wondering what is wrong with me.  I weep selfishly, knowing that never again will I get to hug the woman who always represented to me who I should aim to be.  I weep because I didn't take the time to go see her when her health really started to deteriorate.  I weep because now it's up to me to make sure that I follow her example.

Gran Mom Mom, I adore you. I am so happy that you have finished the race.  I pray to someday be  able to be half the woman you have been during your time on this earth.  I love you.