Rainbows and butterflies

     Anytime I see a rainbow, I can't help but think of my maternal grandmother.  She died when I was 21, but she left an imprint on my heart that will never fade.  Today, I didn't even see a real rainbow; it was just a picture, but it still reminded me of her illness and the promises of God.  When my Grammy (her choice I promise) was ill, we would drive a certain back road to get from her house to the hospital she was in that was about an hour and a half away.  It seemed like every time we went, we saw at least one rainbow, maybe more.  We would cry and praise God for His promises.  We knew her death was only a matter of time, and at that point, we were torn between wanting to hang on to her and knowing it would be more merciful to allow her to let go.  I've always loved her in a special way that I can't explain, and her death was scary to me.  I asked God a lot of questions about why she had to suffer so much, and eventually He showed me the answer.
     My grandmother was a wonderful lady.  She was not, however, a great Christian example in her life.  She was of the luke warm class.  I do not say this disrespectfully;  I am simply being honest.  She went to church, usually.  She taught Sunday school when she was on an upswing.  It was obvious she was saved, but she did not serve God to the fullest.  When I was little, I thought she was the most magnificent person in the world.  She always paid attention to me, gave me anything I wanted, took me anywhere I wanted to go.  She was a southern lady in all respects; she was the kind of lady who wore pantyhose with her dress shorts in 110 degree Georgia heat.  She never left her house without putting on her make up and fixing her hair.  She smoked constantly.  She was silly.  She made up songs constantly (a trait I tease my mother about as well).  She drank coffee when it was so hot outside I thought I would pass out.  She taught me to swim (though not well).  She was refined and raw at the same time.  She was artistic (and tried in vain to make me so).  She made the best lasagna I have ever eaten.  She was irreverent at times.  She was feisty and full of life.  She and my mother taught me to shop.  She died her hair blond until it turned white, and then she convinced herself it was blonde naturally.  To me, she was perfect.  As I grew, I realized that she was not the kind of Christian I wanted to be.  In turn, she wanted me to be a better Christian than she had been, and she told me so.  I'm glad.  My grandmother was a diabetic from the time she was in her early forties until her death in her late sixties.  I thought for so long that she took great care of herself and her illness because she ate at certain times, always checked her sugar, always carried a little can of orange juice in her purse.  If only I had known then what I know now about controlling blood sugar levels I could have helped her extend and improve her life towards the end.  But alas...
     By her last year on earth, she had been on dialysis for 7 years, she needed heart surgery (they couldn't do much due to the shape it was in), and her worse fears came true.  I don't know if every diabetic fears amputation to the extent my grandmother did, but I remember even when I was young that she would tell us to never let them "cut off my legs".  She told us she would rather die.  She told my grandfather that, and when she was in surgery for her heart, a surgeon came out and told him that what she needed was an amputation of one leg.  My grandfather, God bless him, could not make the decision to keep the leg that would kill her in a few days, so he went against her wishes and signed for an amputation.  I believe this decision haunted him for the rest of his life (he died almost exactly 8 months after her).  That partial amputation of one leg eventually led to the amputation of both legs up to the thigh and a great deal of tissue removal that soon followed due to bed sores.  It was horrible.  My poor mother, who tried her best to tend to her mother and father while actually living over 500 miles away suffered from the trauma for a long time afterwards.  And she's the strongest person I know.  I have to protect myself from the sadness that threatens to consume me once again when I think of how horribly she suffered for the last 6 months of her life.  Therefore, I can't tell you in any more detail what she went through.  However, through her suffering I saw the most amazing thing.
     While my grandmother was not always the best Christian example in her life, she was one of the most effective in her death.  Not one time did she feel sorry for herself.  She fought hard for as long as we asked her to do so.  Eventually, even my grandpa allowed her to let go.  She never got mad at him for letting the doctors take her legs.  She never made me feel guilty when I visited for not being there more.  Even while she was losing every bit of pride and control of her own body, she did everything she could to make it easier for us.  Isn't that amazing?  She lived in severe pain, knowing she was going to eventually die, but she stayed steady for us.  I asked my mother later on, in a little anger I'll admit, why she had to suffer so much and other people die so easily.  "Because God knew she could."  Simple, huh?  My grandfather followed her in his sleep.  "Massive heart attack", they said.  "Never felt a thing."  Why?  I still wondered.  I know he had suffered enough, with his wife, but why weren't the roles reversed?  I know the answer.  Marylynn had a chance to do in death what I believe she wished she had done in life.  She showed us that to remain steady in your faith in the worse circumstances you can imagine, will leave an impact on those around you.  My father asked her once before we left to come home if she was ready.  Was she ready to meet Jesus?  She wasn't talking much then, but she didn't hesitate for a moment when she said yes.  I heard her myself, and I know she meant it.  She lived for two more weeks after that, but she knew her time was soon.  Her husband, my Papa, couldn't have gone out like that in the same circumstances.  He would have wallowed in self pity, been mean, ranted, raved, you name it.  That is who he was.  Her death changed him a little though.  It softened him.  I can see now that their deaths both served a purpose in my life.  I learned so much about God and His love for us through my grandmother's willingness to suffer because she loved us so much.  How much more was the pain of the  cross?  unimaginable.
     In so many ways, she helped make me who I am today.  She molded my mother in a special relationship, who in turn molded me.  She built my confidence when no one else could, and she used what life she had left, to show the world true strength.  I don't know why I even felt like I should write this, and I'm not sure how it fits in my blog.  I'm just thankful that at the last minute, Dean and I decided to take part of her name (and my mother's passed down from her) to use in naming Tinker Belle.  And now that I think of it, maybe that's where Tinker's feisty little attitude comes from at times.  Here is what I pray when I think of my Grammy:
     "God, thank you for giving Grammy the opportunity to show her devotion to You.  Help my family to have learned to serve You throughout our lives, because death may come soon.  I praise You for the time you gave me with her, and while I sometimes feel sad that she didn't get to meet my children, thank You for life everlasting where we will meet again.  Help me keep her memory real in my heart.  Thank You for Your promises in life to never leave us or forsake us.  Thank You for rainbows that bring that promise to my mind.  You're a majestic in ways I cannot express and the beauty You give us is humbling.  Reflect holiness in my life, God.  I love You, I love You, I love You."  

When I picture her now, I see her dancing on those long legs that she has once again.  Smiling.  Pain free.  Redeemed.