Grandma Henke

Six years ago on Valentine’s Day I had one of the most spiritual days of my life as I witnessed both a birth and a death of loved ones. I was fortunate to be in the room with my daughter in law and son at the birth of their 3rd little girl.   Excitement reverberated off the walls as she first appeared and then took her first breath of life.   Suddenly there was a new person in the room and her body was alive and wiggling and making noise. The miracle of birth is one of the most phenomenal events there is. This particular birth made me think deeply about where that sweet little spirit had just been and who had lovingly accompanied her to birth?s door and said their tearful goodbyes as we anxiously waited to welcome her here with open arms full of love.

Soon after her birth I had to leave to rush back to the side of my 92 year dear old friend who was in the last hours of her life. I had been sitting by her side for a week and could not imagine how she was holding onto life. Her breathing seemed to be on automatic as she labored and struggled for each breath.

I sat there through the day holding her hand and it came to me that she was hanging onto life because she didn?t know how to let go. She had always been afraid of new things. As I pondered how I could help her, I remembered something she’d told me that happened when she was a young woman living in Green River, Utah, with her mother in a tiny block house along the river bottom. She worked at the telephone company in Green River and every day she walked the 5 or so miles into town and then walked back home after work. Rather than dreading those long walks, she used to love them. She especially loved it in the wintertime when the snow was crystal white and sparkling like a million diamonds across the meadows and on the branches of the bushes and trees. She told me she loved it most then because it was quiet and peaceful and white and it made her think of heaven and God.

I dimmed the lights and put on some quiet piano music and though she had not been responsive for several days I talked to Virginia and reminded her of the time when it had snowed in the night and there was an incredible 20 inches of snow in every direction and though it was breathtakingly beautiful, she was worried that she would not be able to walk into work through the deep drifts. As she was trying to decide what to do she observed a man coming up out of the river bottom and he walked past her home towards town. She noticed that he left a trail of footprints and she decided to follow them to Green River. She had never seen this man before and never saw him again, but he was there when she needed him to show her the way through the snow. If she watched him closely and matched her steps to his she would be able to get to her destination safely. I talked quietly to her about that day; how the snow was like millions of white diamonds sparkling in the sunlight; how peaceful and quiet it was.

I told her then that she now needed to take another walk through another beautiful valley and that someone was waiting there to lead her safely home. All she had to do was follow again, as she had done years before. The music played softly in the background as I held her hand and within minutes her breathing got slower and slower until she gave a big smile in her sleep, tears rolled down her face, and she stopped breathing. I was overcome with the sacredness of that moment and the trust Virginia had put in me to help her through the process of death.

Just as that morning I had envisioned someone bringing our sweet baby to the door of life, this time I envisioned someone on the other side of death?s door waiting for Virginia. Here we tearfully said goodbye and wished her well and there they waited with joyful anticipation and open arms. In just a few hours I was privileged to witness birth and death and thus was able to see the complete picture that is the Lord’s plan. I understood how these two circumstances, the beginning and ending of our earth life, are both joyous events from God’s perspective.

Recently I sat and held Mother’s hand as she walked to that same door and I thought about my experience years ago and wished I could see Dad and my brother, and everyone else who had gathered to welcome her home. I can only imagine the radiant smile on her face as she realized where she was and that she was free to move around and talk and think … and walk tall.

It’s bittersweet.  Having to say goodbye was bitter, but I know that in death there is also sweetness. I picture Mom and Dad together again, even more in love than before and ever so grateful to be together. Until I see Mom again I’ll listen for her in the gentle breezes, by the mountain streams, in the beautiful gardens and quiet moments. She’s not far away.

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