Yesterday we arrived at Grammie’s house with lots of food in preparation for 3 different events happening this coming weekend. Friends from Canada are in town; we’ll be boating to Emerald Bay and enjoying a picnic lunch together. Then our life group is coming for a beach party on Saturday. And finally some Arizona friends are joining us on Sunday for sailing and then dinner on the deck overlooking the lake.
It is not uncommon for us to unload coolers of food into Grammie’s refrigerator. We have often brought up either dinner ingredients, pre-assembled dinners or simply beach snack foods. The challenge was always adding more food to a refrigerator already filled with soy milk (who really enjoys that stuff on cereal anyway?), bottles of greenish potions to revitalize health, the most recent veggie shipment from the organic farm co-op, lefovers from a previous dinner out, jars and bottles of duplicate condiments from previous parties, and other forgotten containers now growing fuzzies like science experiments.
We opened the refrigerator prepared to rearrange, restack, toss out and cram more in. This time, however…the refrigerator was empty.
Our sunset arrival to Grammie’s darkened house captured a glistening lake view from the front door. There was a moment of satisfaction from cleaned carpets, sucked-away cobwebs and the new furniture placement. Over the past few weeks, these work projects had occupied our recent visits to Grammie’s house. This particular visit was not to be about cleaning projects, but enjoying company. It was not uncommon for Grammie to welcome us at the front door pleased to see us again and to hear of another party planned for her to join. But she wasn’t on the other side of the front door. She wasn’t in her favorite chair watching her latest Netflix movie. She wasn’t emailing at her computer acknowledging pictures and notes received from grandkids or friends. She wasn’t in the lake taking her last dip on a hot summer’s day.
Jim and I quietly unloaded our festive, party stuff into the clean, empty refrigerator. Later, we sat alone on the newly-swept deck overlooking the lake eating an Asian salad…that Grammie would have loved. There was her empty chair next to us.
Vacuuming cobwebs that Grammie could no longer reach, or cleaning the carpets from hundreds of sandy feet from summer beach visitors, or replacing the laugh-provoking pink garage sale light suspended over the dining table, or dumping jars of olives with 2007 expiration dates had kept our heads and hands occupied for a time. But hearts that hold Grammie memories can not be swept clean, updated, nor purged like a house or refrigerator.
A spankin-clean house and roomy refrigerator…not top priorities for Grammie. I hope one day I can no longer see cobwebs or expiration dates or laughable light fixtures. Thank you, Grammie, for helping us see only the important things in life.
Wow.
I read this with tears streaming down my face.
Our last trip was so crowded with family that I still don't think the emptiness of the house has set in. But I do know sitting on the beach I found myself glancing up to Grammie's bedroom balcony- looking for her to wave down in acknowledgement of the beach activities.
We just have to remind ourselves that she is waving down from a higher spot now.