Even though she was my husband's grandma, she was my grandma, too. I was only 16 when I met her, so I've known her most of my life. My own grandmothers both passed away several years ago, so I claimed her as my own.
Other than the furniture being rearranged from time to time, Grandma Luper's house was always exactly the same. The red and white pressed glass candy dish full of jelly beans or old fashioned hard candies. The glass cabinet full of her dolls. Her lighthouses, filling every shelf and corner. Grandma loved lighthouses and everyone knew it, so every birthday and Christmas she received more of them.
So many memories in that house. The Christmases and Thanksgivings where I was lucky to find a square foot of carpet to sit on, so full was the house of cousins and aunts and uncles and in-laws. My little babies, fascinated with the Scrooge doorknocker that said "Bah, humbug!" and the bells that lit up and played Christmas carols year after year. Grandma sitting on the floor, too, insisting that if it weren't for the kids, she wouldn't even bother with having furniture.
I remember bringing over laundry when we lived across the street and I didn't have a washer. I didn't ask her to fold my laundry for me; I just was hoping she'd let me wash my clothes. But she always managed to get them dried and folded for me before I could get back over there and take care of it myself.
Everything was always the same. Grandma would always talk about heaven, and about how much she loved her Jesus, and that someday she was going to go to heaven to be with her Jesus and see her son John again, who died of leukemia. She would always get tears in her eyes when she talked about heaven. Later, after Grandpa died, she would talk about seeing him, too.
Whenever we'd visit her, she would be so surprised to see us and jump up to greet us with a long, hug and a kiss. She would hug us as if she hadn't seen us in a long, long time, and when we left, she would hug us all again as if it might be the last time. Nobody left Grandma's house without a hug, even if she had just met you that day.
One of my kids remarked that she thought Grandma would live forever. It just felt like that she should. She should always be there, in Grandpa's old blue recliner, watching the Gaithers sing on TV, being ready for us to come visit her, no matter when we decided to show up. She should never grow any older, never act her age. She should always be the forever 29-year old grandmother sitting on the floor playing with the babies.
The funeral will probably will be Tuesday or Wednesday, so we'll be headed back to Indiana. I'm sure everyone will be there. Even Uncle Jim is flying from California. It's been so long since everyone has been together. It's kind of sad that it takes a funeral to get the whole family together.
I'm sure it will sink in eventually that she's in heaven now, with Grandpa and John. I'm sure she is having the time of her life. But we will certainly have a void on earth here without her. Things just aren't going to be the same anymore.
