Her Soul

Two years ago this week, Josh read The Giving Tree to his Gurney one last time.  Her casket was covered in roses and hydrangea.  It was beautiful. Just like her soul.  After the service, Jude took the book and held it.  And he wept for her.  He loved the tree and he already missed her laugh that required her to hold her belly.  He sat in the vehicle while we loaded everything for the graveside service, and he quietly embraced his book, covered in his crayon markings; the one that he had read to her just days before her soul slipped into Heaven.  

We drove through the country roads, following the roses and hydrangea.  And Jude held his book and took in the ride.  He watched the farmer stop his tractor in his field, the boy shut off his lawn mower and put his hat over his heart, the Mennonite girl stand from her garden and dust her hands on her dress apron.  I leaned over to Jude and softly told him, "For Gurney".   He never looked over at me, but I know he was touched by their love.  They didn't love Gurney like we did, but they understood the love of the soul and how we grieve when it leaves it's earthly body.  Once we drove up to the grave site,  Josh left us to join the pallbearers and I grabbed Jude's free hand, the other one still grasping his book.  Margo joined her Memaw and Papa.  We were watching the pallbearers lift her casket when Jude let go of my hand and handed me his book.  My seven year old boy silently left my side and joined the pallbearers.  What they were carrying was precious to him.

Josh holding his hand out to Jude.

We sat under the tent and a few words were spoken before Margo tried one last time to sing a song to her Gurney.  But she couldn't.  In the space where notes were supposed to fill, was overwhelming sadness.  

Lucy comforting Jude with her presence.

Only a few weeks later, we were back in school.  Margo started 5th Grade and her teacher, Mrs. Rose, assigned the project of writing a memoir.  This writing assignment is still my favorite that she's written in school.  It's filled with the love that a 9 year old girl has for her 87 year old great-grandmother.

Come Thou Fount of Every Blessing

A memoir by Margo at 9 years old

In 1757, Robert Robinson sat by flickering candlelight, etching words out on small scraps of paper.  Peering back at his life of drinking and gambling and looking forward to a future of walking with Christ as a pastor, he wrote what his heart said.  People age, and they get sick and frail.  Their minds go and they fly away.  Robert passed away in 1790, having lived a good life.  His words and emotions never left us.  Words and emotions are powerful, powerful things.  In fact, his words stayed for me, 214 years after he died.

Our story begins in a small town called Atmore, Alabama.  

"Mama, what's Hospice?"  I asked impatiently.  "Well, when a person reaches the end of their life, Hospice checks on them and comforts them and their family," Mama explained gently, noticeably scared I'd break out in tears.  "Oh,"  I quietly mumbled holding back my tears.  We were on our way to the Atmore Hospital, where Gurney, my great-grandmother was.  I silently went through my memories, recalling everything we did together.  We had always been quite close.  

We pulled into the parking lot of a small, two-story brick building, with large, mint green letters, "ATMORE HOSPITAL".  I saw my Memaw and Papa, practically running to see us. Daddy, Mama, Jude and I were all greeted with a big hug and, "How are you?".  We mingled for a few minutes at the benches in the yard, then we went inside, up the elevator and to room 222.  Memaw braced me before we went in.  "Gurney is sick.  But, just remember that she's fine." So, I took a deep breath and stepped in.  

"How are y'all?" Gurney greeted, slightly croakier than usual, but still obviously filled with joy to see us.  We all patted her, deathly afraid we would squeeze her too hard.  We asked her if she wanted anything.  Mama repositioned her and Papa gave her a sip of water.  "Can Margo sing a song?"  Having prepared for this, I took out a songbook.  I glanced nervously to Mama, who nodded yes. I found "Come Thou Fount", fumbling for any song I knew.  I stood right at her bedside. Her watery, pale blue eyes stared into mine with a hopeful expression on her face; and it completely compelled me to sing.  As I sang, my voice entered the hallway, quavering, trying not to cry as her tasseled hair, usually perfectly done, presented the thought of, "She's dying".  "She'll never be the same again".  

My sight got blurred from the tears, fighting to come out.  Gurney closed her eyes and mouthed the words with me.  As I finished, she asked for Daddy, who quickly kneeled at her side, listening to her intently.  Gurney quickly pointed out that Jude was weary of sitting, putting other's needs before her own, like always, so Mama, Jude and I went outside to play.  We walked to an area full of pine trees and gathered pine cones to make a running course.  We found a stick for a bat.  I was the pitcher.  I pitched him a lousy pine cone, and Jude swinging with all his might,  hit it right on the nose.  He took off weaving in and out of the trees.  I took off behind him, running, but he reached the home base pine cone in a jiffy.  We played a few more baseball games, spent a couple more hours visiting with Gurney, then spent the night at her house.

A few days later, I went to the hospital to visit Gurney again.  Anxious to see her again, I rushed up to her room.  I knew my way now on my own.  Gurney had tried to greet us, but only a whisper came out.  "Good mornin," she attempted to say.  I sang and sang to her all day long.

That night, Uncle Jake and Aunt Chelle FaceTimed Daddy to talk to Gurney.  "God's not gonna keep me here much longer," she said.  I had to leave.  I leaned against the wall and started sobbing uncontrollably.  I buried my face in my knees.  I heard a lady's voice say, "What's wrong?"  I peeked up and stuttered, "Gurney's dying", pointing at the closed door to her room.  She seemed to understand.  "I know.  My mama died a few years ago.  Can you imagine that?"  I pictured Mama in the same tizzy as Gurney.  I started crying even harder.  The lady's lavender and white scrubs squeaked as she slid against the wall to sit beside me.  She had a reassuring talk with me as I struggled to calm down.  "You're quite pretty".  I nodded my head, unable to answer.  We talked for a few moments then she walked me back into the room and then checked on Gurney.  My face must have been quite blotchy, because Daddy asked if I was okay.

The next morning, I went to see Gurney again and I sang to her for a few hours more.  As she was being changed, we went to the waiting room.  Memaw and I were talking,  "We're gonna be gone for a few hours today".  "Why?" I asked.  When Papa retrieved Jude to play checkers, Memaw said, "Papa and I are making arrangements for the funeral."  I gasped.  A pang of surprise and sadness came and began to eat at my heart.  I felt like crying, but nothing would come out.  Memaw continued, "But, we are going to try to let her go home."  And sure enough, a few days later, she went home.

Gurney was moved by an ambulance to her house.  We all were so pleased that she got what she wanted.  We scooped her bed over and put a hospital bed there.  We hooked her oxygen up and then she was moved in. 

I went to Gurney's room as she laid there, softly snoring.  I got out my songbook and sang, 

"Come thou fount of every blessing, tune my heart to sing thy grace...".  Everybody came in and sat by Gurney.  I could see her pale lips mouthing the words.  Mama left the room.  I found a cozy corner and asked myself aloud, "How am I supposed to feel?".

We had lots of fun for the next few days with family. On the 28th, we had to drive back to Pensacola for a doctor's appointment.  The appointment went fine, and on our way back to Atmore, Mama had to stop by a store to pick up a few things, when she got a call.  Gurney was gone.  Mama stood in the store, not crying, not responding to our loss.  She acted strangely normal.  I, on the other hand, was blubbering, "But--I wanted to be there!"  I found myself going boneless.  People in the aisle gave me a look of, "I'm not quite sure she's okay".  We headed off to Gurney's.

A few days later, was the funeral.  Aunt Chelle and Mama got up early and went to set everything up.  Everyone else lumbered around, drinking coffee and mingling.  Others did chores.  My cousin, Brooklyn, and I made programs, but before we knew it, it was time.  We all looked so perfect.  Mama sat up front to do the slideshow.  Daddy sat with all the pallbearers.  Jude and I sat alone on a wooden pew.  After Uncle Jake spoke, we watched a slideshow of lots of pictures of Gurney set to music.  My heart finally died by the end of the slideshow.  It was my turn to sing, so I put away my feelings and all was fine.  Daddy read The Giving Tree, a children's book.  It was the book that Jude read to Gurney.  Jude finally started crying and Uncle Jake came and sat between us.  From the front of the church as he was speaking, Daddy said, "Thank you, Jake.  That is what families do."

We drove to the burial service.  The site was beautiful.  I sang to her one last time, "Come thou Fount of every blessing, tune my heart to sing thy--"I couldn't continue.  I ran to Memaw, and into her awaiting arms.  People tried to comfort me, but they couldn't.  

Gurney was in the presence of God.  Gurney and Robert Robinson are a lot alike.  People age, and they get sick and frail.  Their minds go, and they fly away.  Words and emotions never leave us.  Roberts's words and Gurney's love never left me.  Instead, they changed me.  

Vera Virginia "Gurney" at age 9 

I've talked in posts before about the human soul.  The greatest part of a person is their soul and spirit.  It is the part of the person we are connected with; it is the part we miss and long for; the part we suffer and grieve for.  God's thumbprint runs through all creation, but It is most profound in the human soul.

Her soul was beautiful.  Jude will still cry thinking about her laugh.  The way she would swing to the clouds, her feet straight up in the air, above her white flowing hair.  The way she would  fall over with squealing amusement at the way a water balloon would jiggle.  The way she would cry when we pulled out of the driveway.  Her soul was beautiful. Her love  was abounding.

It's been two years, but we still miss her.  Her soul was a blessing.

And the Tree was happy.