I have been quiet on the blog lately, let me explain why.
Exactly a week ago January 26 at 8:44am I received a phone call from my mom telling me that my grandmother Julia had passed. At that time I did not make much of it, I must have been in shock that my brain simply did not process that information properly. However, later that afternoon as I was resting on my bed, looking up at the ceiling, it hit me like a ton of bricks all at once. My chest sunk and my eyes flooded with tears. Never have I felt so powerless, so lost, and so hurt at the same time. That evening at the meeting as we were singing song 68, the words on my iPad screen all started to blur together, my throat started closing up and my breathing got heavy. I couldn’t hold my tears in no matter how hard I tried. I kept trying to sing, each verse describing exactly how I felt; my heart begging Jehovah to listen to my sorrowful prayers.
That night I called my mom to see how the funeral went, and although I found some comfort in knowing that all our witness friends were in attendance, my heart was pounding so hard in my chest because I wanted to be there, to see her one last time & although she couldn’t have seen or heard me, to say our last goodbye. I have so many mixed emotions: anger, sadness, hope, but overall I feel defeated.
I feel defeated in the sense that I know I can’t do anything to fix the situation, knowing that this time I lost. Defeated because I know that I can’t say anything to help my mom feel better and that is what kills me the most. If I am in pain I can not even begin to imagine what she is going through. Hearing the anguish in her voice as she cried through the phone to me telling me how she felt empty inside because she lost her mother, the person who had seen her through everything, and that she was never going to see her again as she looked through my grandmother’s effects broke my heart.
However I have hope. Hope and trust in Jehovah that he will rid us of this “last enemy” (1 Corinthians 15:26). I have always known that there will be a resurrection, but nothing can make faith stronger than that of personal experience; so I am now more than ever clenching to that promise. In the meantime, I choose to remember Julia for all the beautiful things she taught me: that nothing is more valued in a woman than that of a good heart and a modest appearance. That a woman should always look her best, but that what really matters is the secret person of the heart. The way she lived taught me to trust in Jehovah in every aspect of my life and to pray to Him like I would never be able to pray again. Her laugh was the most infectious there was, her eyebrows rising and her hairline moving up her scalp, that’s how good she laughed, teaching me to be light-hearted, and that sometimes you just needed to laugh some things off.
Those are the things I will never forget until the day comes that Jehovah grants me the privilege to see her again.
Dear abuelita Julia: I miss you, I love you, & I can’t wait to see you again. Nos vemos en el paraiso. (Juan 5:28,29a | Isaias 26:19)