Granny Leavitt died today. We got the warning that she was deteriorating quickly two days ago. Tragically, I was thinking last week that it had been a while since we had heard anything from Grandma and that I should get everybody to call her. I did not. So, as always, the greatest lesson in death is to use the moments we have for the things that matter most.
When I was 6, my Grandma Lay died, my Great Grandpa Downs died, and my cat Boregard died. Before I had the capacity to grieve I was taught that there was no reason to. I would be able to see them all again in heaven, and they were happier now than they had been. The sad part was how much we would miss them. I have no specific memory of my great grandfather so I do not know how often I saw him, but I saw my Grandma Lay once a year when we visited her and one or two times when she came to visit us. They often came on Halloween (Nevada Day parade) or Christmas. So, though I would miss those events, they were not a part of my daily life so there was not that much to miss. Since then I have viewed death in terms of the loss associated with missing someone. I have never felt much loss because no one who has been a daily part of my life has died. Sharon Palmer and Charlotte Soukoup are the closest people to me that I have lost, but by the time they passed, I had not seen them for a long time so there was no future to miss.
This is the distinction. As a child--and up until now I have seen the grief or the sadness of it as a lost future. But I now see that the real tragedy is in all the moments I could have better spent with them. All the opportunities to show my love and appreciation that I excused. All the relationship that was never built. The part of me I lost by not sharing it with those I love. So I am left with the memories I did build and the love I did share, made all the more precious by their rarity.
So here is what I remember of my grandmother. More than anything, I remember Hannah, Wyoming where the seven of us Lay children stayed for six weeks. I turned 12 that summer. I helped grandma make Tang for Grandpa and helped her pack his lunches for the night shift with Carbon County Coal Company. Many of our dinners included home-frozen corn from plastic bags that I heated in the microwave. She found clothes for Devanie and the twins at a garage sale. Many nights I would stay up late with her and watch (I'm pretty sure it was) Johnny Carson while Grandpa was at work. My mom was mad that she had let me do that because I had dark circles under my eyes when she picked us up.
I was the first granddaughter, after Grandma had had my mom and then her six boys she anxious for a darling little girl and I finally came. I held a special place in her heart. But I did not understand her love and concern for me when I overheard her telling my mom how she needed to teach me to control myself. As an insecure newly teen it was a devastating disillusion to find that I was not adored by my dear grandmother from every angle. I allowed that to create a rift in our relationship. Even years later when I had the opportunity to heal the rift, I concealed the pain and kept it for my own.
When Grandpa died Grandma Leavitt carried herself with strength and dignity through the funeral flurry. That night when everyone had gone to their rooms and the lights were out we finally heard her pain. Her voice sounded like my mother's. I ran out to comfort her, but when I saw that my mom was already there to comfort her own mother, I let them be. I have heard that same sob choked out of my own throat. The same voice of the generations that has graced our chapels with beloved hymns has cried to God in our secret places and our darkest moments.
Grandma had lost the precious love of her life. She had little desire to live without him. Still, strength and dignity won. She found and acted upon her own personal purpose as she chose to serve the mission they had planned on serving together--even before the General Authorities so actively promoted senior missions. She forged herself into another binding link in generations of faithful women of God.
Because of the limited amount of time I spent with her, the thing I know best about her is the absolutely incredible woman she produced in my mother, Randa. I do not mean to minimize Darthella's sons. They are men of strength and distinction who bring honor to the name of their parents. But it is the daily observation of my own mother that teaches me who her mother was, and who I can become.
Despite the love I missed from Grandma Leavitt of my own neglect, and despite the loss of future opportunities for her and I to strengthen each other, I know that death is the reminder of the value of life. By the time I leave this life, will I have lived as faithfully and loved as fully as time and the very best that is in me has allowed? There is time to be better. I am needed. And I need my family to know that I need them today and into eternity. My heart would be so empty without them and without knowing that they are forever mine.
I am so very happy for Grandma to be reunited with her precious Jack. The joy they share as he acknowledges his pride in her for enduring without him. The sweet fulfillment of knowing there is nothing more for either of them to endure--except to see their children endure. But in their love and anxiety for us they now work again, side by side. How blessed we are. And how great is their joy.
