(This is what I wrote for my grandma’s service tomorrow morning.  It is not particularly amazing, and it does not come close to showing what an absolute dear and saint my grandma was.  It is, however, the best I can do with the time I have.  Believe me, I went through several drafts and scrapped them all because they rambled or didn’t transition well or weren’t especially coherent, or, my favourite reason, because they just didn’t sound good enough to be spoken about my dear sweet grandma.  This is what made the cut under “acceptable.”)

Quite some time ago Grandma had asked me to write something for her funeral service when she passed away.  Not particularly wanting to delve into the topic, but not quite wanting to ignore her request either, I smiled passively and said, “Sure, Grandma.”  She pointed her finger at me very seriously as she said, “You just make sure to make me sound real good now, ok?”  Then she giggled.  What she didn’t realise then was that I couldn’t possibly make her sound bad if I tried.

To say that my grandmother had one of the sweetest souls of anyone I’ve ever known may perhaps be an understatement.  She had a sort of radiance about her that seemed to draw others to her.  A lot is said through the eyes, and Grandma said more with her one eye than most people do with both of theirs.  It seemed to constantly twinkle whenever she was in your company, and when she smiled you couldn’t help but smile as well.  She had the miraculous ability to cheer you up merely by her presence.  Being in her presence had a kind of bubble effect in which the whole world seemed to melt away, and your stress and troubles along with it.

Her love enveloped everyone around her in a way reflective of our Lord.  Grandma often reminded me of something St. Teresa of Avila wrote in The Interior Castle – St. Teresa said that if you love God perfectly and whole-heartedly then His love would flow through you to others like a river from a font.  She said that God would use such people as vessels of His love to others, and I fully believe God employed Grandma as one of His vessels.

Grandma’s faith was awe inspiring to the end.  She held onto her rosary and prayed as long as she was physically capable, even when she was in pain and could hardly speak.  I sat there in amazement watching her pray as her two sons sat at her bedside, one on each side, praying aloud with her, thinking how joyful it must have made her.  When my Uncle Richard asked her who she was praying for she replied very simply: “Everybody.”  She was frail and her skin had sunken in around her bones, but she was still one of the most beautiful women I have ever seen.  Our Lord just glowed about her.  I recall thinking at that moment and writing down in my journal how this was the closest I’ve ever been to Jesus in human flesh save for the holy sacrament of the Eucharist, and the thought was just breathtaking.

The beauty of her life was rivalled only by that of her death.  Richard turned the television to midnight Mass on Christmas Eve for Grandma to hear.  Richard said that she stayed until the end of the Mass when she heard, “The Mass is ended, go in peace.”  Then she took a deep breath and passed away.  Her love for her faith is so apparent and present in her death.  She waited to hear midnight Mass before she left.  I think it’s safe to say that Jesus had a magnificent birthday this year.

She served as a role model for me in my own faith and has had a part in bringing me closer to God.  Throughout much of my life I can remember her repeatedly telling me, “Well, you just pray on it.  God will give you an answer.”  Her piece of advice remains to this day to be one of the best parcels of wisdom I’ve ever been given and the one which led me to my decision to become Catholic.  My faith has been the singularly greatest blessing in my life, and she is partly to thank for that.

I remember Grandma telling me once that her dream had always been to go to college so that she could get an education and do something.  The fact that her dream had never reached fruition had always saddened her.  I think, though, that the people who knew and loved this darling little woman – this woman who very much loved westerns – would agree with me in saying that Rosemary did quite a lot for a great many people.  She touched the lives of the people around her and left them better than she encountered them, and that’s something no college degree can touch.

I came to a realisation today, one which you probably already have had.  I, on the other hand, was a little slow in getting there.  Time?  It flies past you in the blink of an eye.  I realised this today while I was looking through some old pictures on my computer.  I looked at pictures of my brother & sister from what seemed like just a year ago and then had to remind myself that these pictures were from over fifteen years ago.  I looked at those familiar faces that I remember greeting every morning when I came in with my mom to wake them up to get ready for school, and I realised that this is how I remember them most in my mind.  That may sound a bit silly, but at that point in my life they were my role models and my best friends.  I’d stare out the living room window and watch as they waited for the bus and then watched them get on the bus and leave to go to school, and I’d anxiously bide my time during the day waiting their arrival back home.  When it was nearing the time they’d be getting back home I’d turn cartoons on on the TV so that they’d be ready and waiting, too, for my siblings when they got back home.  I’d stare out the window until I saw that big yellow bus barreling down the road and come to a stop outside our house.  When I saw my brother & sister get off the bus I would get giddy with excitement.  I’d run back to the family room and plop myself down on the couch in front of the cartoons waiting to hug & kiss my siblings as soon as they walked through the door.  That was always the happiest time of the day for me.  I got my best friends back, I got my playmates back.  I’d jump up and attack them with hugs & kisses.  They’d take their coats and backpacks off and then watch some cartoons with me before it was time for them to do their homework.  I anxiously waited each day for that precious hour or two that I got to spend cuddling up with my siblings on the couch and laughing.  It wasn’t anything particularly special, but you couldn’t put a price on how precious that time was for me.

When I was little, my siblings & I got along marvelously.  Perhaps that is in part due to the age difference between us, I don’t know, but we were always pretty close.  We loved each other in a way that I didn’t often see among other siblings.  We played together.  I was their baby sister and they loved me whole-heartedly.  They loved playing with me, they loved spending time with me.  They included me in their big kid activities and were happy to.  They let me sleep in their beds with them because I hated sleeping alone.  And I had them placed upon a pedestal.
Obviously, things have changed a bit.  We’ve grown up.  We don’t all live together anymore.  My brother is MARRIED.  Also, I don’t sleep in their beds anymore (I’m thinking my sister-in-law is probably immensely grateful for this).  We are all very different people now, but our love for each other is still very real and present.  My brother & I have a particularly close relationship.  It’s not that I’m not close with my sister — I love her more than words — but she & I are complete opposites in nearly every way and that makes it difficult when you put a very touchy-feely loving person in the same room as someone who wants her personal space and does not so much like that mushy love stuff so please refrain from hugging or kissing her, thank you very much.  My brother, though.  It’s hard to explain.  I don’t know why we’re so close.  We just are.  He’s the only male I’ve ever known who, throughout adolescence and growing up, never got ashamed of hugging or kissing his little sister in front of his friends and other people.

The major difference is now that the cycle has continued and I have merely flip-flopped positions with them.  Rather than me waiting excitedly for them to come home from college, they now excitedly wait for me to come back home from college.  As different as things are, so many things still seem the same for that exact reason.  It’s so very weird for me to look at pictures of them from when they were little and to realise that they’re adults now, though I imagine that as difficult as it is for me it is probably much more so for them since their first memories of me are as a newborn.

Unfortunately, I’m not back home in Indiana today, but I really wish I was.  I’d love for nothing more than to jump up and attack them both with hugs & kisses.  I suppose we’ll all have to settle for postponing that for another week and a half or so.

Happy 27th birthday, Benji & Sarah!  I love you both so very much.  May God shower you with His blessing & grace this year and always.

And now for the picture part of this post which I am sure you have been waiting for.  (Because I could not possibly be bothered to actually include the pictures inside the text.  That would mean I’d have to think about placement of them and we just can’t have that, now can we?)

They were some cute looking kids.

Apparently they were pretty drugged as well.  (I included this because I love this picture of my dad.)

Rawr!  The cuteness will get you.

Portrait of the artist as a very young man.

See?  They loved me the minute they met me.  What proud siblings!  They were very excited about my arrival.  More importantly, though, check out what a butterball I was.  While you’re at it, take notice of the fact that I am flicking you off in the picture.  To this day I don’t flick people off — I use my ring finger as a joke if I do it at all.  I guarantee you that this is the only picture ever to show me flicking someone off.

This is how I remember him best — my sweet, doting big brother in his dorky bright 80′s clothes.

Joy in its purest form.

Sarah visiting Ben at college.  They’re about my age in this picture.  They both look a whole lot older than me, though.  It’s hard for me to believe.  (Apparently I look like I’m 15.)

She is more beautiful than ever.

He’s pretty good looking himself.