Right after she died, I wondered to myself whether I would actually want to leave such a big hole. Would I want my kids and grandkids to miss me so desperately?
I realized something today, though. Yeah, my Grandma left a hole. A huge one. And when I think of her, sometimes I feel sad. But then there's this: impact. She didn't really leave a hole, did she? She taught us all so much through her love, her laughter, her way of doing life. In a big way, she made my Mom who she is - she made my sister and my brother and I who we are. Her ways have trickled down through three generations already.
That's not a hole. That's a life's purpose - fulfilled. Still, if I ask the Lord to hug my Grandma this Christmas season and tell her that I miss her hands, her sparkling eyes, her sweet words, her singing next to me in church, her juice in the morning, her green beans, her egg basket, her green thumb? If I ask Him to let her see me singing her lullabies to my children at night, to see me bouncing them the way she used to? I think it's ok to cry a little.