The woman I aspire to be.

I sit down beside her bed, two heavy-weight oxygen tanks hooked up to the wall. I can tell it’s been a hard day for her.

She smiles at me, “How’s Kate doing?”

Machines breathe for her and she hasn’t left Room 7 for weeks, but “How’s Kate?”

And as the sun, that golden thread, weaves its way through the windows and rests on Grandma’s face, we talk about boys, the article I just wrote for work, God’s plan for my life.

And with her, the fifty-four years between us slip away. A friend listens to another friend’s heart.

Like two years ago, when I called her from the highway and said, “Grandma, I may need a place to live.” And for months, I called her my roomie and she’d cook potatoes and roast beef and we’d sit for hours at the kitchen table after dinner, sipping earl grey, and giggling about my step-grandpa. She’d tell me stories of her childhood, of the days of raising her kids.

I cried when I moved into my own apartment.

I knew Grandmas could be inspiring. They could be loving. They could be supportive. But I never knew they could be your best friend.

Friends. Even though she had every reason to embrace bitterness. Instead, she got up every morning, put on her makeup and a chiffon top or dress pants. She was “clothed with strength and dignity and looked to the future with confidence” (Proverbs 31:25).  She sometimes told me it was just vanity, but I knew it was hope.

Now, I wear her scarves.

And when death knocked at the door, she ignored it and wrote poems. And those two children’s stories she always wanted to write. She painted a picture of poppies. She wouldn’t stop living until she stopped breathing.

I walk through those hospice doors weeks ago and hardly have time to kiss her hello before she hands me the prayer she wrote:

Thank you Jesus for allowing me to know that I am dying

For giving me time to celebrate the gifts granted to me.

Her eyes shine as she pushes the paper closer to me. “See? Jesus answered the next morning in my devotional.”

I am creating something new in you:

a bubbling

spring of Joy that spills over into others’ lives.

For a year and half, I sit and talk with a woman who lives on the edge of death. And she shows me how to really live.  

And I get that call and my eyes overflow. Like her legacy spills over.

I run my index finger over the smooth surface of the picture she showed everyone, the one where she says we look alike.

My kindred spirit.

Two months before, I hand her the letter. The one where I tell her how I feel.

Dear Grandma…if I can match who you are to a tee as I grow up, I would feel that I had lived a successful life. You have exemplified for me everything I want to be as a woman: graciousness, a servant’s heart, a genuine love for other people (even the unlovable and less fortunate), determination in your career, faithfulness to your husband and family, a forgiving heart, faith in Christ, a creative and imaginative mind, a hospitable hostess, and a delighted heart in other people’s successes.

I remember how the nurse walked in and said she could tell I was her granddaughter.

That I looked just like her.

I hope one day, they’ll say the same about my life.