ON MY GRANDMOTHER'S PASSING

Grief is a weird thing. The best analogy I could come up with was that someone has thrown mud all over my face. Don't worry, I was wearing safety goggles. But as I do my best to wipe the mud away, the goggles remain stained, and everything looks a little darker through them. For the past few days, everything I look at or experience has been "smudged," because I can't shake the fact that all of my grandparents have passed away. In time, I will either learn to live with the smudges or I will take off the goggles, calmly wipe them off, and go about my business.

My grandma was a good woman. Very moral, very godly. After her husband passed away (on Father's Day 1990), she really became the matriarch of this side of the family, in fact as well as in name. No family gathering was complete without her offering the blessing, often by reading an essay or a prayer (or something in between) before we ate.

Over the past few days, I've tried to figure out how she impacted my life. We weren't crazy close, she didn't raise me or anything. Over the past few years (since Arkansas), I probably saw her two or three times a year. Not that she didn't impact my life in other ways. Obviously, the carrying out of my grandpa's will was a big one - I wanted to please her as much as I wanted that thousand dollars. Seriously, think about a world in which I get drunk. It's a scary thought. She raised my mom with a certain set of ethics that got transferred on to me. Whether it's the importance of prayer in our lives or the willingness to loan out a guest room to someone who needs it...that comes from Grandma.

I also think of the small things. Her lack of understanding as to what improv is, but relentless support of me (once I told her Sousa and Casey let me pray before meals). Going out for lunch with her occasionally - Zuni's Pizza, Round the Clock, That One Mexican Place on 45th...all special places. The fact that she told me the same stories over and over in the last few years. My favorites were "Uncle Marshall Brings a Coal Miner To Christ" and "The First Time I Saw Pizza." And I'm not being ironic when I say I enjoyed the stories, I really did. It was something to count on. And now that something is gone. In a better place, yes. But gone from here.

My grandma would go to Burger King for lunch almost every weekday. She had a regular group of friends there - and friends that she met by going to Burger King everyday at the same time, these weren't friends she went in with. Well, one lady that was there every day wasn't a Christian, but heard my grandma talk about her faith every day. Eventually, this woman became a Christian and claims to be much better for it, and much better for having known my grandma. The lessons I take from this are twofold: 1) Persistence pays and 2) You never know who is paying attention to your words and actions. Whether you're a Christian or whether you're not, what you do matters. Even in a place like Burger King.