A long December...(and January and February)

"One Day at a Time"

Soon the sun will shine again

Soon things will be fine

Until it does, trust God above

And take one day at a time

- Judith Bulock Morse

This afternoon, I have been trying to clean up a little bit on my desk after a couple of months that have been an absolute whirlwind. Amongst the clutter here in the office, I found a couple of unused/unopened Christmas presents. Normally, this wouldn't be that big of a deal - what with it just being a picture frame, notepad and framed poem. Except the poem came from my grandmother.

You know the drill - sometimes you don't always get a present that is exactly what you want, but you thank the giver for their efforts and thoughts anyway. Over the last few years, my grandmother's Christmas presents have ranged from ties that I never wear to stuffed animals to framed poems that really don't mean very much to me at the time. I thanked her for every one of these gifts, though, because I know how hard it was for her to a.) buy me something and b.) find something perfect for me that didn't have an AU markings on it at all.

Back to today...I decided to look at this frame one more time to try to come up with somewhere to put it. After all, this was the last Christmas gift she gave me, and it's something that will always hold a special place in my heart. When I read it, a funny thing happened - I broke down.

She could always tell me when and where she saw the gift throughout the year that made her think, "This is what I'm going to give Chris." No ifs, ands or buts. However, when I said thank you to her on Dec. 25 for this, she confessed she couldn't remember what she got me. "I bought it a long time ago," she explained.

Well before the stroke, I believe she knew her time with all of us was running down. After three months of fighting, defying the odds, Emma Jean McKinney (all semblances of a grandparent Jeanie or I ever knew biologically) joined her place amongst the angels on Wednesday, Feb. 24. I had prepared myself for the phone call for three months. I wasn't ready, though, not by a long shot.

When dad told me, I became numb. I was panicked because I knew I needed to get to my mom. My boss was in a meeting. Everyone and their mothers around me in the office were on phone calls. I had just unpacked my funeral clothes after Jeanie said she was doing so well the weekend before. It wasn't supposed to be Feb. 24, but I was numb because I knew she was better finally. Just numb.

Phone calls, texts, e-mails - they all came pouring in. It was touching hearing from everyone, and the distances some folks traveled were minuscule compared to the leaps and bounds they brought up my spirits. I'll never forget any of that, and I'd be there for them in a second should the roles be reversed.

It has taken some time, but I'm slowly coming back around to my old self. I'm so very proud of my grandmother for everything she accomplished, and I am just happy she can spend Billie's birthday with her in heaven. The last six years since Billie's death took their toll, and she will never have to spend a day without her or my grandfather for the rest of eternity. That's a truly awesome peace of mind.

When I was writing the obituary (which is one of the most difficult things I have ever written), I didn't break down. I suffered from writer's block like you wouldn't believe because I guess I didn't want to fully process what is going on. I don't know if it was because I felt like I needed to be strong for my mom or my aunt or for others, but I couldn't force myself to crumble even when I've been here by myself.

Little did I know it would just take the words "One day at a time."

This is just a small step in the road to normalcy, but I can feel again. Birthdays, Thanksgiving, Christmas - they're all going to be difficult in a way. The last week of February will carry with it a black cloud for a little bit. I miss her terribly, but I didn't leave anything unsaid. The peace from that is unbelievable.

Randy, my uncle, said it best once all the hooplah from the funeral died down and it was just us going to get some food for just our family. "We're not the only ones to go through this, and we'll get through it all together." Pretty philosophical coming from a Bama fan, if you ask me. I had dinner with a friend the other night, and I couldn't seem to stop talking about all the good times I had with my grandmother and Billie. No one will ever take that from me, and there were even good memories to come from the last three months.

She brought us all together, and as we have learned the last 19 days, she kept us all together despite all distances and absences. I wish I had more time to talk to her on the phone or just sit with her in the living room watching TV, but I am OK knowing she knew I loved her and that she loved me. Dearly.

When we pieced all the thoughts together and stories from the day of the stroke in November, it was quite clear to me that she knew where she needed to be to move on. She knew when she needed to do this. And she knew that, through all suffering and agony she may have been fighting internally, we needed her smile, her charm and her love to make this time easier.

And, by giving me this silly framed poem, she knew what I needed from her to get on with the process of grieving. I'm not sure where I will put it, but I will never get rid of it.

I love you, grandma, and I think about you all the time. While I'm going to miss you, I do know we'll get to the point that I never have to spend a day without you again just like you don't have to without those you lost that were so dear to you. Try to let Bertha Jo in the door when she gets there too, but it's OK if you give her one of your sly smiles and make her sweat a little bit. I won't hold it against you. Enjoy all your crowns and the jewelry to coincide with them for the rest of time.