it has been a year

It has been a year since Mary Ella Monk, my great-grandmother, died at age 95.

A year ago I spoke at her service, which was an incredible privilege and gave me warm fuzzy feelings all over. I spoke of her love for others, specifically our great-grandfather, Earl, who recently walked me down the aisle at my wedding. I spoke about her faith and how she taught us all manners and how she taught my mom to be kind to literally everyone, who in turn has tried to teach me the same.

After her service our whole family was in Dallas, which was very rare the older and busier we all became. That night, after visiting at the house, my uncle and the four Robinson’s headed to a nearby hotel. There was much laughter that afternoon, though we missed Dear terribly.

After check-in my dad and I ran ahead of my mom, locked her out of our elevator, ran down the hall to our room, and locked her out of the room. We thought we were hilarious but she was unfazed. Always the prankster, my dad and I called my uncle’s room several times.

Sunday, we drove home to Houston. I remember listening to comedians in my dad’s SUV on the way home, me driving for once, Dad in the passenger seat, and mom in the back napping. I would miss my great-grandmother always, but she was 95 and died peacefully. I felt safe and happy in the car with my parents (my brother had driven is own truck for various reasons). The night before my great-grandmother’s service we had celebrated my dad’s Agent of the Year award at the Houston New York Life kick-off event downtown. Drew and I had danced alongside my parents, and we had all laughed and had a great time. It was a night I’ll remember always.

I did not mind Dear’s death, in a way. It was peaceful. It was bittersweet. It was touching. It was inevitable.

Look around. We all die. No one lives forever (on this planet, in these bodies.) But 95 years, 74 of which were spent married to the love of your life? Dear’s life was not perfect and she had trials of her own, but it was a full, loving life. It was finally her time to go, and though we’d have kept her here forever, we understood.

My dad’s death rocked our world. It was not peaceful. It was not something I can yet understand. It did not seem bittersweet, simply bitter.

But we did laugh, just like we did after Dear’s service. And actually, we laughed before. Something about both of their death’s and the memorial services to honor their lives: God was scattered all through it.

Wednesday night before my dad’s service, Gentry & a few of his friends dressed up & ran around the house (while a few of my friends slept like normal people) & the rest of us- Amy, Mary, William,mom, Parker, and me, tried not to pee our pants laughing at them. It reminded me so very much of my dad, and it was bittersweet – happy my brother has so much of Dad inside of him, and sad that my Dad was gone so soon.

Later, around 4:00 in the morning, it was just the three of us awake. It was comforting that beds were full, with Renza and Amy and Drew and the dogs, and the Chenoweth’s had just left. We were not alone, but it was nice just the three of us for a moment. We stayed up most of the night. I got in bed at 7 am for a powernap before the service. 

I think we all felt that maybe if we didn’t sleep Thursday would never come. It would stay unreal; my Dad dead, the rest of us here to press on without him. Ugh, I hate the word “dead.”

It was comforting, after a house full of dozens of people, all the talking & the noise, to be quiet. The three of us were in the living room, my mom rearranging picture frames, fluffing pillows, unloading the dishwasher. Gentry lay on his stomach in the middle of the living room, typing on his computer, dogs laying right by him for comfort. I sat near him and he read aloud what he was going to say at the service.

I'm a writer and not good with much, but over the years I've found I can hold my own with words. And when the words are coming out good, it doesn't feel like I'm writing, it almost feels like prayer or that someone is giving me the words. (holy spirit, can I get an amen?!)

When Gentry read his remarks, I told him: you've outdone me. It's perfect. That is absolutely perfect.

And it was. He made people smile & he brought my dad’s unfailing humor & wit. I will never forget the laughter that turned to roaring applause when my brother showed the congregation his pant leg and announced he wasn't expecting a flood, but was wearing our dad’s suit.

I dreaded as a child losing my great grandparents. I was so thankful for their presence in our lives, and none of Gentry and my friends had great grandparents, so I knew we were on borrowed time. I knew they were a gift that wouldn’t last forever.

Turning 20 the year they both turned 90 was pretty special. How many 20 year olds are part of a 4 generation family? And the fourth generation still fully functioning & coherent, living independently in their own home.

My dad knew Dear & Popa for 34+ years. He called them Dear & Popa, but he also called them Mary Ella & Earl. His respect & admiration for them was always visible. He treated them like his own and vice versa.

In high school I overhead my dad say he thought it would be best if Dear & Popa would die in a car crash. I know, maybe I shouldn't even type this for the blog! WHAT?! But actually it was a very kind, tender plan he had.

He went on to say that he wished they'd fall asleep at the wheel, and never wake up, just run off the road in a one car collision. He didn't want them old in a nursing home he
said, and he just could not imagine one without the other.

My dad was the first one to teach my brother and I that life is not fair. And he and my mom together taught us about faith, and hope, and life, and God, and grace, and death. First after Wesley's death, our cousin not yet two years old, and then their best friend jay, 45 unable to beat the cancer that took over his body. They are amazing parents who talked to their kids about all topics, especially the hard stuff. 

I know life isn't fair and that ideally we’d all be 95 in a hospital bed and stop breathing as our granddaughter sings to us & prays over us, just like our sweet Dear. But this world isn't a fairy tale, it's a glorious real world that God created for us. And his timeline is far different than ours.

My heart aches. I miss my dad. I miss my great-grandmother. But I know this: I was in
the room about an hour after dear died, and my mom was with her when she breathed her last. I hugged my great grandfather as his daughters told him dear had died at the hospital  (we were nearby at their house, he was getting dressed for the day.)

I stood on the very spot my dad’s plane slammed to the ground. (weeks after the crash)

I hugged my mom and brother and they held me on the porch of the Carrigan’s, about 6 hours after dads death and as soon as Mom could get to us.

Both places I found complete peace. I knelt on the gravel where the plane crashed on a dirt runway down the road from our old lake cabin. I had been there countless times. I pushed my hand into the gravel until it hurt.

Kneeling on that runway, with Mary Chenoweth and Mom standing not far away, I whispered "thank you" over and over again, tears wet and streaming down my face, because I knew God had been there. It was unquestionable. I can't explain and I don’t fully understand it, but I know. 

My dad and Dear had a different number of years on earth, but the same chance to live. I am so lucky my dad lived fully, always. I am so lucky my parents taught us to love God & seek his wisdom in the good times. Because it has made living much easier, ever since the sky came falling down in September.

He will cover you with his feathers, and under his wings you will find refuge; his faithfulness will be your shield and rampart.  Psalm 91:4 (NIV)