Selma Osborn (Jul. 19, 1917 - Feb. 4, 2008)

Tonight my Grandma is in heaven.

My heart is heavy. There's a sadness I feel that can't be undone. The tears that are hot on my cheeks are a present reminder of her absence. The tears are not for her, though. They're for me. For my mom. For my uncle. For everyone who is missing her.

There is a void in our hearts that wasn't there before. In concert with this new found void, however, the constant theme I hear is: "Where, O death, is your victory? Where, O death, is your sting?"

July 19, 1917 - February 4, 2008. I'm sure I'll be seeing that quite a bit over the next several days. It looks so final. But thank God (thank God, thank God, thank God) that it's wrong. He's been preparing me for this transition for the last week or so. Reminding me that the last date is not the end. Even more so, it's the beginning. The beginning of such an incredible time for her. Freedom from the prison her feeble body had become. Now she can breathe deep the freshest air she's ever known. She can see to count the trees on the farthest hill. She can walk, or even run, down the paths of gardens more beautiful than she ever could have imagined.

I have so many wonderful memories of my Grandma. All of the best ones, though, are of her in her garden. Who knew that a half acre in the middle of Albuquerque could be so fertile, so lush. Corn, squash, zucchini, tomatoes, green beans, strawberries, rhubarb, peaches, mulberries and flowers like you wouldn't believe. (I know I'm missing quite a few crops. Those are just the ones I remember.) She worked so hard, and it showed. It was beautiful, an oasis. If she could do all that in the middle of a desert, I can't wait to see what she does with her own little piece of paradise.

Dear Jesus, thank you for the hope we have in you. Thank you that this isn't the end. In one fell swoop you conquered death. You took away the pain - both hers and ours. Thank you for your peace and your comfort. Thank you that one day soon, I'll see my Grandma again.