Elizabeth, You've Learned When to Be Quiet...

So, my grandmother died. On April 4 my mother and I drove from Olympia, WA to Casper, WY to say goodbye to her mother, and also help her out of this life and into the great unknown of whatever comes next for us all. Betty Lynne Foote Ray of Casper, Wyoming passed on Friday, April 27, very early in the morning. My mom and I got back Home on the evening of May 3.

I have a lot of stories about the time between the beginning and now, but the one that stands out in my head currently is the one that goes something like this…

She was tired that day, and melancholy that she was still called to endure life as a dying senior in America. I sat next to her bed as she stared at the ceiling. In my lap was my green leather bound journal, and in my right hand was the green-inked pen I used to write in it (Fun Fact: Did you know that the instance of total stalking sociopathic nutters using green ink to write to their idols is extremely high? I’m not a stalker: I’m a Poet!). It was clear to everyone she wanted to die and was, in actuality, quite physically ready to die as well. And yet…

“Bama,” I said.

Her eyes opened and she stared right at me and smiled at me. I secretly thought how cute she was when she smiled, with her mouth left full of very few teeth. I’m thinking now how terrible it is to find cute something as simple as an elderly person having too few teeth to eat with.

“Yes, Elizabeth?” She said responsively.

“Do you want to die?” I looked her in the eyes as I asked it, knowing already what her answer would be—I’d had a similar conversation with her a few days before. But I wanted to know more, you see. I wanted to know what her real answer was, not simply a truth she wanted to share—that she got to see me survive and flourish!

Instead of going back to that conversation, I asked, “Then why are you still here?”

She looked at me and started to answer, but stopped. Being the stubborn bullheaded grand-daughter I am, I said a line or two to coax her into saying more, but she too was stubborn. She turned her face slightly from me and closed her eyes.

Recognizing my time of talking was through, I picked my journal back up and started to write. I was writing about the experience of being with Bama in her final month on this Earth, giggling to myself because I am really absolutely hilarious and clever sometimes. I sat there next her bed while she ignored me and pretended to sleep, writing away. About ten minutes I scribbled Soul Words into my journal, and then her voice snapped me out of my literary reverie.

“Elizabeth?” She said softly. I looked up to find her watching me quietly, her fingers folded together.

“Yes, Bama?” I answered, crossing my ankles and looking up to face her eye-to-eye.

“You have learned when to be quiet.” She smiled knowingly at me and I felt then, even as I feel it now to remember, that some foundational shift was occurring inside of me as my grandmother died.

“Yes, Ma’am. I have.” Then she went to battle her soul in the timeless sands of sleep, just as I bent back down to continue to write.

I wrote: