Thoughts on Anniversaries

   Today is July 2nd.  One day after the first anniversary of my grandmother's passing.  One day before the two-month mark following my grandfather's passing.  It's been a different year.  I felt my grandmother's absence (we call her Meemaw) strongest three days ago.  I was cleaning her house which my family began living in over a year ago to care for Meemaw after she was diagnosed with cancer.  So many memories flooded back as I worked.  There was her hot pink housecoat hanging in her closet, (she loved pink, even before the brand came into being), and her navy houseshoes that I can still hear scuff-scuffing with her footsteps as she hurried off to some task.  (Yes, we still have them.  Some things just take time.) 
     I vacuumed around her purple recliner.  Bobby pins used to litter the carpet beside that chair, a testament to her great use of the wonderful little inventions and to the crowdedness of the ledge she tried to drop them on. 
     I polished the sink and mirror.  Her denture cup was there just months ago, her toothbrush and the orderly caddies, one on either side of the sink, holding her's and Peepaw's toiletries. 
     The hospital bed that Peepaw used, (such a help as we gave him home care following his stroke), is now made up with a purple coverlet, so different from the pristine look it previously had. 
    The day progressed and I moved on to other things. Soon it was supper time and I swung open the fridge to see what we could eat.  In a split second  I was back in "Peepaw's supper-fixing mode," starting to look for the milk to fix the sugar-free chocolate drink he always had at supper.  Suddenly his absence washed over me, and I crumbled a bit inside. 
    In the mornings, after meals, in the evenings, I find anytime I can to sit down at the old, deep-
chocolate, Howard piano in the living room.  How can it be that it is mine, that I've inherited the instrument my grandmother played from a child?  It's not in perfect condition, of course.  It's got scratches and one of the keys stick and a few sound flat.  But still I play it; I try to mimic my Meemaw's effortless style as she would "tickle the ivories," sounding out "There is a Fountain," "He's Still on the Throne," or "Jesus, the Name High Over All."  I find such a disconnect between my hammering and her trilling, but still I press on. 
     My grandparents were such a huge part of my life.  I lived down the lane from them for 15+ years.  Every Christmas, every Easter, every birthday, Friday evenings and Sunday dinners were spent with them, plus hundreds of visits and calls and drop-bys sprinkled throughout it all.  I'm not sad that my grandparents have gone to be with the Lord.  I'm not sad that they are free from pain, from physical difficulties, from sorrow, from sin and the effects of living in a sin-filled world.  I miss them, but I am so comforted that they are with my Heavenly Father with Whom I hope to be someday soon.  And until then, I'll keep on with my Savior's help, remembering my grandparents and trying to live a faithful, God-fearing life as they tried to do.