Doubt, Illusions, Pooh Bear, and Crowns

I've been questioning God more than usual the last two weeks.  (Don't worry...he can take it. He's a wee bit bigger than my doubt.) The only way I know to express my angst is by outright asking him "why?" and "how long?" and "what are you trying to accomplish?"  Recently, these questions have centered around the prolonging of my Grandma's life.  She's 97.  She's lived a beautiful painful life as a flawed saint and servant. She's tired. She's ready. 

And..she's ALONE.  

She's alone because we are afraid and illogical and silly.  And because we fear Death,  we separate those nearest it from all that is familiar and known...from the remaining fragments of their history that give meaning to their existence.    

It's true that I only visit my Grandma about 3 times a year - which always feels inadequate - but I haven't seen her for almost 7 months now, and it's too long.  

Today, I was notified that she (and several other residents) tested positive for COVID (in spite of rigid adherence to the protocols).  She's currently asymptomatic and if anyone is stubborn enough to kick this thing to the curb, it would be Shirley Waggoner.   

I am grateful for her health and long life.

I am grateful that her memory is weak, so she may not feel our absence as fully as she otherwise would.  

I give thanks for psychotropic meds that probably make her feel pretty darn happy at times.

I'm thankful that, today at least, she's Unworried.  Unaware.  And many of her basic needs are met. 

I'm thankful for wise words from Pooh Bear ;-)

But I'm also angry.  Not punch-the-wall-angry, but sad-angry.  I'm sad that, whether or not COVID takes her, THIS is how it ends for her and for us.  This madness of fear.  This illusion that we can control something we can't even see and clearly don't understand.  I suspect that the Lord who sits in the heavens chuckles much like we would at a toddler who thinks he can perform the impossible. "Awww....isn't that cute?"  But I digress...

Grandma didn't answer my call today, but had the wherewithal to listen to my voicemail and call me back.  She called me by name and even seemed to know who I was, though she didn't recognize my sons - or even her own - when I named them.  She sounded "chipper" and described her monotonous days and nursing home food as "not so bad!"  

It was a sweet, brief chat that ended with words that undid me.  "I love you, Lori.  I hope you have a good life."  It sounded like goodbye.

She has run a good race. She has kept the faith. If we can't at least share a final hug, I hope her finish line is near.  She will wear the Crown of Righteousness with the dignity befitting a daughter of The King.