All Done

My friend Annie was a true player ... of games, that is ... she loved to play games more than anyone I've ever known. And my three children loved to play games with her, too. They spent many an afternoon and evening seated around Annie's kitchen table playing games ... canasta, cribbage, marbles and many others. I don't think there will ever be a time when my kiddos sit at a table to play games that they don't remember and talk about Annie. Such has been the case this week each time Matt, Becca, Brad and I have played games at night after C.J. goes to bed. And for some reason, this evening my sons mentioned Annie several times as we played. They talked about how she wouldn't tolerate cheating (unless she was the one doing it), about how she thought children should first lose games for a while because it taught them to fully appreciate winning and how she would patiently teach them the rules of games they hadn't played before. And as my sons talked about playing games with Annie, my mind raced back to the night she collapsed at church after suffering a massive brain aneurysm. Annie was the picture of health for a woman of 67, and her death hit many people really hard, including my little family. Annie's funeral was the first time my sons served as pallbearers, and it was only a short two years later that they joined all of Mom's other grandsons to carry her to her final resting place next to Daddy. As I watched and listened to my sons tonight, I couldn't help but think about how short life truly is and how important it is to appreciate the moments that matter most of all.

My week in Canada is nearing an end ... only one more full day here with Matt, Becca and C.J., and I already feel the sadness of having to say goodbye to them beginning to creep into my heart. Other than Matt and Becca experiencing a really bad stomach flu that sent Matt to the hospital in an ambulance one night and Becca to the clinic the next day, it's been a wonderful week. The only upside to Matt and Becca being sick is that Brad and I got to take care of C.J. all day yesterday, and we had so much fun with her. We were both exhausted come bedtime, but we so enjoyed our time with her. She is such a sweet, happy and loving little girl ... giving out hugs without prompting, crawling into my lap to read a book, laughing and smiling and playing pretty much all the time. The only time she really cries is when she's tired or hungry ... and that's true of most of us, eh? (I am serious about incorporating the "eh?" Canadian-ism into my vocabulary ... I just love it!) I know those of you who are grandparents will argue to the death that your grandchild is the smartest, cutest, best kid ever, but you're just wrong ... my C.J. is all of those things and more. Period, end of discussion.

For all the adorable things I've seen my granddaughter do this week, there is one thing in particular that has extra special meaning for me. I've been eating breakfast with C.J. every morning, and when I finish my eggs, she opens her hands and turns her palms over and says, "All done!" And I laugh and say, "Yes, sweet girl, Granny is all done with her breakfast!" C.J. says "All done!" when her diaper is changed, when she's finished eating, when her blocks are all picked up, when the two wiener dogs have eaten all their food, when her milk is gone ... and her little voice and cute expression make those two words some of the sweetest I've ever heard. God has taught me a huge lesson this week through the words of my little granddaughter ... perhaps the biggest lesson of my life. Last year, the words "all done" meant something very different to me ... last year, those words defined how I felt about everything in my life. I was all done with living, with trying, with everything ... I was all done with life.

It's funny how the biggest truths in life often come in the smallest packages, and this week, C.J. has been the little package delivering some big truths to me. I've thought a lot about how I wanted to be all done last year ... and if I had ... been all done, I mean ... I would have never had this week with my granddaughter. If I had been all done, I would have never experienced the unconditional love and acceptance my three children have showered upon me over the last months. If I had been all done, I would have missed some of the best parts of my life. I complain a lot about having to see my life-saving head doctor or do the homework she asks me to do ... I often say I want to be all done. She and I (and maybe a couple of other people, too) know that I still need to go to those appointments and do what she asks me to do ... I'm not finished yet ... as hard as that is to type, and even harder to admit, I'm not all done with the life-saving head doctor yet.

So here's what I've decided ... I've decided that every time I want to be all done with the hard things in life, I need to remember what Annie told me about marking my time here on earth by the love I both give and receive. I'm going to remember my little C.J.'s smiling face and turned-up hands as she says, "All done!" I've spent the last week trying to soak in every single moment I've had with Matt, Becca and C.J., and I'm going to be sad when my time with them is all done on Saturday. But now ... now I can close my eyes and see C.J. ... I can hear her say, "All done!" And one day when she's all grown up, I will tell her how thankful I am that I'm not all done ... how very thankful I am indeed.