Grammy’s birthday

Le 21 mars    I was in a way dreading March 21st this year. This day has always meant so much to me, and now I find myself anxiously awaiting its coming.

I usually keep pretty busy here in Gisenyi, meaning that my focus is solely on what’s going on here and what I need to be doing next. It wasn’t until yesterday, when I was preparing my “Mot du Matin” ("Word of the Morning, " posted to the blog on March 20th) to read at school in the morning, that the reality of today’s date really hit me. This would be Gram’s first birthday… without Gram.

Reading my “Mot du Matin” aloud to my friend Vincent so that he could translate the next morning for me in Kinyarwanda as I read in English, I started to choke up a bit.

“Now Laura, you have to keep it together tomorrow. If you cry, I’m going to have to cry. It’s only what the best translators do.” I laughed and promised that I would be able to keep collected.

It was at Adoration at our chapel just afterwards that I really lost it. I thought I could handle it, but I didn’t make it through the first line of the first song before I was leaking profusely. Worse, I didn’t see this coming so I didn’t have tissues – and as my dad knows, it’s not easy to leave Adoration. I did my best.

I was able to collect myself after a while and truly was thankful that I was able to share this moment of prayer with Jesus and my dear sisters – and with Gram. I know that this is where she wanted me to be.

In the morning, I was thankful to have been half-asleep throughout mass and for the Kinyarwanda dialogue, because I’m sure that hearing any familiar tune or reading would have put me over the edge. Laura, just keep it together.

When it was time for the “Mot du Matin” at school, I beamed – I was ready. I had practiced, I was proud of what I’d written (even if Vincent had jokingly criticized my writing for the targeted audience – “Laura, you’re such a literature student.”). I was ready to go.

As we presented the “Mot du Matin,” I was truly at peace. I no longer felt any trace of sadness. I had no reason to be sad. In singing “This Little Light of Mine” at the end, I felt Gram with me. My guardian angel.

We’ve never needed to be sad that Gram left us. We only grieve that we cannot revel in her company on earth any longer. A few years back when she’d had her first bout of cancer, she had told my cousin Jen and me in a calm and courageous voice, “If you truly love me, you will rejoice when I go to my Father.” And we do.