Greater Love.

My grandmother Taylor has had five babies, lived on pennies, and survived 88? texas summers so yeah, she's strong. David and Lucy watched her daughters, sons-in-law, and husband mourn over the news of inevitable life threatening surgery while G ate a plateful of enchiladas and tacos. To die is gain for her. My grandfather gets quiet when he's sad. We all wear our emotions on our sleeve, its a family trait. Wrapped in his zebra robe, cuddled on his favorite brown recliner, the night before the surgery I thought he might weep. In the quiet of his room under the bamboo blanket he may have. Did it seem like ages to him before the doctor announced the outcome? She made it through even better than expected. Later that evening, David Lucy and I came to visit. Grandaddy T sat hunched in the quiet waiting room with his rangers cap and cane. "Were you nervous?" I asked him. "Yes, but I had a dream last night that the cancer was benign so I figure that is God telling me everything would be alright." The next day we came again and sat next to her hospital bed. She's so tall she had to scrunch up her legs to fit. Her eyes brightened when she saw Lucy. One day a long time ago, she looked at my baby eyes the same way. She told me she wanted to die. I thought about the moment that Lucy came out. There was this slimy, hairy, yellow thing that was the reward of twenty two hours of labor. G wanted her reward too. The day before, she sat in the shade of the patio awning with her husband of sixty years. All around her were his projects, a disassembled lawn mower, the church folding tables that needed repair, his next art project that he would make for all the grandkids. "I can't leave him", she thought. "What will happen to the house if I leave? What will happen to him if I leave?"

John 15:13