Grace in Disguise

 When I was sixteen, my grandma fell in her kitchen. We later learned she’d had a grand mal seizure, and the fall was simply a byproduct of the Creutzfeldt-Jakob disease she was battling but knew nothing about. 

For months, Grandma was in a coma. Doctors were uncertain whether she’d ever wake up again. Daily my grandpa was by her side. Quietly waiting. Caring. Hoping.

And then, Grandma woke up. She was never the same cognitively or physically. Her condition required constant care, and living 2 blocks from us, we were the chosen ones. We assisted in Grandma’s day-to-day needs.

It was not uncommon for us all to eat dinner together or for me to pop over to Grandpa’s to help him with household tasks or watch Lawrence Welk. Our lives became linked to theirs.

Don’t be deceived: I was anything but a saint. In my teens, I often balked at the responsibility I carried. Because my mom was often busy helping my grandparents, I was put in charge of dinner or cleaning the house. Ever the drama queen, I was convinced no one else ever had it so rough. (Insert eye roll here.)  

But when I was nineteen, Grandma died, and the loss was palpable. Our lives had been so wrapped up in her health that her absence left more than sadness. It was disorienting. All of us felt a sense of “What now?” to varying degrees.

I could go back to being a “normal” semi-adult teenager—but that realization brought no joy. As hard as caring for grandparents was, the good was greater. That season held its sacredness, and when it was over, I struggled to adjust to the new normal.

One day, Grandpa called my house and asked me to come over. The request wasn’t unusual so I took off to his house and entered through our secret door in the garage. 

Grandpa sat there with purpose. It was no ordinary house call. He proceeded to tell me how much he had appreciated my help with grandma over the years since her fall, and then he held out the ring—Grandma’s ring—“I want you to have it.” Together, we wept.  

All these years later, I still wear her ring, as a reminder not only of my grandparents but also that God often allows what is hard to usher in what is good. And that is grace.