Some of the best grandmas live in Heaven. That’s what I have to tell my sons when they ask where Nana lives and if we can go to her house just once to see what it’s like there.
I have to tell them that Nana would be here if she could to hug them, to kiss them, to hold them, but instead, God asked her to come live in Heaven with Him.
He promised her the best seat in the house from up above to watch them grow, learn and be loved.
He promised her that she would never be forgotten or replaced because He asked her daughter to make sure of that.
I don’t want the weight of grief to be heavy in this house.
But I do I want them to know they will lose people. People they love, people who are important to them, people who have shaped their lives and changed their days. People they will long for hugs and kisses from and people they will pray for just one more phone call from, one that won’t ever come but they’ll pray for it still.
But I also want them to know that just because we lose someone, it doesn’t mean they are gone—and just because we miss someone, it doesn’t mean they are lost.
I want them to know that grief doesn’t have to be something that is ignored or swept under the rug in this house.
I want them to know that just because Nana lives somewhere else doesn’t mean we have to stop talking about her down here.
I want them to know that grief isn’t meant to be covered up with a fake smile, but instead it’s meant to be talked about with a laugh or a good cry.
I want them to know that grief isn’t a bad word or a scary word, it’s just another way of saying that some of the best grandmas live in heaven.
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