Always, the Love...

My maternal grandmother, Dolores Lucille Sward, passed away last week on her 98th birthday.  

She was able to spend her birthday just as she would have most wanted to: 

in the arms of the love of her life, Warren Charles Sward.

Theirs was a tremendous love story.  

They rarely spent time apart and were such a wonderful example of love for our family.

I remember spending summers at their home in Kansas City, Missouri and how my grandfather would regularly ask us if, "We'd ever seen a Gramma so beautiful?!",

before kissing her sweetly on the forehead.

My Gramma would blush and shyly bow her head and smile as she embarrassingly replied, 

"Oh, Warren..."

They were happily married for 50 years, before my Grampa passed away in 1991.

My grandmother missed him every day for the rest of her life.  

My family gathered together in Kansas City over the weekend to pay tribute to our family matriarch and celebrate the love she so generously gave.  

I was not sad she was gone.

I knew she wanted nothing more than to be reunited with Grampa.

I was not, however, expecting the overwhelming surge of emotion I experienced as I sat in her home for the last time. I allowed myself to become completely present and enjoy the setting of so much childhood joy.

I slowly wandered from room to room, taking snapshots of the parts of my grandparents' home that I wanted to keep in a treasured spot deep in my heart's memory.  

As I experienced, I began to release these rooms and their memories...

I studied the drawing my Grampa had rendered in his youth.

I gazed at the cuckoo clock that would cheerfully greet us on the hour year after year after year.

(Oh, how I loved that wallpaper as a child!)

 I smiled at the rooster cookie jar that so often held cookies for the grandchildren.

I admired this sweet photo in which my Grampa captured a tender moment between 

Gramma and my darling cousin, Tiffany.

 

I laughed as I recalled how my sisters and I sent our brother, Johnny, down the clothes chute.

And I cried. 

Then I cried a little more.

And finally, I surrendered and allowed the unbelievable love of all those simple days to burble to the surface.  I cried as I yearned for the chirping crickets of hot Missouri nights and the rhythmic tick-tock of my Grampa's clock collection. With a heart full of gratitude, I cried for summer days fishing at Lake Jacomo with my Grampa and for memories of washing garden vegetables with my Gramma at her kitchen sink.  I cried for the songs always present in this musical family.  I mourned hand-cranked homemade ice cream on the 4th of July and the silly secrets shared between cousins 

who were so happy to spend time together. 

I cried for colossal green olives (the kind with the pits) and, 

"Whoever wants to go to Dairy Queen, say Not Me!"

I cried for the love.

So very thankful for the love.  Always, the love.

Filled-to-overflowing with gratitude for the love showered upon all who were lucky enough to know my grandparents.  

Hoping to intentionally pay forward this most generous gift.

Love, live and create intentionally,

Kristi