Tamam Shod, Tetelestai, It is Finisched! - Or is it?

So there we were, five people plus some extras walking down a road that as I hear, folks don't like to

travel. Or as I like to put it: We were handed 50 cents to play in a scene none of us was comfortable with.

103 years and 115 days after she was born, 44 days after she took her last breath we followed her ashes in a pretty urn with a rose on it, her favourite flower, to what folks may call her last resting place. She had a folder marked 'Passing Ines'. I tried to follow her instructions as best as I could. It sure made it easier as far as all the organizing went. And it is easier to bury your grandmother of 103 than it is to bury a child just born or a mother at the young age of 69. - Or so I thought.

At first it was easy. I held her hand. I waited until there was no breath. I stayed with her body. My daughter stayed with me. I was relieved. The strain of traveling to the nursing home and back, sitting with her as she became more confused and frail by the day, all that was 50 cents I did not want or asked for but I got them anyway. So there was indeed a weight taken away with her last breath.

I went into organizing mode: Funeral home, invitations, memorial service, pictures, urn, burial, preacher and so on.

And then all of a sudden we were in that chapel, us five, the urn and a really sweet protestant pastor, whom I have known for many years, since he came to my parents home congregation as a very young pastor straight out of seminary. He had given a lovely speech at the memorial service, exactly as she had desired it to be! And now he was back for the last blessing at the grave and a short reading of a psalm.

And we were there. But it was different than the memorial a month ago. All my kids were there this time. A month ago, my baby was sick at home with a fever. He had no part of the memorial service, no chance to contemplate things the pastor said that day. He was there the day she died, but left before she took her last breath, struggling to say goodbye before it was her time to go, because he was just so sick he could not stay any longer.

So now here he was, 15 years old and for the first time loss became real and meaningful to him, I believe. How he ended up sitting by himself in the chapel I don't know, but then came the tears....

And there it was, my grief. Holding him as he cried, I cried. So here it was, innocence lost. Here it was, the hard stuff I had not asked for. My 50 cents to carry that day, to carry along with me. How had I not thought about it?

How did I not think about how much she meant to him? He, who was the only one other than me who came to visit her regularly once she left all she knew to be at that nursing home she honestly hated! He who every year went searching in his room for a Christmas or birthday gift for his Oma. How much he must have adored her and appreciated her to give of what was dear to him, instead of buying a gift as we others did? He would go to her house to change a lightbulb or to just talk to her....none of us ever really did that.

How did I not think about it? My children were never faced with loosing a loved one, not in conscious memory. None of them. My oldest keeps his emotions very private, only his fear comes out to play at the most inopportune times: Socio-phobia is a beast! My daughter keeps her emotions bottled up for the sake of peace, such a copy of me! And my little one, he is the one who carries all his emotions for all to see. He has never been afraid to let others see. What you see and hear is what you get, I admire that!

So here he was showing us all how we felt. He lost some of his innocence the day his Oma died, death became real, put faith and belief systems in a different perspective. What does love mean? What does it mean to be a good person? Am I a good person? What do I have to do for others to view me as a good person? What should one believe in? Should we believe in a God? All of that plus: What is this pain I don't know?

He does not remember, but when he was about 6 years old or a bit older his dad almost left us. Late in the evening after a fight we had over nothing important, he packed a bag and walked out the door without another word, bent on not coming back. In the hallway left behind was a little red-headed boy crying bitterly: 'Aber ich hab ihn doch von Herzen lieb!' (But I love him with all my heart!) he cried.

He felt as though he had caused him to leave, he was overtaken by guilt that was not his to feel. None other than myself and his father, both childish at best, were at fault. Not this precious little man. But he was the one inconsolable.

Now in that chapel, as he cried. And suddenly I felt the weight of all the love he had for her. I felt guilt. How was I not prepared for his outburst of emotion? How was it that I was not aware of the suffering in his tender heart? How did I not realize how new and scary all this must be for him? How did I not realize that he was short that one event all of the others had been a part of? (The memorial service that is.) How did I not realize that this loss just now became reality for him?

Did he believe he had failed her in some way by leaving that evening as she lay dying? Was guilt a part of all the tears? Or was it just that the flood of his tears opened my floodgates of guilt?

I felt that I had failed her by not taking care of her in her home, as I thought she wanted.

I felt that I had failed her by taking her to a nursing home and going on vacation, and not bringing her back to her house after I got back.

I felt that I had failed her by taking care of my life and not seeing her every day, as I had done for at least a year, when she was still at home, less nimble in mind and body but at home. In her gracious and caring manner she had absolved me multiple times of these shortcomings of mine.

I felt that I had failed her by only coming by her house once a day in the evening, as I did for over a year.

I felt that I had failed her the day she took a fall in the morning and I didn't find her until I came by in the evening. Interestingly the birthday of my youngest! Does he feel guilty for celebrating his birthday with us and mine not being at her house as early as I normally would have been?

I felt that I failed and betrayed her by spending her money on the nursing home instead of quitting my job and using her money to tend to our bills and taking care of her myself.

I felt that I had failed her.

I feel that I have failed her.

I failed her, I know I did. But does that really matter in the grand scheme of things? Are those scenes really the ones to focus on?

Maybe I failed him by not anticipating his grief, his tears. Maybe I failed her by not doing everything exactly as she wished and desired. Maybe I failed myself by taking care of others rather than myself for too long. But maybe I took all the 50 cents and played all the scenes in this show as best as I could .

And maybe, just maybe that moment in the chapel, that moment at the grave are not moments to be titled 'It is finished.'

Easter is on the horizon. So maybe it is time for me to look at the more accurate translation of the Greek word Tetelestai often translated as 'It is finished!' Christ uttered these words, this word, hung his head and gave up His Spirit.

These things are vital: As the king He was, He nodded (hung His head) in approval after giving His disciple to His mother and him to her. He said Tetelestai which is a word used for a receipt given for debt paid. And He gave up His spirit, namely the Holy Spirit, a gift to carry all his disciples (namely us as well).

So as my grandmother rests in His arms from her long labour, and is forgiven for any failings that may have occurred in the past 103 years of her life, we also can rest easy knowing all our debt is paid and the receipt written.

So we also can move forward in confidence that He is at our side and make the best of the life we have yet to live and be thankful for the many 50 cents she gave to us to play a part in that show called her life.

So indeed this is not an end, not an it is finished or tamam shod. It is a beginning of a new episode of the show called life. Yes one character will be sorely missed. But all who are left to be handed 50 cents can play on and honour her memory. All who are left get a chance to see what else this show may have in store. What joy!

Blessed Easter! He is risen, He is risen indeed! Hallelujah!