I Hope You Dance

95 years ago she was born, the youngest child of many, on a farm.

She grew up with red hair she wore in braids, which certainly proves that Lila didn't solely get her red hair from Lee.

She met my grandfather as a young woman, working in an office, and they fell in love. They lived the traditional story of marriage and children, soon having my dad.

Five years later she was told her son, my dad, would not live, after he was diagnosed with cancer. They took him on a train trip across the US, wanting to show him the world, and when they returned he beat the odds, and she escaped a tragic loss.

And then she lost a daughter at birth, which was the worst nightmare a mother could ever have.

My uncle was born several years later, filling her heart again with the sound of baby laughter, tears, and of course joy.

My grandfather found an ad in a paper for a motel for sale on Route 66 in Kingman, Arizona. They picked up their lives from Kansas City, took a train, and bought the motel, in a city they had never been to before, a motel they had never set foot in. This is a story she would tell me as I began my journey of picking up my life and moving to London. She reminded me that doing things for love are worth it in the end, even if it seems like the scariest thing at the world at the time.

She lived a full life, full of love and friends and sadness and loss. She cared for my grandfather as he lost his battle to lung cancer. Instead of letting it beat her down, or define her, she picked herself up and kept living.

She traveled with her friends, she spent time with her grandkids, she met 3 of her 4 great grandkids. She danced at our weddings, she laughed from deep within her belly.

She loved life. She loved living. She loved her family, and her friends. She loved God. She loved her car, Sexy Lexy. She was filled with love, with kindness, with gumption. She made everyone around here a little bit happier with her presence, her smile, her sparkling blue eyes.

The past few years have been difficult. There have been many calls where we believed she wouldn't make it through the week, but she fought on. She was not ready to leave this world, even though this world was not providing any kind of life for her anymore.

We celebrated her 95th birthday last Fall. We knew it may be the last time we were all together, and it was.

My aunt and uncle have been amazing, spending their time with her, making sure she was comfortable, happy, surrounded by love.

She passed away early yesterday morning, peacefully, on her own terms. My parents were able to see her before she left us, and she knew they were there.

My uncle was by her side, where he has so selflessly been for years. We can never express enough gratitude to either him or his wife, for all they have done.

I am sad that she never was able to meet Lila, her red haired great-granddaughter. Her only great-granddaughter. But I know she loved her, even without meeting her.

After our wedding my mom's mom said to her that she wished she had danced at our wedding, that Mickey danced at our wedding, and had such a good time.

Earlier this week my mom was driving and heard the song I Hope You Dance, and said the song reminded her of that conversation. And that she was right, that my grandma always - always - lived her life to the fullest, and she always remembered to dance.

We are heading out to Arizona tomorrow, not to mourn her death (although we will certainly do that as well) but rather to celebrate her life, which is exactly what she would have wanted.