Two weeks ago, I spoke to a friend of mine who, at the age of seventy, is dying. We met over forty years ago because he was a frequent customer in my grandparents’ tavern. My brother and I were fascinated with Paul because he was very entertaining, especially to young children. We were mesmerized as he removed his glass eye and placed it on the bar next to his beer – a magical trick more real to us than any David Copperfield illusion. With every beer he drank, the laughs abounded. He loved a captive audience, and my brother and I needed comic relief at a time when our family was experiencing emotional turmoil on account of the death of my grandfather and my baby sister battling leukemia. Paul filled our heads with nonsense and provided us some much-needed coping skills. My grandmother watched in horror as he taught us how to catch a burp and let it go. He belched loudly, snatched it out of the air with his fist and held it tightly until we requested that he release it. As he opened his fingers, he’d belch again to let it go. We could hardly suppress our giggles as we watched this barroom circus. He would conclude his act by warning us that “snakes make you run into things.” He would “see” a snake at the foot of the barstool, yell “snake,” stand up and bang his head into the wall. At that point, my grandma would usher us upstairs to her living room so we could decompress. I was reminded of all these childhood antics as I spoke to him for the last time. We had a reunion with Paul in 2011, but we had lost touch until his wife posted on Facebook that he was dying. I was happy to re-connect and reminisce for a little while. It is truly amazing the power of certain words to trigger memories. As we approached the end of our conversation, Paul said to me, “I guess this is goodbye,” to which I responded, “It’s never goodbye, but rather until we meet again.”

Until we meet again…I have been hearing these words in my head like a mantra for the last few days. As of this writing, Paul has not left the earth plane, but my 103 year old grandma made her transition to the heavenly realm on Saturday, 6 April, and we buried her two days ago. She was a force to be reckoned with, especially in her younger years, but Gram had mellowed in her nineties. I was not there when she died, but my parents were. My brother and sister said their goodbyes in the early part of that day, but they were not present for her actual passing. When my sister, Christa, visited her last Saturday, she brought her son, AJ – Gram’s only great-grandchild, to meet her for the first time. Since AJ was born ten weeks ago, he is the joy of our lives. Meeting AJ for me was love at first sight. His eyes are larger than blueberries, and he is so happy and alert. My sister waited until Gram’s final day on earth to introduce her to AJ because there was so much sickness and disease in the nursing home where Gram resided that she did not want to compromise his newborn immune system. I saw the pictures from their first encounter, where Christa placed AJ on the pillow next to Gram’s head. He was all smiles as he looked around and patted Gram’s forehead that one has to wonder if he was seeing her spirit – happy and at peace. I was told that as Gram was making her transition, my mom was telling her how much she was loved, and that God was waiting for her, according to her faith. Her death was peaceful, so unlike my grandfather’s, who was screaming for morphine at the end, as he battled an aggressive form of cancer. Gram was disease-free, save for the dementia that robbed her of her faculties but none of the memories of her loved ones. The undertaker told our family that she had the heart and cardiovascular system of a fifty year old! She did have a big heart and the will of an ox! There was nothing more important to her than work, especially serving customers at the bar, although she earned a degree in education and taught grade school for several years prior to helping her husband in the family business.

As I listened to my father give the eulogy at Gram’s funeral, I learned a few things about her that I did not know. I knew she was the youngest of eight children and from a poor, hardworking family and very smart. I did not know, however, that she skipped the eighth grade and began her high school career a year early. She received a full-tuition scholarship to College Misericordia and was part of their second graduating class in 1936, where she earned a degree in mathematics. While at Misericordia, she won their medal for distinction in liturgical music, which she gave to me several years ago because of my musical background. I treasure it. She loved College Misericordia and was the oldest living alumna. On their campus is a brick with her name on it and a tree, which was planted for her when she turned 100 years old. My dad mentioned the love she gave throughout her lifetime came back to her at the end of her life. Her love was given to her family, her friends, her customers and was validated when hundreds of people attended her viewing, as the lines moved constantly for two consecutive hours. To keep that legacy of love alive, we, her family, must share it with others and take care of others the way she took care of us. She wholeheartedly loved her God and was a proud member of St. Stanislaus Kostka Church. Her Polish heritage meant the world to her, and she dutifully supported St. Stan’s, and she and my grandfather donated the church’s statue of St. Joseph. She had a special affinity for St. Joseph because she was named Josephine and would pray to him every time she entered that church. She sang the Polish hymns louder than any other lady sitting in the pews, so it was only fitting that I got to play Serdeczna Matko on my flute at her funeral.

I was teaching a group piano class in the morning on the day that Gram died. As soon as the class ended, I got several calls that Gram was getting closer to the light. I didn’t know if I could get there before she passed because I live two hours away, so I chose to wait and see. Later in the afternoon, I was scheduled to go to the salt caves to listen to some Tibetan singing bowls. I thought that maybe I could get into a state of relaxation and connect with my grandmother’s spirit. Although I tried, I couldn’t feel anything other than peace at the caves. When my session was over, I discovered she had transitioned to the Other Side an hour prior. When someone is a centenarian, the next day is never promised, so each time I visited my grandmother, I was aware it could be the last time I saw her. On several occasions, I walked out of her room at the nursing home in tears and thinking that I would never see her again. Hearing that she had actually passed turned on waterworks I did not expect. My grieving had begun.

The next day, my mom called to tell me that I would be playing at my grandmother’s funeral, and I was tasked with selecting the music. As I spoke to the organist, I had to mention that I was unsure if I could emotionally make it through the mass well enough to play. He understood and advised me to do the best I could do. At the request of my mom, I picked liturgical music that most people knew, and songs that meant something to me from a personal standpoint. The opening song, Here I Am Lord, speaks of “holding your people in my heart,” so it resonated with me and the example set by my Gram. The responsorial song was Shepherd Me O God, and I liked that because my Gram had an affinity for Jesus, the Good Shepherd and actually had a blanket that she clung to at the nursing home of Jesus in this role. She attended our wedding ceremony and was wrapped in this blanket, which we buried with her on Wednesday. After I played this song, my husband noticed a small white feather attached to my coat, which had not been there when we left the funeral home. I thought this feather was a gift from the heavenly realm and a sign of her approval for my choice of music. I selected Be Not Afraid because it was the mantra of Pope John Paul, II, and my grandmother LOVED him. I played two concerts in Rome for the beatification of Mother Teresa and the Twenty-Fifth Anniversary of Pope John Paul, II, so I wished to honor him as well. Serdeczna Matko, represented her Polish heritage and love of Polish music, and finally How Great Thou Art was a testament to her tremendous faith in God. I think she would have been touched.

So, what is my grandmother’s legacy to me? Whenever I struggled with any kind of decisions, she would advise me to pray for guidance. She lived and practiced her faith every day. She walked to daily mass and prayed to Jesus and his Blessed Mother. I was thrilled that my book, Mirror of the Soul: A Flutist’s Reflections, was published in 2015 because Gram got the opportunity to read it while her mind was sharp. She loved that the first five chapters revolved around Jesus. Chapter One focuses on Jesus the Good Shepherd, chronological time and infinity, and I had no way of knowing that this role of Jesus really meant something to my Gram. Although her Jesus the Good Shepherd blanket covers her dead body, I have the image in my mind of her wrapped in it while attending our wedding, and I printed that picture of the two of us this week as a reminder of how happy she was to be present on our special day. She loved my husband and always knew him, even though she only met him a few times. My only regret is that she did not meet him until we got engaged. She had known about him from the beginning, and insisted I invite him to the bar for a drink, but I didn’t want to scare him off by asking him to meet my family too soon.

There is a single yellow rose on the cover of my book. Roses are my favorite flower, and I thought the rose, a symbol of elegance, paired well with the flute and thus made a perfect cover. I did not know at the time that yellow roses were my Gram’s favorite flowers until my sister told me after the book was released. I was given a yellow rose to place on the casket of my grandmother while we were at the cemetery for her burial. All chronological events came together in Divine perfect timing.

Education was important to her as well, and I earned my master’s degree when I was 23 years old. Ten years later, I earned my academic title of Associate Professor of Music – another colossal achievement. Gram loved learning and respected achievement. I have been driven by achievement since I graduated high school. Whether it was competing in national flute competitions, teaching elementary or secondary school students, or earning my professorship, it was all about working hard and doing my best at everything I touched – my grandmother’s legacy of hard work and perfection, if perfection actually is attainable.

Music has always been at the center of my achievements. Music is meaningful vibration, and the higher one’s vibration, the easier it is to connect to the Heavenly realm. I believe Heaven is filled with music or energy of the highest vibration, and if we can elevate our vibration and put our bodies in a state of perfect harmony, we can achieve perfect health. I offer theories about all of this in the second chapter of my book. I hope my grandmother was touched by the music of my heart this week and throughout the course of our years together. If prayer raises one’s vibration, Gram must have been catapulted to Heaven. I hope she has reunited with the man she was married to for forty years because she has spent the last forty years without him. That number 40 is significant in both the Old and New Testaments. We are now in the midst of 40 days of Lent as well. Jesus fasted for 40 days in the desert after his baptism, and there were 40 years from His crucifixion to the destruction of Jerusalem. When my grandmother was baptized, she was baptized into the life of Christ. I hope she has found His peace. She is buried in a cemetery just across the street from her beloved Misericordia University. Her body is next to my grandfather’s body, but her soul has been raised up. Godspeed, Gram. I love you and will miss you, but I’ll keep your memory close – until we meet again!