About two miles away, at Lutheran Hospital, room 354, my grandma is dying. This may be her last night. That is the wish of her children. And that is most certainly Grandma’s wish. Life support has been removed; bodily functions are shutting down; the morphine dose has been doubled to keep her comfortable. If she doesn’t pass away tonight, mom will meet with her two brothers tomorrow morning to make arrangements to move her to hospice care, because she can’t stay in the hospital another night.

Am I sad? Not really. Grandma is a godly woman, and she has been a tremendous grandma. She had four brothers, all of whom became Nazarene ministers–prominent ones. The Clay name was well-known in Nazarene circles. They might have become United Brethren (my denomination), like Grandpa and Grandma did. But the Nazarenes decided to start a church near the Clay home, and they scooped up those brothers in the process.

Grandpa, a farmer with a great sense of humor, died 11 years ago. I miss him. It was great fun, as a kid, following him out to do the chores–to feed, as he would say, “the giraffes and hippos and elephants and alligators.” Or whatever animals happened to come to mind. He kept himself very well informed about current events. I remember being at his place as a kid and listening as astronauts read Genesis 1 while in orbit, and watching some of the Watergate hearings with him. He loved his Lord, too.

Grandma was the quintessential farmer’s wife. I loved her thin-sliced homemade noodles. Grandpa would kid her, and she’d just scrunch her face and say with mock exasperation, “Oh, Orren.” That was his name. Orren Otto Welker. And Grandma is Helen, a name I’ve never called her because to me, she is only Grandma.

Pam and I saw Grandma a few nights ago. She is clearly dying, and at first, I hardly recognized her without her glasses and teeth. But her mind is sharp; she knows what is going on and is involved in all of the decisions regarding her care. The other morning, she tore off the oxygen mask a nurse put on her. She doesn’t want to be kept alive. She is determined to go to heaven, and the sooner, the better. Don’t try to keep her lingering around. She adamantly refuses to settle for that.

So maybe tonight Grandma will die. That is my hope and prayer. Mom and Dad are praying for that. So are Uncle Marvin and Aunt Janet, who live just a mile from Grandpa and Grandma’s place outside of Van Wert, Ohio. So too, I suspect, are Uncle Mark and Aunt Susie, who arrived today from Boulder, Colo., and were with Grandma tonight.

And now, finally, having written this, with my mind wandering over so many great memories, I find myself choked up. Tears are coming. Sleep peacefully, Grandma. I pray that you awaken in Jesus’ arms.