My grandma died last week.

The last time I saw her was about a month ago, when I surprised my family and flew down for Easter. It’s selfish, but I hated visiting her. She had bad dementia, and it was hard to see my grandma, the strong, powerful woman I grew up with, withering away in a bed.

The last time I saw her was the worst. I don’t think she could see anymore. I don’t know if she even knew who I was. She’d been in hospice for three years. My dad told me, in her final moments, that he, my mom, and my older sister got to shower her with kind words, tell her how good of a mother and grandma she was, things like that.

It made me wonder if she knew the impact she had on her family.

It made me wonder if any of us know the impact that we have.

A wild teenager in the 50’s…

My grandma was a really wild woman. She grew up as a teenager in the 50’s on the coast of California. She rode motorcycles, shallow dove off broken piers, and burned her gym uniform in her senior year—and only got caught because her name tag wasn’t flammable.

I know these things because, from 2005 to 2012, my family lived with my grandparents. I spent countless afternoons sitting in her lap, begging and begging her to tell me another story about the crazy things she got up to. I remember when I was six years old, listening to my grandma recount her own life, and deciding that I wanted to be that person. The person who had stories to share.

My grandma, inadvertently, made me a writer. I don’t think she knew this. She was diagnosed with dementia a year or two before I decided to pursue this thing professionally.

My grandma took us shopping constantly. We were always waltzing through the mall, giggling over clothes or funny kitchy signs. She helped me plant dozens of purple flowers on our hill in California—then, laughed with me when we realized we both forgot to water them and they died less than two months later (ADHD is a genetic trait, did you know?)

I had so much joy in my childhood because I got to live with her. Thus, the universal truth you can apply through this story.

You provide joy to others. That’s the truth.

The truth is, we never know the full impact we have on others in our lives. Don’t let the enemy convince you that you don’t have an impact. That you, your light, doesn’t matter.

It can be so easy to look at others and compare yourself. We understand the impact others have on our lives because it’s our lives being impacted. Think of all the times you feel loved by someone, you feel joy because of someone, and you don’t say anything.

There could be just as many moments others experience because you showed up. Because you are in their lives.

The enemy wants to convince you that you aren’t important. That the people around you don’t actually care about you. He wants to isolate you and destroy you.

My grandma was not a perfect woman, and neither am I. But we love others because Christ first loved us. We can provide that joy because Jesus showed us that joy.

I’m going to miss her more than words can describe, but I can’t wait to meet back up with her in Heaven. I can’t wait to cozy up by a fireplace with her, each holding a cup of heaven-brewed coffee.

I can’t wait for it to be my turn to tell her the crazy, wild things that I did with my life.

Alli and Mimi (2011)

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