Lessons From A Life Well-Lived

inspired by the life of my grandmother, Phyllis, October 5, 1927 — October 5, 2023

Lesson One

My grandmother interrupted a drug deal once. Not knowingly but lovingly, as was her custom. We were at a mall in D.C. and I was only about 7 or 8. Granny had a zeal and passion for God that permeated her whole being. And she would pass out pamphlets to strangers in an effort to spread the Good News. This particular night was no exception. When I asked her later if she saw the bag of drugs in one of the men’s hands, she shook her head and shrugged it off. You can imagine the look of shock on both dealer’s and buyer’s face as they dutifully accepted a Christian pamphlet from my Granny, along with a cheery “God bless you!” as she passed on to the next unsuspecting stranger. My Granny led with love in all she did.

Lesson Two

When I was younger, the unapologetic way she lived her life sometimes embarrassed me; in my adulthood, it strengthened, educated and refined me. I remember once she had a singing solo at church. The song was called “Perfect Love.” Both her speaking and singing voices were sweet; with every utterance they clung to you like honey. I watched her with a smile from the church pew, my black patent leather Mary Janes not quite touching the floor. To my horror, Granny had forgotten some of the lyrics — in front of the entire congregation. As she stumbled through the verse, my face grew hot and I wanted to disappear. She fixed her gaze heavenward and smiled, waiting for the chorus like a school girl waits for the right time to join double dutch ropes. And when that time came, she began again with a tilted head and of course, a joyful grin. As an adult, I am in awe of her courage and resilience in that moment, and I aspire to conduct myself with even a portion of that grace.

Lesson Three

Just last week, the doctors marveled at her brain capacity: “Remarkable for a 96 year old,” they said. “Minimal evidence of dementia.” And even in her coma-like state, they noted excellent cognitive activity. I wasn’t surprised. My Gran read the Bible annually. She had several copies of the Good Book, the black leather cover worn smooth and sometimes falling apart. You could tell how many times she’d read a particular section of The Word because she would put a single dot of red or blue ink at the end of each chapter denoting completion for the year. I also learned last week that she was the most consistent churchgoer in her assembly, calling in to Sunday service and every weekly meeting from her nursing home bed. It was love that compelled her to be consistent.

Lesson Four

My Gran fell and broke her hip in 2020 after suffering a stroke the year prior. When the hip replacement surgery didn’t take, she was urged to go back for a follow-up procedure with the promise that her walking would be restored. It was not. Not only did she never walk again without a walker, but she was unable to resume life on her own and never set foot in her home again. It was decided that she would remain at a long-term rehab facility where she could receive care and monitoring.

As if all of this wasn’t jolting enough, the pandemic hit. Quarantine meant no visitors allowed inside the facility, no hand holding, hugs or kisses of comfort from her family. For most people, this confluence of events would be too much to bear. But not for my Granny. She remained upbeat and grateful despite external circumstances. She listened to her radio, sang hymns of praise and meditated on Bible verses. She took naps and spent time on the phone with loved ones. When we were finally able to visit her, it was through glass and we had to stand outside of the building and call her cell phone in order to communicate. Eventually, even when we could go into the building we were afraid to touch her because she has refused the Covid vaccine.

Despite it all, my Gran never once lamented her situation, or wallowed in self-pity. Instead, she somehow always ended up comforting us, offering both counsel and wisdom. How did she do it? What was the source of her strength, gratitude and joy? My Jesus, she would tell you.

Lesson Five

In her 20s, my Gran worked on a plantation as a day laborer on her native island of Grenada. She would be paid according to the weight of how many coconuts she shucked. I can’t even imagine how hard she worked in order to support herself and eventually, her three sons (including my father). I marvel at her longevity despite all of it. She outlived every relative she ever knew; her mother came close, passing away at age 91.

Lesson Six

My Gran passed away on October 5th, her 96th birthday. Entering and exiting this earthly realm on the same date — yet another rare and unique marker of a life so well-lived. Despite the arthritis in her hands, she knit hundreds of black dolls for missions trips to Africa. Whenever you would visit her home, you would see several dolls in various states of completion. She would buy the yarn and the filling and knit daily until her hands grew tired. After the stroke, she stopped. And when we packed up her house for her in 2020, each of us managed to snag one or two dolls as a memento. To this day, I hold them in my hands and imagine all of the beautiful children clutching and cradling their very own dolls, oceans away. My Granny never met them and yet love led her to use her talents to bless their lives.

Lesson Seven

Decades ago she moved to the U.S. for love, specifically to take care of me, her infant granddaughter. I was two months old and my parents needed to return to Grenada for a funeral. My Gran watched after me for two weeks and we were inseparable from then on. She was present for every holiday, and many celebrations — a consistent fixture in my life. When I left for college, I started to call her every Friday (a routine that continued up until last week).

She always poured into me with love and wisdom, and spoke life over any situation. She prayed that God would send me a life partner with more consistency and greater earnest than I did. Whenever I would thank Granny for her prayers, she would say “that is me duty” in her West Indian accent. “Why is it taking so long?” I’d ask her. “Well, God still has you in His school,” she would sweetly reply. “But Gran, I’m not getting any younger.” “That’s okay. You are not fruit, you won’t spoil.” Gran was always quick with a witty comeback.

Back in 2012, it was the first time she called me strong. “I ain’t never seen a chile strong like you,” she said. I was incredulous because the strongest person I knew thought that I was strong? I couldn’t even believe it. She would continue to remind me of my strength over the years and, when you hear something often enough, you eventually start to believe it.

She infused me with so much love and inspired so much confidence that by the end of our weekly calls, I felt renewed. My Gran is the only person who always made me feel better, regardless of the circumstance. And I don’t imagine I’ll ever be the same, now that her words of comfort are no longer a phone call away. They are still here, but I will need to dig a bit deeper now. I will look no further than the tremendous, loving example she set for all who knew her, and her fervent prayers which cover me, still.