13 April 2005
Lives again our Glorious King
Where, o death is now thy sting?
Dying once, he all doth save
Where thy victory, O grave?
Hallelujah!
My grandmother, Caroline McCrorey Lawton, died yesterday afternoon. She was eighty five years old. She lived to see her children serve the God she worshipped all her life. She lived to see them pass those selfsame beliefs on to their children. She got to watch as her great-grandchildren began to be taught the things she thought were important. Serve your God. Be true to him. Don't forget to praise him. And be sure, your sins will find you out.
Grandmamma was a diabetic, and her feet had been giving her trouble for years. There were toe amputations and she had had sores on her legs since before I left for grad school. The day before yesterday, from what I understand, the doctor told her that she could no longer wait. The infection had gotten into her bones. He was going to have to amputate both of her legs.
For Grandmamma, that was more than a simple loss of mobility. She was also losing the freedom to live with her daughter. She was losing her dignity. She was losing any ability she would have to assert independence. It was what she had worried most about over the past few months.
Her family gathered around her. Aside from the few of us who lived far away, this afternoon the Lawton clan, now roughly forty strong, got to watch one of the strongest women I have ever known leave behind a very weakened body, but also leave behind an indomitable spirit and fierce pride in the people she claimed as hers.
The Doxology has been sung as a blessing before meals at the Lawton Sunday dinners for years. She would raise a reedy, but strong voice and start the tune before the beginning of each dinner. Most of the time (but not all the time), she would pitch it pretty close to where it was written. And the Lawton clan, in a capella four-part harmony, would join in right behind her, regardless of how high or low she pitched it.
In the hospital room yesterday afternoon, the family gathered around her and sang the Doxology.
Praise God, from whom all blessings flow.
Praise him, all creatures here below;
Praise him above, ye heavenly host,
Praise Father, Son, and Holy Ghost.
According to my dad, she shed a tear at that point. And then died.
You see, this was the most important thing to her. Sometimes, especially after Granddaddy died, she would have a hard time remembering to praise. She would see all the problems around her. She would get cranky and hard to deal with. But a simple reminder was always enough to push her back to the recognition that she served a merciful God, and one that deserved to be praised.
She would also remind me. Every time we spoke over the last few years, she would say that she was just so blessed to have so many children that lived to serve her God. And then she would remind me to trust in the Lord, and serve him. Because that, after all, is what we are all supposed to do.
I have been very lucky. In the three grandparents I was old enough to remember, I received the incalculable gift of a lesson in dying with grace. My nana, Emma Parker, died before I started graduate school. She endured pancreatic cancer, and even in its final stages, a scant few months later, she approached death with a pluck and vigor and a sense of humor that I am still astonished by. Her family came together before she died, and she said goodbye.
Francis Asbury Lawton died the week I was headed to Tulane. Much as his widow would do eight years later, he faced an unpleasant surgery with a strong chance of difficult complications. The family gathered around, he told everyone that he loved them, and died the day before the surgery. I am convinced that he had a conversation with God and they settled on a time for his death that was best for everyone.
And my grandmother, Caroline Lawton, on the twelfth of April, 2005, went to join her husband. And is headed to do the thing she thought was most important: to praise God.
Grandmamma, you influenced all of us whom you claimed as yours, in so many ways. We, the creatures here below, will praise him, just like you instructed. You have already given us the pitch. We just have to sing.
Today we sing in your memory.
Lives again our Glorious King
Where, o death is now thy sting?
Dying once, he all doth save
Where thy victory, O grave?
Hallelujah!
My grandmother, Caroline McCrorey Lawton, died yesterday afternoon. She was eighty five years old. She lived to see her children serve the God she worshipped all her life. She lived to see them pass those selfsame beliefs on to their children. She got to watch as her great-grandchildren began to be taught the things she thought were important. Serve your God. Be true to him. Don't forget to praise him. And be sure, your sins will find you out.
Grandmamma was a diabetic, and her feet had been giving her trouble for years. There were toe amputations and she had had sores on her legs since before I left for grad school. The day before yesterday, from what I understand, the doctor told her that she could no longer wait. The infection had gotten into her bones. He was going to have to amputate both of her legs.
For Grandmamma, that was more than a simple loss of mobility. She was also losing the freedom to live with her daughter. She was losing her dignity. She was losing any ability she would have to assert independence. It was what she had worried most about over the past few months.
Her family gathered around her. Aside from the few of us who lived far away, this afternoon the Lawton clan, now roughly forty strong, got to watch one of the strongest women I have ever known leave behind a very weakened body, but also leave behind an indomitable spirit and fierce pride in the people she claimed as hers.
The Doxology has been sung as a blessing before meals at the Lawton Sunday dinners for years. She would raise a reedy, but strong voice and start the tune before the beginning of each dinner. Most of the time (but not all the time), she would pitch it pretty close to where it was written. And the Lawton clan, in a capella four-part harmony, would join in right behind her, regardless of how high or low she pitched it.
In the hospital room yesterday afternoon, the family gathered around her and sang the Doxology.
Praise God, from whom all blessings flow.
Praise him, all creatures here below;
Praise him above, ye heavenly host,
Praise Father, Son, and Holy Ghost.
According to my dad, she shed a tear at that point. And then died.
You see, this was the most important thing to her. Sometimes, especially after Granddaddy died, she would have a hard time remembering to praise. She would see all the problems around her. She would get cranky and hard to deal with. But a simple reminder was always enough to push her back to the recognition that she served a merciful God, and one that deserved to be praised.
She would also remind me. Every time we spoke over the last few years, she would say that she was just so blessed to have so many children that lived to serve her God. And then she would remind me to trust in the Lord, and serve him. Because that, after all, is what we are all supposed to do.
I have been very lucky. In the three grandparents I was old enough to remember, I received the incalculable gift of a lesson in dying with grace. My nana, Emma Parker, died before I started graduate school. She endured pancreatic cancer, and even in its final stages, a scant few months later, she approached death with a pluck and vigor and a sense of humor that I am still astonished by. Her family came together before she died, and she said goodbye.
Francis Asbury Lawton died the week I was headed to Tulane. Much as his widow would do eight years later, he faced an unpleasant surgery with a strong chance of difficult complications. The family gathered around, he told everyone that he loved them, and died the day before the surgery. I am convinced that he had a conversation with God and they settled on a time for his death that was best for everyone.
And my grandmother, Caroline Lawton, on the twelfth of April, 2005, went to join her husband. And is headed to do the thing she thought was most important: to praise God.
Grandmamma, you influenced all of us whom you claimed as yours, in so many ways. We, the creatures here below, will praise him, just like you instructed. You have already given us the pitch. We just have to sing.
Today we sing in your memory.
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