i.e. Why this took so long
Hearts unfold like flow'rs before You,
Op'ning to the sun above.
Melt the clouds of sin and sadness;
Drive the dark of doubt away;
Giver of immortal gladness,
Fill us with the light of day!
I am setting out to do a remembrance of my grandmother Nancy Bredemeier, dearly departed over a year ago, but I must warn at the top that this is a mess of a blog, because I am a mess about this.
I previously wrote about my paternal grandmother in November 2022 and knew that when my Nana passed in 2025 I wanted write about her as well. But I could not, at least not until this attempt. There was a barrier preventing me from confronting the loss and finding the words. This Part 1 is selfishly focused on me, so that I can then break through the barrier and write really about her in Part 2.
Put simply, the barrier was shame. Shame about not being present enough in her final weeks and days. Shame about not being strong enough during this period. Shame of failure. 2025 was, to borrow from the title of Judith Viorst’s 1972 children’s book, a “terrible, horrible, no good, very bad [year].” Nana’s illness and death was one way this was true. The other way this was true was that I was very sick. Issues of shame, strength, presence, and failure all flow downstream of the latter. The problem is, that I do not know what I had even sitting here on October 30, 2026. I had my gallbladder out in February of this year, but I don’t think bilary dyskinesia explains it. All I really know is that starting in early June I developed severe gastric symptoms and they waxed and waned throughout 2025 as I learned to manage them. Unfortunately they waxed at two very bad times: mid-July when I was in my cousin Henry’s wedding (lots of shame about this one too) and in late August and early September when Nana died. I spent a portion of my last weekend in Ohio visiting her on August 30 and 31 bedridden and a burden on my family who had a real family illness to deal with, not my silly illness that various ER providers had repeatedly assured me was not dangerous to me. Alas it felt real when wrapped around a toilet. On the morning of the funeral in September, at the church I was a further distraction as I spent most of my time in the bathroom and barely contributed in presence or effort to the funeral.
(I do promise there is a point to this, even if only necessary to me)
Perhaps you glimpse in that paragraph the black hole that was preventing me from writing this post. It is a dark mass that I am afraid to confront. I cannot think about losing my grandmother, because I would have to confront how I failed her and myself last August and September. Failed my family. That there were so many moments to be better. It was not real. And then confront that I know that that little of that is true and everyone else will tell me is not true. “But you were sick, Connor.” But was I? I did not have anything. Nothing was wrong with me except my symptoms. All I had was my weakness and fear, and I HATE that that is what I remember from my grandmother’s funeral, not my lovely family and the loss of the matriarch of the Bredemeier clan. I could not confront that because I don’t want that to be me. I don’t want that to have been true.
But then today came, and I will direct you back to the top of this post, which are the lyrics to the first verse of “Joyful, Joyful, We Adore Thee.” This is my favorite hymn and I think—but very sadly do not know—that it was a favorite of my grandma. It was the closing song of both her husband, who predeceased her, and her own service. (As an aside and a sign of how out of it I was at her service, I did not remember it at her service—only Papa’s—until I looked in the service book I still have.) As an extraordinary coincidence, the Grand Rapids Symphony played Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony on September 12 and 13, 2025. Those familiar with these two pieces of music will know that “Joyful Joyful” is set to the melody of the final movement of Beethoven’s Ninth. I love both (I will discuss why in Part 2) and am a GRSO subscriber so as early as April I had marked September 13 as a special day in the year. As it happened, September 13 was special because it was the day of Nana’s funeral.
There was no question of going; that was an easy decision. It was a concert. A loss perhaps, but nothing compared to the staggering loss of Nana. But as I drove home from work tonight, I listened to “Joyful Joyful,” teared up as I often do when hearing it, and then thought of the connections I have described. I was not being very “joyful, joyful” with this black hole of emotion. Nana would not like this shame I have. She would not want her loss to be a black hole I could not confront. She would not tell me that she forgives me. because she would say she had nothing to forgive. Nothing to be shameful for. She would tell me to let my heart unfold like a flower, open it to the sun, melt the dark cloud, and drive it away.
This Part 1 is me listening to God; my wise, thoughtful, and kind Nana; and the words of the song, and driving my sin and sadness away as best I can. There is so much joy and gladness to speak of and burn away the darkness that was such a miniscule part of my memory of her.
Therefore:
Ever singing, march we onward,
Victors in the midst of strife;
Joyful music leads us sunward
In the triumph song of life.