Love/Hate is a Fine Line

Although grief and death is not new to me, this weekend my Grandmother (Julie Colton) passed away. I has been years since I have been able to see her since she has been living outside of Washington D.C. in a nursing home that specializes in Altzhiemers patients. She was a woman who was not easy to deal with, and there were times when I wondered if there was any line at all between love and hate.

I knew in my mind that I loved her because she was my grandmother, but her actions infuriated my easily provocted teenaged mind. Now those of you who are freaking out right now thinking, "How dare she talk about her grandmother like that!" please hold off judgment. This was my battle for the last 15 or so years of my life. My mind constantly told me, "How dare I!" The Bible tells us that to hate your brother in your heart is the same as killing him (as far as how God sees the sin). So my internal battle raged: Love my neighbor as myself.

Julie was 85 when she passed away, an immigrant from Beirut, Lebanon, she had seen more of the world than most. She fled civil war only to land in a country where surely her spiritual battle continued. She bore one child, who in my estimation is the best child ever (love you Mom). She lived most of her adult life alone. So what is not to love. So much of her, is me. I identify so strongly with the Arab side of me, and my move to the United States happened at a similar age. So to love this woman as myself, I must think how I would like to be loved despite all of my short commings.

Death is never easy to deal with, but I was not expecting this uncharted territory for me. I no longer doubt that I love her, although I know that line is thin. Is it that I have grown as a person. Is this me being the bigger person. Probably not... I rarely am. I am really hopeful because of the fact that I can love someone who is outside of my realm of "like." Maybe someday I will be able to love everyone as myself, but for now, I will start with my Grammie.