Angèle MAUREL

This is a post dedicated to my French grandmother: Angèle Maurel (second one in from the left). She would disapprove of me posting this picture, but it's the only digital picture of her that I have!

Soeur (Sister) Maurel was 93 when she was baptized a member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. The missionaries had lived on the 2nd floor of her apartment building for seven years before she finally took time to talk to them.

During a difficult time in her life she began asking them questions. That built a friendship that would eventually lay ground for an opportunity to teach the Gospel of Jesus Christ.

When she came out of the waters of baptism, she said she felt as if she had been resurrected.

I met Soeur Maurel a year and a half after her baptism when I became her downstairs neighbor in July 2006 in Cannes. To Soeur Maurel, the missionaries were her children; we were some of her best friends.

We had to stop by every night (or call her if we didn't have time) to let her know we had gotten home safely. Sometimes she would watch from her upstairs balcony. (She even called one day and scolded me when she saw us leave in a rainstorm without coats on. Our coats were in the car.)

Since we couldn't go inside, we would visit briefly on the doorstep an wish her goodnight before heading home. Despite her illness and fatigue, each night she gave us something to take with us and eat once we got home: an apple, a piece of her famous apple cake, pasta, dinner especially for us. Somehow she just knew when we weren't eating enough. Our mothers are very grateful for the way she took care of us.

I always promised I'd go back to visit her once I got home. I wrote her a few letters, called a few times, and learned each time of new difficulties she was facing. She spent much of her last few years in the hospital. But she always cared and recognized my voice whenever I called.

Our last phone call took place a few months ago when she, with great effort softly whispered across the ocean and through the telephone line: "Tu sais que ma porte vous est toujours ouverte! Quand tu viens, tu resteras chez-moi." (You know that my door is always open to you. When you come, you will stay in my home.") She was determined to let me stay there despite her impending maladies. In the end, I promised to come visit and said, "Je t'aime, mamie! Que le Seigneur te bénisse jusqu'à ce qu’on se revoie! Gros bisous! Je t'embrace très fort!" (I love you, grandma! God bless you 'til we meet again! Hugs and kisses!)

Of course, I didn't know it was the last time we would speak.

Our angel grandmother Angèle Maurel died September 4. I learned of her death this past week.

She's probably watching from above, silently scolding me each time I leave in a rain storm without my jacket, and making sure I get home safe and sound.

Of course, I miss her. And I will miss being able to one day visit France again. She won't be there when I run up the stairs to say hello and taste of her delicious apple cake. And I will miss knowing I can call her or send her post cards. And miss her whisper a little louder than normal "Frère SMART!" When she hears my voice on the line when I call.

But oh, what a joyous reunion she must be having with her husband, her family and friends, as they greet each other. And what joyous reunion we will have one day when I get to the other side.

I am so grateful for those "celestial customs" and the opportunity for relationships to extend beyond the grave. She is one of the first people I hope to see once I get to the other side. And maybe, just maybe, she'll have a piece of apple cake, and we'll embrace, and I'll let her know that I got home just fine.