Amazing Grace

This is the story of a singer whose dying grandmother asks her to sing this song one last time, the way she sang it in church years ago when she was a child. You can read the story on my Web site, but I’ll paste it below along with a link to where you can hear me sing the song the way it was sung in the story. The link to the audio file will only be available for a week. Enjoy!


            “Grace, you have a visitor,” said the nurse to my grandmother.
            I approached the bed with caution, not knowing what to expect.  Her hair was as white as the pillow and the sheet that covered her.  Her eyes were sky blue, and they were looking straight at me.  Her mouth broke into a weak smile of recognition.
            “Hello, Grandma.”  I grasped the wrinkled hand that lay on the sheet.  After
pulling a chair close to the bed for me, the nurse left the room.
            As I settled myself, I took stock of my surroundings.  The bed was next to a
window.  The curtains were open, and bright sunlight streamed into the room.  The only
evidence of illness was a machine of some sort that stood next to the night stand, its roar
and hiss filling the room.  
            “I was hoping you would come before it’s too late.”
            “I came as soon as I could.  Mother called me only last night, and I caught the
first plane out of New York.  It arrived about an hour ago.”
            “I’m so glad you came,” said Grandma, squeezing my hand.  “How’s your work
            “I’m still working on my new CD.  It should be released in a few months.”
            “That’s wonderful.  When you and I sang together years ago, I never dreamed
you’d be singing for a living.”
            She closed her eyes and fell asleep.  I held her hand and thought of the
happy times I spent with my grandmother as a child.  When I visited her, we often
sang together as we did dishes or other domestic chores.  Her favorites were “I’ll Fly
Away” and “When the Roll is Called Up Yonder,” and I learned these and many other
songs at an early age.
            One Sunday morning when I was about thirteen, Grandma and I were driving to
church when we heard Judy Collins singing “Amazing Grace” on the radio.  Grandma
pulled the car to the side of the road, and we sat and listened.  I could tell she was
touched by this particular version of the song.  Her eyes grew misty, and she reached into
her purse for a handkerchief.  “That’s so beautiful,” she said.
            I bought a recording of Judy Collins singing “Amazing Grace” and practiced
singing it her way until I mastered it.  The next time I visited Grandma, I surprised her by
singing it that way, slowly, methodically.  Grandma’s eyes filled with tears, and she
reached for a handkerchief.  “Melissa, you have such a beautiful voice.”
            She called the pastor of the Baptist church we attended and arranged for me to
sing “Amazing Grace” at the service the following Sunday morning.  It was my first solo
performance, and I was terrified, but Grandma said, “If you can sing to me, you
can sing to the congregation.  Just pretend you’re sitting at the kitchen table across from
me like you were the night you first sang me the song.  God has given you a wonderful
talent, and He will give you the courage to use it.”
            Despite my nervousness, my performance at church was a success.  People in the
congregation wiped their eyes and blew their noses.  That was when I decided I wanted
to be a singer.
            Grandma always supported my musical endeavors.  As I grew older, I lost interest
in singing hymns and started singing popular songs.  I even wrote a few songs of
my own.  I learned to play the guitar and used it to accompany my singing.
            Although Grandma didn’t like this kind of music, she always listened with
interest.  When I landed my first recording contract, I called her from my apartment
in New York City.  “Oh, Melissa, God has finally answered my prayers,” she said, her
voice breaking.  “Now, you can make money by sharing the special gift He has given
you.”  That was about ten years ago.
            Since then, although I couldn’t always find the time to visit Grandma, I often
called and wrote her.  She was always there for me through the triumphs and sorrows of
my career, even when she was diagnosed with cancer, and her prognosis was grim..       
            Now, as I sat by her bed at the nursing home, I noticed a portable CD
player on the night stand next to the bed.  On top of the machine lay a copy of one of my
albums.  I was touched by her loyalty.  As I was about to insert the disc into the
machine, her voice stopped me.  “No, Melissa.  I don’t want to listen to that now.”
            “What would you like to hear?”
            Without hesitating, she said, “I want to hear you sing ‘Amazing Grace’ the
way you sang it in church those many years ago.”
            “You heard me.  I’ve been waiting so long to hear you sing that song.  You sang
it to me years ago so you can sing it to me now.”
            It was years since I sang that song, but when my mother called the night before,
she said they didn’t think Grandma would live much longer.  I couldn’t deny a dying
woman her last request, could I?
            Although I wasn’t warmed up, and I hadn’t practiced the song in years, I sat up
straight in my chair, took a deep breath, and began.  At first, my voice was
hesitant, but when the words and interpretation came back to me, I grew more confident.  As I sang, I forgot Grandma was dying.  I was singing in church years ago for the
first time.  When I finished, Grandma’s eyes were misty.  I pulled a Kleenex from the
box on the night stand and wiped them. 
            She smiled and said, “I want you to sing that at my funeral.”      
            “Promise me you’ll sing that song at my funeral the way you sang it in church years ago with no band, no chorus, no nothing.  Promise me, Melissa,”
            Although I wasn’t sure I could do what she asked, I said, “Okay, Grandma.  I’ll
sing ‘Amazing Grace’ at your funeral.  Now, try and get some rest.  I’ll be right here.”
            With a satisfied sigh, Grandma closed her eyes and I did the same, resting my head on the back of the chair.  A light touch on my shoulder woke me. 
Shaking my head to clear the cobwebs, I saw the nurse standing by my chair.  Grandma’s
hand was cold and limp.  One look at her face told me she was at peace.
            “It was your song that did it,” the nurse said, as I blinked back tears.
            “She had been asking for you.  She said she was hoping to hear you sing ‘Amazing Grace’ one more time.  After you sang that for her again, she figured it was time for her to go.”
            “I guess so.”
            “Your grandmother already made arrangements in advance.  I just need to call the
funeral home.  If you need anything, just pull the red cord.”  When she was gone, I let my
tears flow.
            I kept my promise to Grandma.  I sang “Amazing Grace” at her funeral with no
accompaniment.  I sang it slowly, methodically, the way I heard Judy Collins sing it
years ago, the way Grandma liked it.  When I first sang the song in church, my
performance was followed by a chorus of Amens.  Now, there was only a respectful
            I also recorded “Amazing Grace” on my next CD, which was released a few
months later.  In this recording, I sang it the same way.  It was the last song on the CD.
In the liner notes next to the song title I wrote, “This selection is dedicated in loving
memory of Grace, my grandmother who always supported my musical endeavors.”
Abbie Johnson Taylor
Author of We Shall Overcome

Author: abbiejohnsontaylor

I'm the author of three novels, two poetry collections, and a memoir. My work has appeared in various journals and anthologies. I'm visually impaired and live in Sheridan, Wyoming, where for six years, I cared for my totally blind late husband who was paralyzed by two strokes. Please visit my website at:

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