Random Musings: January 2015

Sometimes the moment passes too fast
And sometimes the camera hand isn't quick enough
Or the lighting is poorer than my retinas
Or the angle is wrong to grasp the whole scene
So I wish I had cameras where my eyes are
To capture anything that I can see.

I would have captured the three year olds
Using an old Jeri can for a pinata
Laughing and shrieking through their blindfolds
As their sticks struck earth and plastic by turns
To remind myself to appreciate the little things
And when I can see less, I sometimes enjoy more.

And I would capture all the strange things I see
As I sit astride a boda whizzing through traffic
I would have captured the Popsicle truck bumping up my dusty road
A pied piper with a string of kids in tow
And the horrifying cat mask the operator wore
To remind me that there are more terrifying nightmares
Than the ones I seem to face.

I would capture every look I get from girls
Who think I look good and hate me for it
Then I would paste them all together
And stick them to the wall where my mirror should be
To remind myself that I am beautiful enough to have haters
So I should stop being my own.

Maybe that's why I like words so much
Because an image can fade in the mind
But if I write it down in candid detail
It can never be lost
The poignancy of it still as ripe as it's first sting
So I write, to remind myself of all the things my camera can't capture
And all the lessons they teach my heart.

My words are the camera of my soul.

Being there

I have tried so many times in the last month to sit down and write this blog post. Every time I would start, I wouldn't be able to finish it. Either from the sting of the tears sliding down my cheeks or from the poignancy I wanted to convey and fell short of. At the end of the day, I still don't know how to fully impart everything that I want to say, but I nothing unventured is every attained, so I will try. Who knows, this may be awful also, and I will still have to scrap this one too... but I'll try.

When I found out that my Grandma was in the ICU, the first thought through my head was "why am I not there?"

My Grandma and I have always had a unique relationship. I'm not even sure how it started. Maybe there is something internal in us that recognizes kindred spirits. They don't have to be our age mates, or our neighbors. My Grandma lived 2.5 hours away from my hometown but distance didn't stop our friendship. Neither did our supposed cross-generational status. We were born 50 years apart, but the heart doesn't know age.

I was one of those kids who liked to show off when I was growing up and engage in "grown-up" conversations and Grandma was perfect because she wouldn't shelter me from anything. I remember a very grown-up conversation we had in the car once about Princess Diana after she had just died. A few months back I realized how young I was to be having that conversation and was mildly appalled, but Grandma trusted me to handle it. Sometimes kids live up to the expectations that you set for them, and if that is so, then my Grandma was a champion at setting the bar high.

My earliest memories of Grandma are in the old farmhouse. Most memories go with a particular context and that is hers when I think of my first ones of her. I remember trying to map out all the places on the old farmhouse stairs where they creaked so that I could sneak up and down them without waking Grandma in the morning. I remember waking up to the divine smell of French toast in the cold mornings and hearing the old crackly radio playing down in the kitchen as Grandma would holler "Yooo-hoo!" up the stairs to summon us for breakfast. We used to love it cause Mom never made it at home, and Grandma had WHITE syrup instead of just brown maple syrup. Very clearly I see the Christmas tree with bubble lights and tinsel on it, remembering Grandma's trademarks. I can hear the banging of the washer on the back porch as I went out to fetch something for her from the mysterious 'sideways' deep freeze, coupled with a deep sense of accomplishment when I was actually able to find the desired item withing the cold depths.

Then there was the familiar smell of her solitary cup of decaf Folgers which she would make in the morning and then reheat in the microwave throughout the day, sipping at it off and on. I don't think she ever really finished a cup, or really understand what exactly the point was of drinking coffee with no caffeine, but that was Grandma.

Grandma always stocked certain things when she knew we were coming. There was always Pepsi in the house, though I rarely saw Grandma drink it. Ice cream was always stocked too, mostly Neapolitan when we were young. Then Grandma had her famous recipes. She could make a mean pan of from-scratch brownies. She always did this thing where she cut all the crusts off; I just made sure she didn't toss them so I could eat them. Then there was her famous hash brown casserole, smothered steak, and her chili. When we would go down to their house for Thanksgiving, none of us really fancied turkey too much so we would have alternate dishes. Famously one of them would end up being Grandma's chili. I have never had, and probably never will have chili that is similar to what she made. Its not how I like or make my chili, but I loved it regardless. It's probably just as well that I can't replicate it.
Grandma would tell stories about how she never learned to cook growing up because her parents couldn't afford to make more if she messed up any of the food. So when she married my Grandpa, she had to basically learn everything! She never considered herself a good cook, but in all honesty... some of my fondest memories are of talking and cooking with her in the kitchen.

When I got old enough, I would join her in the kitchen all the time and this became one of our favorite things to do together. In later years when I would tell her I was coming for the weekend she would tell me not to be disappointed if we didn't eat fancy, but she knew as well as I that I would insist on cooking while I was there, even kicking her out of the kitchen if necessary. She loved trying new things and finding recipes that were easy to prepare.

If it was cooking in the kitchen or working on embroidery in the living room, you could be sure of one thing... There would be stories. Grandma loved a good story, both the telling and the listening. I remember how she would prompt my Grandpa to tell a story, then correct him if he changed anything (must be where I get it from!), "Now Paul, that's not how you told it to me..." Not that she was a gossip, the stories were true, not malicious, and mostly things that happened to her. Although there are quite a few friends of hers that I know names of but would not recognize if I met them on the street.

I remember so many nights playing cards around the table and how excited Grandma would be to teach us a new card game or the famous Mexican train dominoes. She also liked word games much to my delight, so I would bring our Boggle set or Scrabble to play.

My Grandma was one of those people who are not content to just get by in life. She constantly was checking out books from the local library on various subjects. She watched and listened to the news and was very informed about what was going on in the world. She was one of the most fascinating people to talk to about current events and policies. Grandma could TALK! If she had an opinion about anything, you would probably hear it. She wasn't rude, but she would let you know how it was. Grandma never went to school beyond high school but you wouldn't know it. She was extremely well read and she took great pleasure in knowing what was going on, not only in the community around her but in the world also. She would always recommend books on to me when she found one that was really worthwhile and we would share our love of reading. Once I was telling her about a book I had read recently on my beloved Uganda and how it touched my heart because I understood the author so well. She kinda smiled and nodded and looked down. I asked her if she had ever heard of it, and she said she had already read it. She smiled because she finally understood from the author's thoughts how I felt about Uganda. I was floored because she had actually checked out every single book from the library that she could find to try and understand what I was getting myself into and why I wanted to go. She didn't say much about it, but she understood. Mom told me later that the entire time I was gone she kept my Uganda scrapbook prominently displayed on her coffeetable in her living room. Even now this brings tears to my eyes.

At some point in our lives as I was growing up, I actually became closer with my Grandma than with my parents. I don't really know why, but it was comforting to me at the time, and we continued with our relationship. Writing letters to each other, sending emails for a while, phone calls, and then visits with just us when I had my license and own car.

When my Grandpa passed away in 2006, I did fine until I walked in the house and saw my Grandma. My heart broke clean in half realizing that she would be without her other half for the rest of her life. Even though I had a special bond with Grandma, she was never without Grandpa. They had one of those special stories that started when they were too young and only grew more tenderly loving with the years of commitment to each other.

When I started dating, she was the first family member that I told, and she immediately started with dating advice. Some of which I still use to this day cause it was gold. When she lived alone after Grandpa died, I seriously considered moving to her town to stay with her. She confided in me how lonely she was, then how happy she was to have the companionship of Jay when they started dating. I can't even count how many times she told me that she would never remarry though. She was so scared to tell me that she had, that she made my Mom call me instead of telling me herself. I was busy and couldn't come to visit her for a while after that, but I think she thought I was mad at her. When I finally did sit down and talk with her, I understood and we were back to our usual selves.

I remember one time when I was down, she was teasing me about guys and stuff. Then she thought better of it, and was all like, "No rush, you should be really certain before you settle down with one person." then always the joker, she added as an addendum, "But don't take too long! I won't be around forever!" I laughed at her contradiction, but I never considered that she really wouldn't be here to meet my husband.

The days I spent at her house before I left will always be lovely memories. I think we both knew at the time that it could be the last times we spent together but neither of us wanted to say it.

So when my mom told me she was in the ICU, my first thought was... Why am I not there? I have always kind of considered myself the self appointed medical consultant for our family. Anytime anyone is in the hospital or needs help with treating illnesses at home they used to call me. Sometimes I pretend to be annoyed by this, but let's be honest, I love being needed. So I really wanted to be there, but work and being fairly broke prevented me from rushing back. I would call my mom and check on Grandma and how she was doing. There was even a day that I got to talk to her on the phone. She couldn't talk back to me due to breathing machines, but Mom said her eyes lit up hearing my voice on the phone. Glad I got to tell her that I loved her one more time.
That day I knew. I don't know how, but I knew. It was a heaviness in my heart about the time that she passed away. I waited until a decent hour to call my mom, but I already knew what she was going to tell me when she answered the phone. Grandma had gone home to be with Jesus.

I tried in vain to write something for the funeral, but my emotions choked even my fingers from typing and I found any expression inadequate to explain how much she meant to me or to capture some of the fullness of her spirit. I posted a picture on Facebook of her and got the most interesting response.

A friend of mine whom I used to work with asked me if her name was Wilma. Yes, I replied, how did you know? This friend had been an aide working under me at the nursing home. People had told her she would not make a good nurse because she was shy. I told her those were the best kind, since I used to be shy too. Years later, she is an ICU nurse and she took care of my Grandma at night. She said she always tried to make the staff smile and laugh and always said "thank you" for the smallest things. Somehow knowing that I encouraged her to become a nurse felt like maybe I was sorta there for my Grandma.

Weeks later, as we pulled in the driveway of her house Grandpa had built for her it was the hardest thing to know she wouldn't be there looking out the kitchen window for us or waving at the backdoor. A place I had loved coming to suddenly became just a house. So many memories in that house from the time it was being built to so many visits and long chats, now reduced to just boards and beams.

Standing over her grave was even harder. Holding my mom's shoulders and both trying not to cry for the other one's sake. Her body is nestled there next to Grandpa, covered with a rosebush and adorned with silk flowers, but she is not there.

My Grandma is alive, more alive than she has ever been! Her spunky spirit is bouncing about heaven making sure everyone has a plate like she used to do with us, she is filling Grandpa in on all the new stories, and she is dancing with Jesus with a new body that can't be weak like the one she left behind.

I can't wait to see her again and have our long talks and exchange stories again. I love you Grandma! Give Grandpa a hug for me; I'll see you soon!