Oh the places you'll go...
Welcome to my roller coaster ride!
Sunday, October 6, 2024
Catastrophe
Thursday, August 1, 2024
Waiting on Death
I quietly walked into the room. Her large King-sized bed that I remember climbing like a mountain to get on as a child, has been replaced with a tiny twin medical bed.
The house itself was sparse in decor. There were no more pictures on the walls or on the mantle like before. I don't know when all of that disappeared or why. I hadn't been inside her house in such a long time.
You see, I am the worst of the worst granddaughter. I know that. My Grandmama has had dementia for years. So many that I cannot really recall when it started. What I do remember vividly is the day I visited and she no longer knew me. I was a stranger to one of the most wonderful and influencial people in my entire life. This woman who I had known through every season of my entire existance had lost me in her mind. I was no one special anymore. Over and over she asked if I knew her. She asked me if those were my children and with each question a part of me died. I mourned my grandmother after that. I had lost her...all of her. It was all gone. She'd never again recall our Christmases at the old house or how I'd play with all her old hats. She didn't remember the amount of her peach cobbler we could all put away or the family yard sales we had under her carport where we had watermelon seed spitting contests. The great move from her old house to her new wasn't even a distant memory. She had even forgotten the people she told me not to date and why. How can I thank her for being my rock during surgeries and recoveries when she can't even remember my name? My heart broke and I mourned because my Grandmama was no more. And so I stopped. I stopped visiting. It was too painful and she was already gone.
Her body was not done however, for years now. That strong woman has held on longer than anyone imagined. Her daytime caregivers became her family and their numbers grew as they now watched her around the clock.
A call from my cousin came through the car stereo as I rode out of town to get my boys from camp a couple of weeks ago. "You need to go see her," she said. The end was drawing near. I had avoided going for so long but I knew she was right. So when I came back home, I visited. There in that hospital bed laid a tiny woman. She was so small...smaller than I'd ever seen. She smelled fresh though, as I bent over and kissed her cheek. She was well taken care of. I'd heard stories of her not being able to walk or even talk these days, so I was surprised when she opened her eyes and turned a little and in a very clear voice said, "Thank you!."
I understood her just fine and it even made me smile. I didn't know what to say. How do you say I'm sorry for abandoning you? I sat in the chair near her bed and I held her hand. I stroked her white hair back around her ear and I whispered, "I love you Grandmama." She stirred a little with eyes still closed. I continued to speak into her ear and kiss her cheek. When I kissed her, she'd smile. I'd do it again and again just to see that smile. She had been in so many dark places with this disease. The anger, the fear, the crying spells she'd have were scary and painful to watch. But here was that smile I hadn't seen in so very long. Then, she opened her eyes and scanned the wall in front of her. She turned towards me and proceeded to tell me about little boys running around and how clean this place was (her own house). She even muttered something about throwing something over the fence. All of it I understood. To see her so "alive" made me kiss her over and over again on that cheek. I will never forget the look she turned and gave me. It ws a signature Willette look. A little furrow in her brow but with a smile - all to say, you silly girl. Again I laughed. She turned on her side and the visit was done as she drifted back off to sleep. She was peaceful. She had smiled!
Apparently its painful to die, or so my dad tells me. He said that she moans in pain so Hospice keeps her on a steady diet of Morphine. I am sure she's just hurting from starving to death because she refuses to eat or drink anything. Always a stubborn woman.
I am glad of one thing. She forgot long ago that she lost her baby boy to cancer. No mother should have to endure the loss of their child. To forget it was the only gift this disease gave her.
Today I took my children to see her one last time. This visit had no smiles. There were no words. She didn't even see me when she opened her eyes. Instead she stared past me into something else. Each child held her hand as they sat in my lap. Tears flowed down both mine and Addison's face when Grandmama laid her other hand on top of Addison's. Their's was a special bond. There wasn't anything left to say. So I leaned over and kissed that cheek for the last time on this side of heaven. This time I whispered for her to give Papa and Darrell a kiss for me. "I'll see you when I get to heaven. I love you. You were a great Grandmama."
Till she meets Jesus though, we wait. We wait on death to come. We've said our peace and kissed our last kiss. She can go home now Lord. She can go.
If tears were a measure of love....you were phenomenal. I love you Grandmama.
Thursday, April 18, 2024
Turning Tides
Wednesday, October 25, 2023
Recliner Realizations
Tuesday, September 5, 2023
Prodigals
As I was getting ready this morning, I kicked something unseen across the floor. It chattered across the wood. "What was that?" With my ever waining eyesight, I squinted to see the object against the hardwoods of my bedroom. With creaky morning-back and legs, I bent down to pick it up. It was an earring. My earring. From the depths of my brain, I remember this earring. I remember that I searched for it. I was upset it was lost. I moved everything in my room looking for this one earring. Surely, this couldn't be THE earring I had been searching for. It had been literally years since I've laid eyes on it or its sister. If I was right, I had put the other away for safe keeping just in case the match showed back up.
Where is that box? I searched through one of my many "junk" drawers in my room. A haven for all things miscellaneous. A refuge for things forgotten. I haven't looked at any of this in so long....where is that box? I finally uncovered the little burgundy box and opened it. There, were many earrings that had lost their mates. Old looking and tarnished, I had kept them in hopes that one day they would be reunited with their mate. Today, was someone's lucky day! It was my lucky day! I dug through the small box of misfits and there at the bottom was the match.
I had hoped this day would come. I had done all I could do to find this little thing. I had given up as we often do. I had put it away with just a glimmer of hope that the lost part would one day be found.
It seemed like a profound reference to people as I married up the two halves of this puzzle. I have done all I could in some situations and in the end I had given up except for one small glimmer of hope. Every now and then when the time is right, that missing part will show back up...that person you thought was hopeless shows up..better. They will be tarnished and rough looking, tangled with dirt and dust, but there they are. Is it a rebelllious child, a lost friend, or an estranged husband? It could be.
After a minute polishing up my earrings, both looked as if they had never been apart. They were a whole complete set again. They were beautiful.
I put away the little box of misfits with renewed encouragement that one day their mate would return just as this one did. There's hope. There's always hope.
Wednesday, August 23, 2023
Do you give what you get?
Keep in mind that everyone's reality is formed from their experiences. Sometimes they are predictable, but sometimes, they are not and the person they become is a far cry from where they started.
In many circumstances, children become what they see. If they see their parent drinking heavily, they follow suit. If they grow up in a family of smokers, they too will smoke. The same goes for swearing and promiscuity and simplifies down to the tiniest details. Do you make your bed? Why or why not?
However, there are people who take that information and use it as a guide of what to NOT do. For instance, my husband hates coffee and cigarettes equally. In a growing age of coffee perfection and baristas popping up on every corner, it's an unpopular opinion to have. I have longed for the length of my marriage for him to start a pot so that I could wake up to that glorious smell. I imagined the two of us sipping a cup and talking on the beach condo balcony. Alas, that will never be. I came to terms with that early on to the point that I donated my new coffee pot from the wedding registry to the local Goodwill a few years into our marriage.
Why does he staunchly hate those two things? It's quite simple. His mother was a chain smoker and drank coffee like water. His mother, who died of lung cancer, is dead and when he smells coffee or cigarette smoke, it takes him back to those memories. The memories of the bathroom full of smoke tinged with coffee aroma after she would get ready for the day are triggered each time he smells those 2 things. As much as I or anyone would hate to admit it, some of our childhood experiences last forever regarding their effect on us...and our coffee. Did he come with a "No coffee" warning label? No, he did not. Did I know I would have to sneak coffee like a druggie? Again, no. After 20 years you do what you gotta do to survive. :) Interestingly enough, his only brother has never smoked either. So in this respect, they both did the opposite of what they saw growing up. Like I said, you never know which way that person will use the experiences given to them. Will they be damaged? Will they be better off than their predecessors? There's no way to really tell.
I often wonder what traumas my children will or have endured that will reflect on who they become. Will my Sunday morning rants about getting ready and hurrying to be on time spook them from wanting to go to church when they're older? Will my lack of cooking skills push them to be better cooks? It really is all a mystery as to what will stick in your child's craw and what will wash over them unnoticed.
I spoke with a friend last week who cited that every now and then she and her oldest grown daughter have a come-to-Jesus meeting where the daughter lays blame on the mom for the way she was treated in situations growing up. These same situations have been a topic of discussion at counseling sessions according to the girl. So the question rises to the top of my brain; is my friend guilty of wrongdoing? Will I ultimately be guilty of wrongdoing against my children? Will I be the cause of their unhappiness or difficulty in relationships? These are all such loaded questions. Considering that friend of mine is the most caring and loving person I have ever met, I would trust her any day and any time with my own children. I would even suspect from listening to her stories of her children, that she did a much better job raising her kids than I am currently doing with mine. My wonderings just lead to more questions and my questions lead to....TERROR that I'm doing everything wrong!
And then I remember a really important word that looms over every wrongdoing I've done or that I've had done to me. A word that gives lenience and forgiveness to the 20-year-old new mother who has no idea what she's doing with these children because there's no class, no books, and all she has to go on is her own experiences. A word that will hopefully remind my children that their mom was STRESSED so often and tried very hard to do things correctly even though she sometimes swore like a sailor.
Grace
That is one of the most powerful 5 letter words in existence. It is about bestowing on someone else forgiveness when they deserve it and more often when they don't. It involves the giver not even being asked for it. It comes with maturity and the ultimate example is set through faith in Jesus. Most people whether they are or are not a believer, consider it a good thing for someone to forgive a wrongdoing and move on without expecting consequences. However, it is easier for a believer to swallow because they have been given the most grace and have fully accepted the gift.
Today, I pray for you to give grace to someone and for someone to give grace to you. I pray that the fear of your failures and shortcomings are met at some point with the gift of grace from someone you've wronged. And...I pray that for me too. Lord, let these kids get over whatever trauma I've put them through. Let them find You and their source of grace so that they will be able to use all of those experiences to shape themselves for something better. Something greater. Something stronger. Amen.
Friday, August 11, 2023
High School
There's something about being in a high school that brings about all the familiar insecurities of actually being in high school. These are things I have long since worked out and yet, my daughter starting 9th grade is triggering a lot of emotions inside. Its just been one week. One very long and emotional week. Monday was wonderful. Tuesday was not. Wednesday was a cry-a-thon. Math was a wicked joke to both her and I from day 1. I'm glad that we're hitting the ground running but jeez. Then there's the drama of the JV volleyball team. She needs to study. She needs to play. She's not good enough to play. She's running laps for missing practice so she can understand math. It's a lot for a young girl ....and her mother. My triggers and my momma bear are building up a lot of attitude reguarding this season and I'm trying not to be THAT mom. But I'm close. I'm close to texting a coach and I'm close to texting some kids' mothers. And yet....
It's not my fight to fight. This is HARD. I know I have to let her work through this. In the long run, I understand my daughter isn't always the most liked because she's not the most understood. She doesn't act like a 14 year old because at heart, shes 26. She's always been an old soul. She is doing good to dress in green paint and shamrocks, but she's not a yeller...or a screamer...or a cheerer. She's not the one to be with the "in" crowd. She isn't going to be popular or even on the outskirts of that group because she can care less. Well. Most days she can care less. Then there are days her heart is broken. Kids that don't understand the perplexities of the human brain tell her "I'm done with you, Addison." They don't have the key to unlock her personality. I'm just beginning to unlock it myself. I wish so much to fight the battles for her. I want her to be "normal" even though I never was nor am I sad that I wasn't. This perplexing paradox of motherhood and reliving my youth through my child. It's tough on all of us.