Celebrating Grandparents' Day with No Grandparents

Since today is grandparents' day and i just lost my grandmother, I wanted to take a minute and post about her.  This will probably be long, I am sorry, so you can scroll on if you like.  

It seems like the more funerals I go to, the harder they become.  Is it because the older I get, the closer I am to the people I lose?  Is it because I have less people that I love left?  My uncle might say that it's because it reminds me of my own mortality.  I think it's because as the scales are tipped, as more people I love wait for me in heaven than are left here on earth, I get homesick.  It's because it's harder to brave this wretched world without those people in your corner.  My grandmother's preacher talked about my grandma being a prayer warrior and it struck me that I lost one more person that advocated for me in prayer.  

My grandparents were my ideals.  My grandpa was the greatest man I ever knew and I want my son to grow up to be like him.  My grandma was the greatest woman I ever knew and I want to be like her when I grow up.  I am not saying they were perfect--I know better.  My grandpa was strong, but funny and ornery.  He had huge hands that built houses, but could cradle my babies with pride and softness.  My grandma was really the only babysitter I ever knew as a kid.  We played dress up and she gave us big spoons to dig in the yard and she sang songs to us, putting our names into them.  She was funny and strong and ornery too.  Once when my brother was little and throwing a fit, she threw herself down on the couch and had herself a fit.  My brother stopped and stared, probably wondering what in the world happened when adults lost it because he'd never seen such a thing before.  Grandma said later that she had to pick herself up before she lost control.  She added that she knew why kids threw fits--it felt good!  Five years ago, when she had breast cancer, she opted for a mastectomy because she didn't have time for chemo or radiation because she was taking care of my papa, who was in the late stages of Parkinson's.  She came home from surgery and got busy doing laundry, kicking it down the hall, and swearing when the kids protested, that she wasn't lifting anything.  She broke her wrist about two years ago, falling in the parking lot of the store.  She did her shopping, including lifting a heavy bag of cat litter or cat food, and drove to my mom's house.  She saw mom was busy doing laundry and said they could just go to the doctor "next week."  She ended up needing a steel plate and screws to put her wrist back together.  And even with a diagnosis of stage 4 pancreatic cancer, she still had her sense of humor.  A nurse was asking her routine questions before a surgical procedure and asked my 88-year-old grandma if she could possibly be pregnant.  Grandma had several liters of fluid built up in her abdominal cavity and she certainly looked very pregnant.  Grandma rubbed her belly and said, "Oh yes, I am due with twins any moment now!  I'm going to get my name in the papers!"  Everyone in the room burst out laughing.  

She rapidly declined and rather than the guess of 3 months the doctor tentatively gave her, it took only 3 weeks and her pain was over and ours began.  Four years and 22 days after we lost Pops, grandma joined him.  I've tried to quantify why I have taken this so hard.  The only thing I can coherently bring together is that I feel lost.  My mom is the only parentage I have left.  No grandparents, no great-grandparents, not even my dad.  We have a 5 generation picture up on the wall in our living room, taken 15 years ago when Arrena was a baby.  In 15 years, we are down to 3 generations.  If I feel that way, I have no doubt that my mom feels even more lost than I do, since she is now the matriarch of our little family.  Have you ever seen the Facebook meme about looking around for an adult and realizing you're it, so you start looking around for someone adult-ier?  My mom no longer has anyone "adult-ier."  She moved a block away from my grandma when Pops died so they could take care of each other (because grandma was a natural caregiver and needed to do that) and much of her life revolved around her mom.  And yet, she seems to be holding up better now than she did before grandma died.  It was the anticipation, she said.  However, I was stoic before and now I am grieving.  

But, we don't grieve as those who have no hope.  When I say I have hope, it's not in the "wish" sense of the word, it is in the assurance as strong as I know that I am breathing and my fingers are typing this.  My grandmother and my grandfather and my dad and others are this minute in heaven with Jesus.  Not because they "believed" there is a God.  Not because they attended church.  Not because they were good people.  Not because they followed some list of rules.  Not because they prayed some "magic prayer" that gave them hell insurance.  Not because they were baptized in a river or a chlorine-cleaned baptismal tank and came back up a wet sinner.  They are in heaven today because they had a relationship with Jesus Christ.  They accepted his forgiveness for their sins when he died on the cross in their place and they followed him until he took them home.  They left behind an example and a legacy of what following Jesus looks like.  They loved Jesus and it showed.  They were kind and loving and forgiving and gentle and selfless and humble and joyful.  I love Jesus and I strive to be like him, but I fail sometimes.  My grandparents are an example of a lifetime of learning and becoming more and more like Jesus.  

I will see them again.  No maybes or wishful thinking or delusions or mindlessly following the masses or positive thinking or "if I'm good enough" or fairy tales or whatever people like to say to excuse our Christian beliefs.  I KNOW.  I am SURE.  I am GUARANTEED.  I stake my life and the lives of my family and my children on this.  THAT is how serious and sure I really am.  My grieving for my grandmother is temporary and selfish because I miss her NOW.  Because I want to be where she is.  I am world weary.  The problems of life physically cause me pain.  And one less person to help me walk through this life breaks my heart.  

I was reading a Max Lucado book and he was writing about Lazarus.  Many people have speculated as to WHY Jesus wept when Lazarus died.  The passage in the book talked about people being in a cage of fear of death.  They had seen Jesus heal people and raise others from the dead, but apparently it wasn't enough for them to believe fully yet.  He related a story of a missionary who went to a remote tribe that was suffering from disease.  All they had to do was cross a river to get to a place that had medicine to heal them.  But, they believed there were evil spirits in the river and they would rather die of the disease than to go near the water.  The missionary told them he had crossed the river to get to them.  They wouldn't get in.  He got in and splashed around and they still wouldn't get in.  Finally, he dove into the river and swam across to the other side and stood on the bank, waving to the tribe, who cheered and then followed him across.  We have a savior who dove into the river of death and swam to the other side and came out alive to show us that we didn't have to be afraid of death--he has conquered death.  Therefore, I don't fear death for me or my loved ones who follow Jesus.  

I asked grandma to give Pops and my dad a hug for me when she got there and I told her I'd meet her there.  I will see them again.  I hope you all, as my friends, will be there too because I have some amazing grandparents that I'd like to introduce you to!  But, first, I want to see my Jesus.

Happy Birthday in Heaven

My husband wonders why I am focusing on what would have been my dad's 70th birthday today.  It's not that I don't think of him every year on his birthday or on the day he died and other times, but I mentioned it because it would have been a big birthday.  Maybe it's the numbers.  So many to mark the passage of time that seemed like it flew by so quickly.

This year is my 20th high school reunion.  And, if I had stayed married to my first husband, we would have been married 20 years this year.  I remember thinking that 20th anniversaries were a big deal and was such a long time.  But, now, it doesn't feel so long.  I feel like high school was yesterday.  Twenty years ago, my dad was 50 and my grandpa was getting ready to turn 70.  I remember my grandma writing to me and asking if I could believe that "that young man" was turning 70.  But, today, if my dad were still alive, HE would be 70.  And if my grandpa were still alive, HE would be 90 next year.  I'll be 40 next year.  My mom will be 70 in a couple of years and my grandma will be 90 in three.  40 used to seem so old, until I started staring down the barrel of it.  70 was the age of my grandparents, now it's my parents.  90 years was an amazing length of time for someone to have made it to, but my grandma is so strong and vibrant that 90 seems incongruous.

It's all perspective, I suppose.  My kids think I'm ancient and I don't feel that way (well, in some ways I do, but otherwise, I feel like it hasn't been that long since I was their age).  I thought 70 was near death when I was young, but I don't think of my mom that way now.  94 was how old my great-grandmother was when she died and she always seemed so frail, but now that my grandmother is nearing that decade, it seems completely different for her.  Maybe it's that my former perceptions are not matching with my current reality that is making me focus on it a bit more.

In any case, it's not depression that's causing me to fixate, it's the numbers: 20, 40, 70, and 90.

Feeling Sorry for Arrena

Arrena blew a gasket yesterday morning. I guess her grandma (Chris' mom) babysat the kids Friday night while I was at work. Arrena woke up getting it all off her chest--she ranted and raved for a LONG time. I guess her grandma was "mean" to her. We have always thought that she was hard on Arrena (yelling at her for twirling her hair around her finger) and it's obvious that her favorite is Kimmy. But, since Arrena favored my mom (who strives to make everything fair between the kids), we didn't worry about it too much. Arrena said that grandma told her she got on her nerves. And I guess she brought over some clothes for the girls and toy trucks for Billy and Arrena said that Kimmy and Billy got more than she did. Which paved the way for her complaint that grandma told them she wouldn't buy them gifts anymore except on their birthdays, but Kimmy gets something nearly every time she goes over there. Arrena went on and on, laying out everything. She even tattled on her grandma by saying that she was eating food out of the fridge (which is typical, but still ticks me off if she eats something that was planned for dinner). She concluded by saying that she never wants to be babysat by her again. Chris agreed that she didn't have to, and plans to take up the issue with his mom.

It all made me mad, of course, but what really got me was when I started to feel guilty. Arrena often gets overlooked, at least by me. She was the first baby and I had tried for a year to get pregnant, so when she was on the way, I was overjoyed. Since she was the first, she was an only child for 21 months and was babied a lot. I loved her so much, but from the beginning, it was obvious that she was daddy's girl and preferred him. Her first word (said three days before she turned three months old, I swear) was "daddy!" So, when Kimmy came along and preferred me above all, it seemed the die was cast. Arrena was daddy's girl and Kimmy was mine. And when Billy entered our family, he preferred me at first; but now, I think he equally loves both Chris and I. He loves his daddy time when I am at work, but when I am home, he's mama's boy. And as he is the last baby, I think I tend to cuddle and coddle him more. If that's not enough, Arrena has such attitude, especially with me. Maybe it's because she feels slighted by me. In any case, it's sometimes hard for me to feel close to her because she is daddy's girl and because she has such an attitude.

But, I started realizing that I think she has been reaching out to me lately. I've seen her trying to sit on laps, snuggle, cling, kiss, hugs, etc. I had thought she was just jealous--Kimmy is a very touchy-feely kid and thrives on hugs, kisses, snuggles. If you've read Gary Chapman's "Five Love Languages", Kimmy's love language is 'physical touch'. I think Arrena's primary love language is 'acts of service'. But, I thought since she was seeing her sister get hugs and kisses, maybe she felt left out, even if it really isn't her thing. I am generally NOT a touchy-feely person. I don't like people in my personal space. I'll hug my close friends, but generally, I feel uncomfortable with too much touching. After 13 years, I am accustomed to Chris being in my personal space and it doesn't bother me. And with the kids, as babies, they are constantly in your personal space--especially if you nurse them. You become accustomed to them being in your space. But, eventually, they get older and crave independence and don't want to be held and cuddled all the time. Billy is still demanding being held and cuddled, so I am used to him. Kimmy had started the independent thing years ago, but occasionally likes cuddles--it's not as familiar as it once was, so occasionally it makes me uncomfortable, especially if she is constantly hanging off me. I get irritable. With Arrena, she's not been a snuggle-bunny since she was about two. So, five years of not being touchy-feely is hard to overcome. Don't get me wrong, I kiss and hug my kids daily. But, suddenly I have this 7-year-old kid crawling into bed with me and instead of staying on her side, like she used to, she's snuggled up tight against me. Every time I turn around, she seems to be laying a sloppy wet kiss on me. She's taken to slapping me on the backside (don't know where that came from, but it ticks me off!). Every time I turn around, I am tripping over her. And she is constantly hanging all over me. My personal space is gone and it is driving me crazy.

But, after her tirade yesterday about her grandma, I started thinking about all this and how it's easier for me to hug and kiss Kimmy and Billy, but so hard to cuddle Arrena. I suddenly feel so sorry for her. I think she gets overlooked a lot. She's the oldest and we expect her to know what to do. I think she gets in trouble a lot because we expect more from her. And her attitude alone gets her in the most trouble. She's generally such a good kid and a great helper that I think we sometimes almost forget her. Granted that since she's older, she gets to do more than her siblings, but I can see where she would feel like the red-headed stepchild. So my goal is to overcome this aversion to the touchy-feely to give her more affection and to show her attention--not as the younger kids get, but as a growing oldest child. I don't want to reward her sometimes baby-like behavior (trying to get our attention), but to treat her more like an adult. Take her shopping with me, talk to her more, have fun together. She's been begging for one-on-one time with both Chris and I. Hopefully she and I can bond.