Living Memoirs

This past year, I have witnessed the passing of four dear people, parents, grandparents and some great grandparents. To say the least, this has been challenging, sorrowful and more importantly a changing of the guard.

Recently I experienced a road trip like no other, as four of us women traveled to bury one of our own. Our mission was to immerse ourselves in memories spanning a woman's 87 year journey through life as we cleaned the house that held so many memories of our childhood.

As we rummaged through each room, torn with what to keep and what to toss, we found there was more to Phyllis than "just a mom". Friends came in and out of the house one day with stories of her life B.C. (before children) and A.C. (after children). With pictures of her posing attractively on the California beaches, at her teller job, dating, they had us laughing at her antics and crying out for memories we never had of her.

We kept trinkets and photos that were dear and watched as the trash company hauled away 8 large trash cans of "stuff". We locked the door to an empty house, realizing it was the last time we would share a meal, laughter and tears in the house that was home for 54 years.

As I sift through the pieces of her unfinished memoirs I find there are writing about a woman known only to me as my "other mother". I am grateful for the road trip. It was a journey of sisters, friends and companions. We find ourselves as matriarchs standing guard over legacies that cement families and generations. May we be up to the task and do it with the same grace and dignity as our dear Phyllis.

My husband’s aunt called the other night. Her tears drowned out most of her words, as she spoke of  her late husband. The holidays had snuck up on her and suddenly the thought of spending them alone was overwhelming.

For those grieving the loss of a child or spouse, they are not ready for the flood of memories as they set the table for one less person, or unwrap a favorite ornament. They are not ready to be normal again. They may look normal, even act normal in their daily lives but for the exception of the holes in the family fabric, one would never know they are not ready yet.

“Grief work is exactly that: work. It is exhausting, it is lengthy, it is terrifying, it is often unbearable. It is work that is best done with others, for the hallmark of grief is loneliness. The bereaved are often shunned, a result of others’ fears of death and loss,” says Cendra Lynn, founder and director of Griefnet.org. The web site offers ways to cope with grief especially during the holiday season. 

Listing resources for both adults and children, the support at Griefnet.org opens doors for families and friends looking for opportunities to talk with loved ones and how to cope with grief. One of the links on the site is Kidsaid.com, grief support 2 Kids, 4 Kids by Kids with questions and answers, a safe place to help kids deal with grief and loss. There is an inspiring section where kids can share their stories and artwork with other kids.

This season, while spreading the joy of the holiday, listen and comfort those who find the challenge of seeing beyond the humbug. That's what a wise grandma would do. 

Until Death Do Us Part

In Western culture we believe that marriage is a union between two people and that union can only be separated by death. Pretty stiff penalty for sticking out a life that should be hallmarked with marital bliss. But it signifies the solemnity of a vow that should be made with the intent - to love and cherish despite any unforseen circumstances short of death. 

As a witness to my niece's wedding recently, I heard the minister charge all of us in attendance to see that those vows are honored. She eluded that it was our concern that this young couple have every opportunity to comply with these vows and our duty as loving friends and family to help them do so. This really struck me as I heard my niece and her groom say "I do" indicating they understood and agreed to these vows. It is my charge then, to offer support to mend rather than end from this day forward. After thirty eight years of marriage, I still take the vows I made seriously. There were no crystal balls handed out at my wedding, nor the 20/20 visions of hindsight. And yet, I knew that perfect marriages exist only in fairy tales and that better or worse was bound to come our way. Both have come our way and as at the end of every storm, there comes sunshine. 

I came home from the wedding and looked up the familiar Corinthians verse. Perhaps on their anniversaries, married couples should read the words again as a reminder that although the vows seem easily spoken in the white gowns and tuxedos of the day, that repeating them when the bouquet has wilted and the cake is eaten, may be an even more significant pledge of unity. 

Therefore, for your consideration, read this fine print.

If I could speak in any language in heaven or on earth but didn't love others, I would only be making meaningless noise like a loud gong or a clanging cymbal.

If I had the gift of prophecy, and if I knew all the mysteries of the future and knew everything about everything, but didn't love others, what good would I be? And if I had the gift of faith so that I could speak to a mountain and make it move, without love I would be no good to anybody.

If I gave everything I have to the poor and even sacrificed my body, I could boast about it; but if I didn't love others, I would be of no value whatsoever.

Love is patient and kind. Love is not jealous or boastful or proud or rude. Love does not demand its own way. Love is not irritable, and it keeps no record of when it has been wronged.

It is never glad about injustice but rejoices whenever the truth wins out.

Love never gives up, never loses faith, is always hopeful, and endures through every circumstance.

And that's precisely what a wise grandma will do, until death do her part.

Simple Things

The journey of grieving has many twists and turns. It presents crossroads and fellow travelers. There are unexpected delays and few shortcuts. The path, although well traveled, remains uncharted.

Knowing that her great grandfather was close to the end, I told my granddaughter that his bags were packed and he was ready to go to heaven. She wanted me to ask him to say hello to her pre-school teacher who had died the year before. She thought maybe they could have a tea party when he arrived at heaven's gate. I did tell him. He died a few hours later.

It made telling my granddaughter easier, I suppose. I told her that Fa was so excited to hear about the tea party, he decided to go right away. This seemed reasonable to her.

"What will be on his headstone?" she asked. I told her that Fa wanted to be buried at sea since he loved fishing so much. There would be no headstone. This, too, seemed reasonable to her. Orville had chosen to be cremated but I did not think this was an explanation I wanted to tackle with a 6 year old.

The next day, she asked if Fa had been buried yet. I told her no. She wanted to know where he was. I replied, in heaven at the tea party. She said it didn't seem right not to have a rock or a stone on the beach, so we would know where he was buried.
"It's important to know," she said. I told her we would think about it and find someway to mark where he was.

On Fathers Day she sang Amazing Grace for him. Although he didn't know who was singing the sweet melody, his eyes lit up and a smile came to his lips. She wanted to sing it again for him. We will plan a memorial in a few weeks and promised her she could sing it for him then.

A fisherman, with nothing more than a high school sophomore education, is dearly loved by a small little girl, who for most of her life, he didn't know. Yet she remembers and wants to keep on remembering. Not through tears but through the simple things, a song, a stone - bookmarks to return to, a place to honor, a moment in time that says he was here.

The journey continues.

It's Who You Know

As we sat by my father in law's bedside, we wondered if he could hear us. He has been suffering through the ravages of Alzheimer's for the past decade. We knew that we were no longer names he could recall. I had become "that girl" and my mother in law was "his best friend". "Do I know you?" was often the question he reserved for his grandchildren and his great grandchildren were twinkles in his eyes but little more.

None of that really mattered, though, since we all knew him. We knew the fisherman who would rather be on a boat fishing than any place else on the planet. Unless it was working out his frustrations on the dents on a car. We knew the man who went to church each Sunday and McDonald's to chat with old friends every morning. The woman behind the counter at Taco Time knew his order, since he had been coming in for almost 20 years. In fact, you would be hard pressed to find someone who didn't know him. We often laughed that we had never been anywhere that someone didn't know Orville.

We sat by his bedside knowing that the time was near. He had cheated death so many times in the last couple of years, I suppose there was a piece of us that wondered if he wouldn't open his eyes. His signature remark when asked how he felt, was "with my fingers". We wanted nothing more than to hear him say it one more time.

Yet here I am filling out an obituary form, filled with facts, dates, timelines that seem devoid of the essence of the man we have lost. Though we never know the exact moment of our earthly departure, even if we have the luxury of knowing it is close, it is still a shock when that life exits this mortal coil. Within a half hour of his release, the life force that we knew was gone. From his skin color to the texture of his hair, there was no hint of his presence.

Through the tears, the paperwork, the phone calls and all the little details that follow in the next few hours and days, it is comforting to know that somewhere Orville is baiting a hook.