someday soon

I woke up to the sound of my 3rd alarm the other morning before work (I have a tendency to snooze my first couple of alarms this summer...) with a vision that I haven't had lately. Actually, it's been quite some time. Years, even. Grandma Jenny was well. Really really well. And the basis of the dream was the Grandma had been cured; MS had left her old, frail, and weak body and she had become rejuvenated. More than her body though, she was talking. Her voice was that strong, nasaly sound that I remember, filled with a mix of coffee, diet coke, and the smell of her bold pink lipstick. Her hair was that golden blonde like before and her face was glowing with light. She was talking and loudly proclaiming that she was no longer sick. She was free.

I suppose I'm used to telling my dreams, over analyzing them, and using my somewhat hastily acquired and likely marginal dream interpretation skills from Hendrix dream group in order to figure out what characters, stories, and thoughts pass through my mind at night.

I can't say for certain what this dream meant. I have ideas, I have theories, but really, I think I just like to leave it at this:

I'm at peace with where grandma is right now. I know she's hurting, she's probably suffering, and I can't imagine the turmoil she has been through emotionally and physically as her body has fell way behind her mind, heart, and soul. I hate it. Of course. But, this summer I really feel like I have made peace with my grandmother dying. She is, after all. Yet, I had this dream where she was full of life, energy, and happiness. It's what I hope for her. It's what I hope for everyone; but that feeling of life is something I hope especially for the old, the sick, the marginalized, the pained, the forgotten, and I hope that they feel that way someday soon. Someday the pain will be all gone, and I have finally admitted (and embraced) this feeling of hope for grandma. I can't wait for that day to come for her.

Hidden Treasures

It's no secret my family tree is complicated. If you have ever been my friend, you have probably been confused. That's mostly because, yes, my parents are divorced but also both sets of my grandparents are also divorced. My parents are remarried—so voila! 6 sets of grandparents. Confusing? Yes. A blessing? Absolutely. It's also no secret to those close to me that my Grandma Genevra (my dad's mother) is my kindred spirit.

 

From the time I was little and as I grew up, she was a guiding force in my life. From little things to big things, I learnt a lot from her. So much of me is from her. It runs that deep.

For the past 7 years Grandma Jenny and the rest of our family has had to deal with MS: multiple sclerosis. It is the hardest thing I have personally dealt with in my life. Which, says a lot, because I am not the one suffering directly from the disease. But, that's not what this is about. Not today.

 

I'm writing because tonight I reconnected with her, and not in an expected way.

 

Grandma is practically paralyzed on her left side now. She has very little control of her body—no longer can she form many coherent, words, sounds, or sentences. Just last week when I popped in to see her at the nursing home, I watched as she tried to brush her teeth. A struggle, and also an impossibility for her now, she must solely rely on others for her care giving.

 

When we went to Josh's baseball game in Highlands Ranch she could barely see. Her back hunched over from her depleted muscles kept her from keeping her head up. It's getting harder to take her out. But, Gary (essentially my grandfather) does it every single weekend. The mountains, Denver, Boulder, you name it. They go.

 

I was thinking about all of this as Lance and I dug through some stuff in the garage. We were having a garage sale, and dad wanted us to sift through some boxes. I found old china, my old dolls, and old kitchenware. Nothing totally unexpected.

 

That is, until I found one of my Grandma's old purses. A stylish, sophisticated, coffee cream color purse, it screamed Grandma Jenny.

 

Giddy, I opened it up.

 

It's amazing—it smelt of Grandma. Her scent, like I remember it, a mix of Chanel No 5 with the sweet smell of rose blush. I hadn't smelt her like that in years. I kept digging.

 

This purse was clearly hers before she got really sick and the MS took a turn for the worse. She had a Colorado MS magazine, and a letter from her doctor too. She had two pairs of sunglasses, big, and diva-esque, as per usual. My Grandma always exuded classiness.

 

Grandma also kept everything. Old receipts, letters, notes, and God knows what else. All in her bag, too. I even noticed in her old checkbook how her writing progressively got shakier and shakier as her muscles gave out more and more. An old billfold. Pictures. In one of them, she is completely glowing. It's Christmas time and she is looking admiringly at Kaitlyn, my cousin and one of her other granddaughters. Strong, vibrant, protective, and compassionate.

 

There was an envelope in her purse too. Dotted with various phone numbers and miscellaneous information, I opened it up. She had an article cut out, a check from my uncle that never got cashed, and old pictures. One of the pictures was when she couldn't have been older than 22. She is wearing a gorgeous red dress with black heels, holding a pair of white gloves in her hands. She is posing next to a grand piano, with her hoop earrings, bright red lipstick, and glowing smile. I never knew this young woman. I only knew her as my grandmother, and yet here is evidence of a life well spent as a beautiful woman. I felt like she was really here again. I grew up wanting to be like her. I still do. Finding this purse and finding mementos and remnants of Grandma before MS made me incredibly happy. Sometimes it is hard to separate the disease, but it can be done. MS doesn't define her.

 

I struggle with what has happened every day. She always crosses my mind at some point. When I see someone sewing. When I want breakfast for dinner. When I see CSI come on. When I go to the library. When I play sports. When I watch old ladies work in the their garden.

 

No, she's not dead, but in dealing with this disease you lost a lot of that person—inevitably.

She isn't gone though. I was reminded of that as I perused through her old belongings. For the first time ever really, I am at peace. I don't feel anger. I don't feel so sad. It is what it is. I still have with me everything she taught me. She let me dream. She let me know anything was possible. She held me. She showed me the small things in life and told me that these are what makes this world beautiful. And love too.

 

Always love, she would say.

 

So that is what I will try and do. For so long I have been angry about what happened to her. But years have passed, and time keeps going. God is working in my life, and in hers, and I am finally letting go. I can't change what has happened, and I can't change what she might be going through. I can still love though. I can always love. Here's to love.

the blue eyes

I have to take long slow breathes
I throw my head back and dip my long hair slowly in the water
Submerging my face, closing my eyes
Holding my breathe so that I can hide from the world
And wishing, praying, hoping
And fighting
Fighting hard
The anger is hard to recognize, clinging on, making it impossible to say goodbye to
It sticks never ceasingly to my heart like the sweet humidity of summer in Arkansas
Only this isn't sweet
It's bitter
It's anger
She should not have this
That damn disease is creepingly seeping into her, robbing her of her dignity
Of her expressions
Of her voice
Like a meticulous robber of a bank, wearing the black mask, it has no face
But it steals
Slowly
Painfully
And I'm mad
Why? WHY HER?
And the anger takes over and build resentment
It's building a bridge, a bridge that I hate to cross, a bridge I drag my feet to get to, but a bridge that I am afraid I will cross
I find it hard to even look as she eats
Hard to listen, her voice jumbling together with the tender melody she used to loudly express herself with, but now is reduced to mere mumbles understood only in quiet moments
The disease takes more and more, sucking, like a parasite the life I used to see in her
Soon, who will I see?
I get so mad
SO frusturated
Where did it take her?
Give her back
NOW.
And then I look in those blue eyes
Blue like the color of the sky on a perfect day
Blue like the quitessential color of paradise
I found her
She's there
I recognize her, I see her spirit, in her blue eyes
They may struggle to stay open, struggle to see, but there she is
Genevra
My grandmother
The woman who has taught me to live and love and to never resort to anger
NEVER.
And the anger needs to go
She is saving me again, it is her that is able to whisk away the anger with just a small touch
We hold hands and I am made whole again
I struggle and fight
And I fight more
It's in my bath, in the midst of sobs, where my tears meet the water holding my body, where I find peace
The anger is trickling away
Away and away and away
Slowly
but surely
I love her
The anger has to go
And then there can only be love

a puddle of thoughts

Michelle splashed in puddles today.
She wrote some poetry about it, and conversly, was reminded of this piece that I wrote.

I wrote this one year ago. Literally, to the day. Hello, that is freaking cool. Ironic. And a reminder of how much can really happen in a year.

It was the first "blog" I ever did. : )

I woke up this morning to the sound of pattering on the window. It didn't occur to me that it could be raining outside, but as I glanced out the window I quickly realized that I would be wearing my black and white polka dotted rain boots today. I threw on my winter jacket that always reminds me of the slopes at Copper Mountain, and walked to the cafeteria so I could make my infamous egg creation (ahem, for those unaware, this consists of a couple scoops of scrambled eggs, salsa, green peppers, tomatoes, and cheese.) Yes, I take my food seriously.

As I walked to the cafeteria and encountered a multitude of puddles I couldn't help to reminisce when I was little. My grandma would pick me up every Wednesday from Ponderosa Elementary School. She would wait for Lance and I, and once we got settled at her house we took our weekly trip to the frozen yogurt shop. She would always encourage us to get something healthy, but being Grandma she never said anything when I got the item with the most chocolate. We would go to the Hampden Library and check out books..and movies...and have a movie marathon that night. My, how time goes. We don't have sleepovers anymore. My grandma has lost her ability to walk and cannot even function independently on her own anymore. Luckily for us, God has blessed her with a strong heart. She doesn't give up, and I can only hope to get that from her one day. Anyway, that was a tanget. The puddles I walked through today on the way to breakfast reminded me of one particular instance when she picked me up. I must have been in 2nd grade or something, and it had rained quite a bit one afternoon. As I was walking towards her welcoming and gentle arms I came upon a huge puddle. Unlike many of the other kids who were splashing and crazily jumping in all of the puddles, I stopped. I looked for an alternative path and chose to walk around the puddle refusing to get wet. My grandma embraced me into a hug that I will always treasure. She looked at me with her deep blue eyes and told me, "Heather, honey, you are so cute. You aren't like the other kids who are jumping around. You went around the puddle. Just wait till you are older when you won't want to stop jumping in puddles." I had no idea what she meant by that. I thought she was crazy..why would I ever want to get messy and wet in a puddle of rain?

10 years later I get it. I mean, at least metaphorically it makes sense. Jumping around in puddles is about more than just getting wet. To me jumping in a puddle means taking a chance. It means taking risks, trying new things, and being a little crazy. My grandma predicted it right on target. As I am on my journey here at good ole Hendrix College I had a realization this morning. I love jumping in puddles. I love being crazy. I love growing in my experiences and in my relationship with God.

Ever since I have been at Hendrix you could say I have been jumping in puddles since I got here. I got involved in field hockey at the college level, am involved with things I never could have imagined, and have seen things that I would never have thought of before. I can't really describe it. It's not a physical change that I am going through. I would say my journey has been greatly spiritual, emotional, and quite frankly, soulful. I don't feel like the same person anymore. I don't walk around the puddle--I don't try for perfection all the time, and I am enjoying the journey more now. I have realized that the JOURNEY is what really matters. Because in the end, we choose who we are. Before I was so wrapped up in not messing up, I never wanted to make any mistakes. But now...I don't know. I feel so loved by Him. I feel His presence everywhere and know that it doesn't matter if I make a mistake. My Maker is with me always; He loves me for who I am and not what I do or do not do. Hendrix has opened my eyes. To other people, to the world, to diverse viewpoints, to LIFE. God has had this whole plan for me. To think about it is so overwhelming..

Michelle made a great point when we were talking last night. We talked about what it took for us to both end up at Hendrix, living next door to each other on 3rd floor Veasey no less. God planned for us at every moment--from Michelle going to the college fair and discovering Hendrix, to me finally deciding to come play hockey at Hendrix and take a chance on Arkansas. Everything happens for a reason. THERE ARE NO COINCEDENCES. I think that has truly become apparent over the past few months. It has been so hard being away from home. So hard. I miss my family. I miss my friends. I miss my dog. I miss those freaking mountains! But..going to Hendrix was a lot like jumping in the puddle. I could have taken an easier route and stayed in CO. I could have done that. I would probably still be happy. But I came to Arkansas. I jumped in that puddle and I could not be happier. Goes to show that Grandma's always know what they are talking about. Always.

In his heart a man plans his course, but the Lord determines his steps. Proverbs 16:9 NIV