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.

You did it.

As I helped him button his shirt, using the lint roller to make it look perfect, simultaneously attempting to put his blue tie in place, I took a step back and was proud of the man that stood before me.

This man, my brother, has had some of the most difficult experiences the past couple of years. He's grown up a lot. He's been through a lot. And, there were certainly times I wasn't sure he would make it. I didn't know if he could make it to this milestone; I wasn't sure if he could ever truly believe in himself. I never gave up; rather, I just didn't know when the day would finally come.

It came today.

Lance graduated high school.

It's a milestone for everyone, I know, but for Lance this is huge. He's going to college this fall, and he's enrolling at Colorado State University with an attitude that has been missing for the past year or so. It's my brother. He's back.

He is happy. I can sense it in the way he hugs me, in the way he carries himself, and in the way he talks about his future. God truly answers prayers, and this is a big one. Lance has a new beginning before him, and he really will do great things. God has something so beautiful and incredible planned for his life.

Lance is pretty much the funniest person I know, he likes cheese just as much as I do, and he always, always makes me laugh. He will do anything for the people around him, he always knows what to say, and he doesn't take life lightly. He lives it to its fullest.

Lance makes me proud to be a big sister. I feel more comfortable around him than mostly anyone, I tell him absolutely everything, and some of my favorite memories in my life are right alongside him.

One time, coming back from Utah, and driving around 1am, we stopped for coffee at some random gas station. I put some of this magical energy stuff in my coffee since I was driving and Lance rode shotgun to help me stay awake. To this day, I don't know what was in that magical stuff, but HOLY MOLY. I went psycho, like, even more crazy than I already am. So, as we traversed through the Rockies in Utah, I was laughing, singing, and saying the most absurd things, with Lance laughing right along. I smile just thinking about it. Or, when I think back on our childhood summers, I remember our long bike rides to buy slurpees and chili cheese dogs (extra cheese, of course) from the barnstore. I remember making football plays in the front yard, and Lance always letting me play quarterback because it was my dream. I remember catching fish up in the mountains and thinking we were so cool…only for mom and dad to tell us later that we fished out of a pond that they fill with fish so you will basically be guaranteed to catch anything. I remember forcing Lance to play barbies with me, putting a dress on you and taking pictures, and walking barefoot outside, thinking we were clearly the most BA people ever to live.

I also remember how I felt when you hugged me after my last field hockey game in high school. I remember how you listened to me talk to you about my dreams, worries, and hopes until 4 am one night, letting me sleep on your floor in your room. I remember talking about rugby this past winter, and our day out together when you decided you wanted to play. And, I will now always remember how you looked walking up to get your diploma. Strong, confident, fulfilled, and happy. You did it, Lance.

We've done so much together, and after this summer, this is his chance to go out and find himself. College. It's allowed me a chance to discover who I really am, and I thank God Lance is going to have a chance to also experience this.

He will be a Ram, wearing hunter green and gold, and he will wear it well.

Congrats, class of 2010.

 

22

I left a message on Jessica's facebook today to give her the countdown of how many days it will be till I am back home in Colorado.

22 DAYS.

It caught me a bit off guard. 3 weeks. That means I will go to St. Louis for, come back and finish up classes, take my finals, pack up, and drive back home in a matter of 3 weeks. Not to mention doing all of the reading I still have to do, writing a few papers here and there, and play intramural floor hockey and volleyball.

More than that in 3 weeks not do I only have to pack up, but I have to say goodbye to Arkansas for the next 8 months. Goodbye to Hendrix, to my friends, and to my home here. That's scary. Exhilarating of course, considering the adventures to come. But, scary all at the same time.

I told Maggie today at lunch that I am really just trying to take everything in phases and just take each day as it comes.

I will say goodbye to Hendrix when that comes along. I will go home when it is time. And when it's time to say goodbye to my family and to Colorado, I will be ready.

As for the next 22 days?

I'm going to have a lot of fun. There might be tears. But I also know there will be a lot of laughter, joy, and memories.

Soon in my life there will be snow, and lots of it. I will be playing outside in it with my family and with Buddy, because that is the best part of having Christmas in Colorado.
Soon in my life there will be the big sun in Ghana, with no snow. There will be a new place, a new adventure, and there will be Rachel.

But now, for the next 22 days, I am here.

Time to live it up. Beginning with a night of mayhem. Oh you know, SoCo 54, y'all.

Footprints

They always say that people come and go in your life. Some, supposively, leave footprints. These are engrained in your heart, your mind, and your soul.

Can you ever know which people will stay?
Or, can you ever really take hold of a relationship meant to exist only at a certain time?
The people who have walked in my life are numerous, barely recallable, as I mentally think about old friends, strangers, fleeting relationships, and those who stuck around awhile, and even those who left as quickly as they came.
I remember Mrs. Hamilton from 3^rd grade. She taught me to love, well me. There was a time in my life where I didn't have a ton of confidence In myself, and still Mrs. Hamilton helped me see that who I was was something to be proud of. We were penpals until I was in middle school, and she always reminded me that liking country music was cool no matter what the other kids thought. She encouraged me to read, to explore, and to appreciate the knowledge you can find out there in the real world. I was the quiet, shy, and curious kid in my class and she let me be exactly that.
I remember Erik Bromley. I was practically head over heels for that boy from the beginnings of elementary school until 7^th grade. We had our moments of holding hands, but I think that was only because I would take out the boys during the epic soccer games at recess. Surely he wasn't after my refined femininity. I remember that he "broke up" with me over email. Classy, right? I was that love sick girl in middle school for him, but really, I could have done so much better.
I remember that homeless man in DC. He played the drums on the streets and we took a picture with him. He made me laugh. And our class thought he was so cool, and I did too. I struggled to understand why he could only fit his belongings in one bag. I can see his smile, his laugh, and I can't help but wonder what he's doing now.
I remember my great grandmother Lillian. She died when I was 7, but if I close my eyes long enough, I can see her face, feel her holding me. She was stunningly beautiful, and a woman of love. I remember her house in Nebraska, the way the color pink filled the room, and our large family crammed in one room, laughing. Lillian would play with all of the kids—my cousins—and I loved it there. I hate that I didn't say goodbye. I didn't go to her funeral.
I remember Roslyn from Birmingham. We met over coffee at Highlands Methodist and she was homeless. Yet, that was hardly her identity. She was beautiful, with remarkable features. Her eyes were big; they looked like they could hold all of the world's pain and love. At once. We talked openly about my college journey and her adventures in life. We emailed for the next two years, when suddenly the emails stopped. I don't know what happened, who stopped writing, but as I contemplate whether I should write one back, I can't help but wonder if she was just one of those people to come in and out of my life.
I remember Jennifer, my best friend up until middle school. We were childhood friends, our daddies had grown up together too. I imagined we would be friends forever, just like our daddies. Distance. It was really all it took. Jennifer isn't really Jennifer anymore. She identifies as a man now, and I suppose this is why I have avoided her the past couple of years. I think she has also hesitated in seeing me. She might not know what I would think. I think she is probably right. I don't know if I will see her again. Jennifer has changed, as have I, but I look fondly on our summer camp adventures, trips to the cabin, and fishing with our daddies.
So many people have left footprints.
Some that have left footprints in my heart are still around. Or maybe they are long gone, but I guess what I am trying to do, as I will the rest of my life, is to appreciate the people in my life for the time that I have them. Time and relationships are both fragile and I hope to learn one of these days that whether the people around me are staying or going isn't really the point. The point is that they are here. Now. And I can learn from them while they are around, so that I won't take for granted the days I have with them. I have been feeling this way about everyone here at school. I have deep relationships here: friends, teachers, mentors, teammates, and acquaintances. I know they won't all last once we leave Hendrix. It makes me worried. But instead, I can accept this and live it up while I am here.
My memories from Hendrix already mean something to me. I can't imagine these memories 20 years from now.
Still, the Hendrix experience is lasting another year and a half. No need to get ahead of myself.