Day 169

Sometimes other peoples' pain overtakes me.  The sadness eats my consciousness until I'm a bumbling half-a-brain fumbling through my day.  Sadness replaces my appetite and my ambition.  It's too much for me.

It can be a stranger on the street or a disaster half a world away.  I have to stop myself from thinking about it or it will take over.  There's so much everywhere.  How does one avoid it?

A friend passed away yesterday.  More of an acquaintance than a friend, I guess.  Though I saw him five days a week for almost eight years, I can't say I knew him well.  He was the quiet one of the group.  Sometimes we talked about his fight against his own illness.  I guess we had that in common, though his was potentially fatal and mine, not so much.

He died quietly in his sleep of a heart attack unrelated to the long battle he had fought which, by all accounts, he was winning.  No one expected that he wouldn't wake up, too young, too healthy.  It was a total shock to me when I found out this morning.

I can't say I understand why I can't get over it.  Maybe I'm older now and I know what it means to lose someone.  Maybe I know what his mother and siblings and nieces and nephews are feeling today.  How hard it must have been for his closest co-workers who spent eight hours staring at an empty chair.  Actually, I don't know.  I know a fraction of their pain.  I can't imagine what this feels like.  Maybe that's why...

Day 144

I have been offline for a few weeks, okay probably closer to a month.  The first couple of weeks I had an amazing opportunity to travel to faraway lands (more on that later).  Then two weeks ago my grandmother passed away.  She was matriarch, in every sense of the word, to her family, her church and her community.  She was an incredible, gracious, generous, beautiful woman.  She lived through a lot but came out the other end of it all with a smile (and a wink). 

Her health began to fail her when I was just starting college.  Selfishly, I felt like I was robbed of the influence of an amazing mentor and support system just when I probably needed it most.  Her health declined quickly and her medication kept her in a suspended state somewhere between knowing and not knowing.  Every few years she would miraculously “wake up”.  She would be surprised by the age of her children, once asking one of my uncles “What happened?” while she studied his face.  Everyone would be surprised at her sudden awakening but, I think, it almost always corresponded with an upcoming surgery.  Probably one which required a reduction in medication in the days prior to the appointment.

To listen to the stories told by friends and family at her funeral, you would have thought my grandmother was a saint.  I think in her time people kept more to themselves.  If she had an unkind opinion of someone she kept it to herself.  If one of us disappointed her, she would respond with love.  Any scandals within the family stayed with that generation.  No one said a word much less tweeted it to the rest of the free world.  She was deeply religious, but never preachy.  Instead she showed us a better way to live.

In remembering her long, beautiful life, so much has come back to me that I had forgotten.  Like the shelves lining the steps to her basement that were always filled with jars of pickled vegetables, homemade jellies and other things she had canned.  The entire days we spent running errands and visiting people.  The countless hours we spent playing cards and cooking in her kitchen.  The way her car smelled like her.  The music she listened to (only church music) and her singing voice, always bursting with love and enthusiasm, even if not always in tune. 

She was one of those people who would have done anything for anyone, but she was one of the few who used that potential.  She was so proud of her nursing career and shared her expertise long after she retired.  She would drop everything to help anyone.  No request was too bold, not errand to inconvenient.  Everyone knew her and everyone loved her.  My grandma was your grandma.  Just moved here from a foreign country and need someone to watch your children while you find work?  No problem.  Have a health issue and need a consultation before committing to a doctor visit because you aren’t too mobile anymore?  Be right there!  Hungry, thirsty, hot, cold, tired, lonely and need a place to eat, drink, cool down, warm up, rest, visit or play cards for a while?  Come on in!  The door was never locked, the fridge was never empty, Grandma was never too tired or busy.

There were no debates surrounding saturated fat or high fructose corn syrup at Grandma's house.  I don't think she would have believed me if I had told her I don't eat gluten.  There was butter in everything she cooked and her freezer was always stocked with sweets.  Not the homemade kind, though she was a fine baker, the kind that were full of corn syrup and preservatives and packaged in bright, child-friendly colors.  Grandma knew what it was to do without.  She lived through the depression so she kept her freezer full and always had goodies for the grandchildren in there with the meat and vegetables.

The last thing I can remember talking to Grandma about was where I was going to school.  I had gotten into some decent schools but was denied financial aid.  I was trying to decide whether to take on the debt or go to one of the state schools I could still apply to.  I’m not sure why it came up or how, but the only advice she had for me was that it is important for me to have the same amount of education as my husband.    For my 19^th birthday, she gave me the necklace she wore every day, a gift from one of the doctors she had worked with, because her initials (the same as mine) were engraved on it.  Not long after, Grandma had the first of many strokes.  I visited her in the rehab facility and we played cards (she still beat me).  She came home for a few weeks but was permanently moved to a home after another stroke.  It was all downhill from there.

Grandma hung on for many years after but was never the same.  By the time I was diagnosed with Crohn’s Disease, she may have still known who I was but she was unable to articulate much.  Crohn’s Disease was probably beyond her experience, but I know she would have been a huge comfort while I was sick.  I wish she could have met my husband and taken part in my wedding planning (lord knows she would have restored much sanity).  Most of all I wish she could have met my niece who is her spitting image.  The two of them would have been the best of friends.

The only thing my grandma did that annoyed me was ask me to tweeze her chin hairs for her (these things happen as we age!).  It looked like it hurt but she always said it didn’t.  Her eyesight wasn’t good enough and her hand too shaky to do it herself.  She would hold her breath and I would cringe at each pluck.  I said every time, "c’mon that has to hurt!"  She would just smile.  I would give anything now to have her hand me those tweezers one more time.  It's so cliche, but I want to ask all the questions I was too young and self-absorbed to ask.  I want to tell her about all of the exciting things that are happening to us. I want her to know about all of her great grandchildren, and how her family has grown and spread out across the country.  I want to thank her for everything she gave me and tell her that I get it now.     

Most of all, I want her to know that, thanks to her, I am drinking from the saucer cause my cup has overflowed.