Rude Awakenings

I thought I knew everything about human nature. Or that at least I was good at managing my expectations based on who I was dealing with and what I knew about that person.

But then reality came calling.

My oldest grand/daughter's father passed away recently. At first my heart broke for her. I hadn't seen her father in years, and I guess I was thinking mostly about what she was dealing with. He was hospitalized for a week, was comatose, and the outcome became obvious within a short time.

Due to the Covid-19 restrictions, only a couple of people were allowed to visit him in ICU until the decision to take him off life support had been made. Once we were allowed to visit, my husband and I went to the hospital to support our grand/daughter during what would be the most heart-wrenching day of her young life.

I wasn't prepared for the emotions that hit me upon entering that room.

Once upon a time, when our first grand/daughter was born, we allowed her parents to move into our house with her. I got to know her father a little better during this time. They weren't here long and I don't remember when or why they moved out. But it was clear from the beginning--we would always be family.

Eventually our grand/daughter came to live with us permanently. Her father would come visit as much as possible. He made mistakes in life--don't we all?--but his love for his daughter was obvious. As she got older and was able to drive, he no longer came here and I lost touch with him over the past several years. There was never a question that father and daughter loved each other immensely.

When my husband and I saw him in the hospital, we were both hit with such a sense of loss...for us, for our grand/daughter, and for her mother. Here was a young man who didn't have much opportunity in life, and it was now ending. (He had been raised by his grandparents, and I don't think he saw his parents...especially his mother...very often.)

Since the visitation restrictions had been somewhat lifted due to his dire condition, my grand/daughter and her mother had reached out to his parents and half-siblings so that they could have a chance to say goodbye.

Nobody came.

He passed away the next day. His daughter stayed by his side as long as possible, but because she had made the decision to donate his organs, she couldn't stay until the very end. But she was determined to be there for him as long as possible.

After my husband and grand/daughter had made the decisions regarding burial, etc., and since an actual funeral would have to wait until people were allowed to congregate again, the funeral home agreed to a family-only viewing. Again, my daughter and grand/daughter reached out to his family to let them know the details so they would have one last chance to see him.

His mother and two of his half-siblings showed up for the viewing. We introduced ourselves as we stood outside. The mom chatted a little in a very casual way. She never mentioned her son, at least not that I heard. The siblings never spoke a word to us. It was awkward to say the least.

My entire family went into the chapel to see him as soon as we were allowed. We were all brokenhearted and struggling to keep our composure.

The viewing was only supposed to last 30 minutes. After about 15, his family finally walked into the chapel. I left, partly to comfort my younger grand/daughter who had broken down and left the chapel very quickly, but mostly to give his family some privacy.

I never saw a single tear from any of them. As a matter of fact, my husband said they sat near the back of the chapel and he overheard the mom ask, "Aren't they going to say anything? Is this it?"

The one thing she never said was, "Thank you for taking care of the final arrangements for my son." And they left shortly thereafter, never saying a word to anyone.

It became blatantly obvious that this young man who meant so much to my grand/daughter, and was still close to her mother, had never known the love of caring parents. Our hearts broke all over again. So my husband and I got some comfort from knowing that he spoke highly of us and considered us his family. But that came with regret that we didn't try harder to include him in our lives and show him unconditional love. I guess we never knew that we were the only family he felt he had.

Sometimes people can surprise you. And it isn't always good.

An Old Lady Telling a Story

I've spent an inordinate amount of my life whining about things that can't be changed. If you've read my blog before, you are probably well aware of this fact. If not, and if you want to see what I'm really all about, feel free to scour the archives. But for now, on with the story...


I recently turned 60, and I wasn't happy about it.

Don't get me wrong--I'm beyond grateful that I made it this far. Most of the time. But 60 is a big number, and it seemed to be the one that signaled to me that time was running out. There are so many things I still want to do. Things I thought I'd already be doing. Things I might never get a chance to do. Ships that have sailed without me.

I was struggling to deal with all these emotions, and feeling guilty because a Christian shouldn't be depressed about getting one step closer to Heaven. Besides, life isn't all that bad. And after 40 years of raising children, I can finally see the light at the end of the tunnel (maybe I should stop saying that at this late stage of life).

And the truth is, the thing that was most depressing to me was living so far from my family.

I am lucky enough to have one daughter and my two grand/daughters close by (one in my own house--you can't get much closer than that!). But my other daughter and her family live hundreds of miles away. And the little grandchildren are growing up so fast--the youngest is only four months old, and changing by the day!

My sisters and brother, my built-in, lifelong friends, the people who know me all too well...and love me anyway, also live hundreds of miles away. And I miss them. I feel so disconnected. Life gets busy and it's hard to get quality time with each of them on holiday visits when there is a house full of people trying to catch up with each other in a short span of time.

So there I was feeling sorry for myself and trying really hard not to. My husband and children who live nearby all celebrated with me on my birthday, and it was lovely. They gave me gifts and beautiful, heartfelt cards. I felt loved.

But I was still 60.

When the day was over, I settled in to wait for death.

I woke up the next morning (thankfully), and it was just another day. Except I was old. Sixty years old, to be exact. Okay, it was finally here and I could stop worrying about it. But man, that number really hit hard. I've never been hit by a number before. My husband and I would be doing our usual Friday night routine at the end of the day...dinner and a trip to Costco (don't steal that phrase because I plan to write a book some day).

Anyway, I struggled to put makeup on my 60-year-old face, "style" my thinning hair, and clothe my thickening body. It was an epic fail, but off to dinner we went.

When we returned a few hours later, I walked into the house dragging my oversized Costco supplies, and was blindsided...

"SURPRISE!!!!!!!"

I couldn't believe what I saw. My loved ones had driven hundred of miles to celebrate my birthday with me!!! And my long-suffering husband, who had spent the last several months listening to me obsess over turning 60, had spent those same few months planning a surprise birthday party for me!!!

I was humbled. Having long felt isolated, lonely, and old, all too often I made everything all about me. I'm not proud of that. But when you spend so much of your life inside your own head, it's easy to do. I instantly felt ashamed that I wallow in self-pity so much. After all, it isn't all about me.

But for one amazing weekend, my family made me feel like it was.

Most of the crew, sharing the beauty of God's creation with me (we did pick up our trash)

What Really Matters

Today was going to be a productive day. I was finally going to get a jump on all those crafting projects I had collected in my mind (and on Pinterest). Of course I first had to do laundry. (I didn't want to completely lose the procrastination skills I had spent years honing, so I decided to blow off cleaning my bathroom.)

As usual, the girls had presented their laundry baskets late and in sloppy condition. Instead of getting better at preparing their dirty laundry, they now seem to take for granted that Nana will unknot their clothes and turn them right-side-out. 

And I did.

I've been suffering symptoms that lead me to believe my blood pressure is much higher than is safe, so I'm trying to pick my battles. This wasn't going to be one of them. It was too early in the day.

So I calmly reminded them that I expected them to do better next week or I would not wash their clothes, nor would I allow them to do their own laundry unless they paid for the use of excess water and electricity. (This was because I knew they wouldn't wash full loads, but would instead wash only what they wanted that day. I've lived long enough to know how most kids operate.)

The Princess decided to apprise me of The Law. "I'm pretty sure that isn't legal", she informed me. "You can't make us wear dirty clothes". She's 17, knows everything, and feels it's her job to share her vast wealth of knowledge with her grandpa and me.

I kept calm and carried on.

Later, inspiration struck. Instead of neatly folding her clean clothes as I always do, I haphazardly tossed them into her laundry basket. They were clean, and I'm pretty sure that's the extent of my legal obligation.

In the evening she returned home from picking up her boyfriend for a visit, and seeing her laundry basket heaped with rumpled clothes she asked if I was indeed not going to wash them. "They're clean", I said, "I just didn't fold them. I'm pretty sure that's legal". She wasn't amused.  Actually, she proceeded to act like a two-year-old. And I'm fresh off a visit with one, so I know exactly what a toddler meltdown looks like.

But it gets better.

It was now dinner time and I had just washed a sink full of dirty dishes that had appeared out of thin air, just like magic. My hands were still a little wet when I pulled out a baking sheet and started to set it on the stove. It slipped and dropped a few inches onto the edge of the glass cooktop. 

Crunch. 

Yeah, I broke the stovetop.  And no, it isn't in my budget to buy a new one.

Through my tears (and some profanities) I reached into the refrigerator to get a few things. After all, the show must go on.

For the past few days, I've noticed the vegetable and fruit drawers had been making a grinding sound when I opened them. I figured now was the time to get at least one of my appliances in good working order, so I removed the first drawer completely and found the problem...

There was a giant sheet of ice covering the bottom of the refrigerator.

When it rains it pours. And then it freezes up.

I was feeling pretty despondent at that point. Then my phone rang.

The details of the call aren't important to the story, but suffice it to say I was facing a real potential tragedy. And it scared me straight. 

There is nothing material on this earth that matters in the grand scheme of things. God blesses us with people to love and, if we're really lucky, people who love us back. If we're fortunate enough to have them in our lives for many years, and they are healthy and safe and hopefully also happy, that's really the only thing that matters.

Thank you, God, for blessing me today.

Every Day God Gives Me a Do-over, and For That I am Truly Thankful

First, I hope my neighbors didn't observe my meltdown last night.  Second, I'm sorry my family did.

I'm falling apart.  Years of relentless stress have taken their toll.  I just don't have the energy it takes to go on.  But go on I must.  There are children to be raised and a home to make.

I've written before about the difficulties I've faced trying to raise my granddaughters without benefit of a healthy childhood to prepare me for life.  I'm not sure why, but God keeps picking me up and blessing me in spite of myself.  God is good that way.

Life isn't perfect.  We're still digging ourselves out of the financial hole we fell into when the economy tanked.  I'm struggling to be a mother to two beautiful, wonderful children who deserve so much better than what I have to give.  But we still have our home, crumbling though it is after two decades.  My husband has a job, and it seems it might finally start to pay enough that we can stop draining our home equity and retirement accounts (since we've pretty much depleted them by now). And we are relatively healthy for a couple of old folks.  But most of all, God watches over us.  And that brings me more joy than I can ever express.

I was reading a blog today about a woman who is losing her husband to cancer.  I can't imagine how a person gets through such an experience.  I've grieved when I lost loved ones, but my husband is my best friend.  Even when I want to strangle him, I know my life would be so empty without him in it. I pray God will give us both many more years so we can finally experience each other without the constant strain of raising a family.  I want to travel with him.  I want to walk on the beach with him...and only him.  Heck, I just want to have dinner alone with him.

I pray God will give me the strength to be a better person and help me appreciate all I've been given. But most of all, I pray He will guide my path so that I can honor Him.  It's the least I can do.

Sweet Birthday Surprises

Yesterday was my birthday.  At my age there wasn't much reason to celebrate.  Well, I suppose I could celebrate the fact that I did, in fact, wake up. 

My granddaughter had been hinting to me all week that my husband had done something special for my birthday while I was out of town.  She wisely informed me that it wasn't something big, just "really sweet".  It was obvious she was excited about whatever it was.

The morning got off to a rocky start due to what I'll call a "difference of opinion" between my husband and me.  And I wasn't thrilled to be crossing another year off my countdown to death.  I started to think the entire family would benefit if I just stayed in bed all day.  But even I get tired of being lazy after a while.  So I finally dragged my aching body to a semi-standing position and stumbled to the coffeemaker, where I found this:

 

 

"Awwww, how sweet!!!" you're probably thinking. 

 

Not me.  I felt violated.  Someone had been in my craftroom.  Using my stuff!  I felt the same anguish the Three Bears must have felt when Goldilocks invaded their home and ate their porridge. 

 

But once the shock wore off my heart started to melt.  My wonderful family had crafted.  For me!  They used punches, and stamps and cardstock, oh my!  Hubby even had one of the girls show him how to use my old red Sizzix machine so he could cut out "Happy Birthday".  (From what I was told it was the only die-cutting machine they didn't find too intimidating.)

 

The wall of Martha Stewart border punches was of particular fascination to my husband.  He had no idea how they worked so my granddaughter showed him how to punch a continuous border.  (If he ever listened when I talk to him he'd realize he's been given a full tutorial on every craft tool I've ever purchased.)  He even found my Mickey Mouse punch and used it for balloons (pretty clever!)  Then they inked and stamped... and stamped some more.

 

I recently wrote about my suspicions that my husband is a closet crafter.  These have now been confirmed. 

 

 

It took guts for him to mess around in my craft room.  But he had the good sense to stay away from my pretty paper.  Sometimes in spite of himself he actually hears something I say.

In the evening the four of us went out to dinner, then came home to enjoy cupcakes in all my favorite flavors.  For a few hours I was able to forget that I'm getting really old, and I simply enjoyed spending time with my husband and granddaughters.  And my cupcakes.

Life's Little Surprises

No, this isn't about how a middle-aged woman found herself in round two of child-raising.  But it is about how these children make her life so much richer.

Lately, my fourteen-year-old granddaughter has been spilling her teenage drama to me.  It can be time-consuming, but not without its rewards.

Tonight was family night.  Dinner out, a trip to Costco (yeah, family night is exciting around here) and various others stops along the way.  I was telling the family how I would miss them all over the next couple of weeks while I'm away caring for my little grandson.  Teenage granddaughter says, "I'm gonna miss you, too, Nana".

It was the best surprise I've had all year.

I've Fallen and Nobody's Here to Help Me Up!

Every day I see the same commercial while I'm trying to relax with a little Judge Judy or Judge Joe Brown, and it bothers me.   The ad I'm talking about is for one of those "I've fallen and can't get up" alert systems for people who live alone.

Now, I don't live alone (only in my dreams), but I can imagine the horror of being injured, or just too damned tired to get up, and needing assistance that isn't coming.  In my life (the real one), I live with my husband and two granddaughters.  I often wonder what would happen if I fell (oh wait, that already happened) and no one came to check on me (again, already happened).  I usually figure if I can just hang on until the next mealtime, somebody will come to see why the hell there isn't any food on the table.

So back to the commercial:  The lady states she lives alone and rarely has visitors.  Recently she fell and couldn't get to a phone to seek help.   She goes on to say that as she lay there for eight hours (eight hours!), she couldn't help thinking of her kids and grandkids having to go on without her. 

If I find myself on the floor alone for eight hours, I'm thinking things like: Where the hell is everybody???,  and Nobody gives a damn what happens to me!!!  I'm definitely not having delusional thoughts about how difficult life will be for my family, who are never around when I need them.

I'm a realist.  I live with the assurance that if I fall, drown or have a heart attack, everybody will go on just fine without me.  At least until dinnertime.