Today she would have been 95. As I work through the manuscript of my book, my editor asked, "Who was she? What was your relationship with her?". I still haven't finished that chapter because how do you turn "she was everything" into 1,500 words?
that cuteness in white is my grandmother
I don't have words today and not because I am experiencing some kind of terrible grief, though I am crying at this moment. This year I really miss her.
I woke this morning a bit melancholy wishing I could go back to sleep, wishing I could spend more time on Park Square Drive.
The realness of my dreams early this morning were so odd, but as I look closer I know exactly why my subconscious sent me the first floor apartment. Every piece of furniture, trinket and wall handing was the same as it was the last time I walked through my grandmother’s apartment door.
Even the yellowish square shaped stone that held her bedroom door open was there. I moved it away so that they door would shut behind me as I searched for something. I felt the soft fullness of her bedspread as I moved to the window. I could even feel the sheer drapes that always hung over her bedroom window. In my dream, her window was open and I thought, “it’s been open the entire time.” It felt like a week had passed since my grandmother had been there, but in the reality she hasn’t lived in that apartment for 16 years.
Twice, her alarm clock went off (actually it was Matt’s alarm), but in my dream I thought, “ah, she would have woken up at this time as well”. Which is probably true, she was an early riser, though she attempted to be quiet she always woke me up in the morning while making coffee.
In my dream she was not there and I was searching for something - something I needed. During my search I picked up a cube shaped picture frame that was actually a music box, it slowly played Raindrops Keep Fallin’ on My Head, as song by BJ Thomas, a song that I will always associate with my grandfather probably because the frame always held a picture of him.
One of the pictures that was always in the music box
Raindrops keep falling on my head
But that doesn't mean my eyes will soon be turning red
Crying's not for me, 'cause,
I'm never gonna stop the rain by complaining
Because I'm free
Nothing's worrying me
At one point I woke up from my dream, but quickly tried to rush myself back to sleep longing for the smell of white shoulders perfume to take me over. Grasping for just five more minutes in the peace of Park Square Drive.
As the surroundings of my childhood changed in a pretty steady beat, I could always count of the stability of my grandmother’s apartment. I have to laugh because in my dream her bed kept moving - by the window, closer to the closet, on the other wall - this most certainly because she was known to always move her furniture. She was always trying out new arrangements - I pushed her hide-a-bed sofa across her living room more times than I can count.
My grandparents moved to Park Square Drive when I was five, shortly before my grandfather’s passing. I have fond memories of their first apartment. My Papa always had CapriSuns for us. I remember the smoothness of their leather sofas and always wanting to put change in his bank that sorted coins. That apartment also holds the memory of the realization of my Papa’s illness. I remember learning that a fire truck comes with an ambulance when someone has a heart attack. It’s crazy how old he seemed to me, but he was just 61 when he passed away.
My grandmother lived in two other apartments on Park Square Drive - both in the same building, on the same hall, but it’s her floor apartment (down the hall on the right) a simple two room apartment that is my safe place. The place my mind runs when my world is out of control.
There are so many memories in that apartment like spending the summer crafting, making magnets in elementary school that hung on her refrigerator till the day we move her into a nursing home. And her kitchen with the dark brown cabinets and her round table where a nice meal would always include cantaloup and sliced tomatoes. I remember painting my nails pink at that table to match the pink dress I wore to my oldest cousin’s wedding. And I can also recall fighting morning sickness at that table when I was 14 and I had just confessed to my mother that I was pregnant while visiting my grandmother for Christmas.
The blue hide-a-bed sofa in her living room holds the memories of a lost 17 year old that truly felt the love of Jesus during the Summer of 1995. I also sat on that sofa six years later and told my Meme that I was pregnant and unmarried. Years before I sat next to my favorite great aunt on that sofa, that afternoon would be the last time I would see the red-haired woman that I looked up to so much.
It is no shock to me that in a time when I feel like my life is chaotic and I hear criticisms louder that complements that my subconscious would take me to a place where I feel safe. A place where I always felt love. A place that was always stable when my life was out of control. I want so badly to walk through that door again, to find comfort on that sofa and to be surrounded by the safeness of her love.
Raindrops are falling on my head
And just like the guy whose feet are too big for his bed
Nothing seems to fit
Those raindrops are falling on my head, they keep falling
So I just did me some talking to the sun
And I said I didn't like the way he got things done
He's sleeping on the job
Those raindrops are falling on my head, they keep fallin'
But there's one thing I know
The blues they send to meet me
Won't defeat me
It won't be long 'till happiness steps up to greet me
Many months ago as I started an EMDR session I was asked to find my safe place and I first thought, “man, I have no clue. I can’t pinpoint a home from the childhood that felt ‘safe’”. Then, one evening I felt panic lurking close by and a grabbed my favorite quilt that I have had for ages - since I was 17, actually. As I covered myself in the heaviness of the quilt I realized when I first felt it calming weight - on that blue sofa, in that apartment on Park Square Drive.
Do you have a safe place? A place where your mind takes you when life is spinning out of control? A stable memory that you cling to?
Today is my father's 70th birthday. Normally (thanks to facebook's on this day for the reminder) I post one of two pictures every year.
A slightly heavier, pre-cancer, fluffy mustache picture which will probably be the image of him that I remember way into my senior years.
Or a picture taken by my father's cousin on my first Christmas
This year, I am a bit more sentimental because, today David (or Dave), my dad, is 70. And 70 deserves some of my favorite black and whites from his much younger days. I am going way back.
Your first picture is written on the back on this one in my Granny's handwriting. In this picture my grandmother was 38 and my grandfather was 44. The story has it that my father was a bit of a surprise and he was their only child.
Luther and Lola, my grandparents, had been married since 1928. They had 18 years of marriage before my father was born - very, very out of character for that generation.
Yes, my baptist grandfather was named Luther, possibly after Martin Luther...not sure yet, but I will let you know if I find Lutheran roots on that side of my family. And, yes, my father and my father-in-law are both named David. There are a lot of D's in my family and at times it gets a bit confusing.
My dad and grandmother in June 1947. He appears well-fed. I'm not quite sure how my grandmother toted him around with her petite frame.
December 1948 - 1 year old before we had his haircut is written on the back of this one, again my my grandmother's handwriting.
Saying that my father was the center of my grandmother's universe would be an understatement. She was absolutely in love with him, as most of us mother's are with our babies. And who could blame her, look at his chunky cheeks!
Lola held even tighter to my father when Luther lost his life just six days before my father's seventh birthday. Luther was just 51, my grandmother was 45 and it was right after Thanksgiving. Could you even imagine? They had been married right about 25 years when he passed.
Christmas 1953 - Their first Christmas without Luther. This picture was taken by the same cousin who took the picture of my Father and I, above. I absolutely love everything about this picture.
This is where I make sure to tell you how completely thankful I am that Luther was one of eight children. Not only was my grandmother surrounded by her family, but my grandfather's family played a huge part in raising my father. And in the end I was blessed with great aunts that made a big impact on who I am today.
August 1954 - My grandmother (on the left), my father and one of my great aunts. And also it looks like a little black cat.
.
The years passed and the two of them kept on going. I literally have boxes full of pictures of my father (so thankful for that!).
I am sure that there are stories I don't know, that I may not ever know, and that things were harder than I could imagine as I flip through the photographs of the two of them, but I do know he was loved!
And he still is loved, even when he is acting like an old curmudgeon. And man, my father made it to 70. He has far outlived just about every man on both sides of my family tree - I am BEYOND grateful for that. Ugh, tears, I love him though he drives me insane (I think that feeling is mutual).
I stood at the kitchen counter this morning and thought, “Did I take my pill?” It was something I would have done less than an hour before. In slight panic I thought, “Retrace your steps. How could I tell? What would be different?” Then I saw a glass in the sink, “yes, I took it with lemonade, just after I sat Shelby’s out.”
Now, this may happen in your house often. I know with the business of life we can all have times where our brain is scattered. But for me, well, for me I pray this is not a foreshadowing of life to come. The fear escalates when I can’t remember if I’ve taken my medicine since my grandmother’s diagnosis came after she accidentally overdosed on medication she took at the same time everyday for years.
Fear comes as I find myself behind a couple in a department story, trying hard to not listen to their entire conversation, but being pulled in when she asked her husband, “So, I called you?” And he patiently and sweetly responded with, “Yes, you said you were afraid and were not sure where you were.” Man, will that be my life? This was not an “old” couple either, I would estimate they were maybe in their mid to late fifties.
Could the abuse that I’ve done to my body, to my brain with extensive drug use and years of depression make this disease come on faster than it did for my grandmother and also my great grandmother? And my great aunt? Though, I believe that her’s may have started earlier than all of them. Does my mental health and struggle with anxiety play a factor into my timeline?
Have you noticed I haven’t even said the word?
Alzheimer’s
The horrid disease that steals you from your family, but lets you remain in form. The disease that pretty much hits the reset button on all your memories, years and years of memories gone in just a moment’s time.
In our family the disease is a source of pain, but also humor. It’s a running joke that I will soon receive calls that my mother has been caught streaking through the neighborhood. It’s a funny image and we laugh, but then things become reality when my parents spend an uncomfortable amount of time locating their truck in the parking lot. I expect my father will remain sharp as tack until his final days just as his mother did. Unfortunately, I’ve learned that his filter will slowly deteriorate and I imagine I will be asking people to forgive his saltiness on a regular basis (wait, don’t I already do that?).
It is when these stories pile up that I am reminded why I starting writing this blog over seven years ago - to preserve stories for my girls (then just girl). If there was one thing I wish I could do again (more than anything in the world) it would have been to take the time to record in some manner both of my grandmother’s stories. That was the plan, always intended for, but trust me, time moves so much quicker than you could imagine. Then, the stories are gone or distorted. I would say for the first year after my grandmother’s diagnosis she believed my Papa was still alive, but that he has abandoned her for someone else. If that doesn't break a granddaughter’s heart, I don’t know what could. Though I hesitate to say I do not know what life was like in their home before my grandfather committed himself to the Lord and in the same breath I make a public statement that I really don’t want to know. I will preach until the cows come home about the power of your true story, but I’d rather remain a hypocrite when it come to my Papa. I’d rather him remain someone that I look up to, I want to keep the version of him that Meme shared with me, I want to keep him locked in time with his jumpsuits and thick dark framed glasses.
Urgh, sorry, that was a tangent. I have a reason for this post.
It is to remind me and you about the power, the purpose for telling stories to our children, and also preserving those stories.
I recently began reading through a book called the Secrets of a Happy Family and while it is full of great tidbits, I keep coming back to two pages. On these two pages they discuss a study done that concluded, “the more children know about their family’s history, the stronger their sense of control over their lives, the higher their self-esteem.” This study took place in the Summer of 2001 and after September 11th they follow-up with the children just to see what the dramatic events that touched our nation did to them. The found, “the ones who know more about their families proved to be more resilient, meaning that could moderate the effects of stress.” Isn’t that just amazing?
It all has to do with a child’s sense of being a part of a large family. So, what do your children know, can they tell you where their grandparents grew up? Do they know where you met your spouse or about their birth? Do they know about your first pet or why your parents chose to name you Stan instead of Dan?
Have they gotten the good stories, but have also learned about the struggles? Do you spend time telling the Once Upon a Times of your life around the dinner table?
And what is the next step? For, me (and the strong likely hood that I will lose these memories) documentation, preserving in type, picture and even video is a must. My goal is to leave my daughters, who I hope will leave their children, with a strong understanding of who I was, what I thought. I also need to (I am scolding myself here) document my daughter’s lives. I need more pictures, more words about what they are like at 14, 4 and almost 3. I need to use my cannon more than my iPhone and I also need to use the video equipment that cost a pretty penny (yep…I just admitted that out loud) to catch them in action.
While, I have spent the last year sharing my story on this blog to which I will continue in hopes to reach the people who need to hear it, I want to bring back in the more everyday, the possibly mundane sometimes boring parts of our everyday lives, so my littles (when they are not so little) have something to connect with. My legacy to them.
“What is so important about the 8th day of February?” you may asked.
Well, today would have been my Meme’s birthday. 93 years ago she came into this world.
Routinely for the past six years I have written a post for my grandmother’s birthday and I have cried through each and every word.
Today I forgot what February 8th was. I don’t think I should take it as a sign of being a bad granddaughter, I think it’s the evolution of my grief and state my life is currently in. My mind is very much focused on what this week holds and preparing myself for Rachel’s Vineyard this weekend.
About two weeks ago in my search for something else (isn’t that how it always happens) I found this treasure I didn’t know I had.
When I found it I had a good cry as I ran my fingers across her signature. I was reminded of the one thing I missed so badly when she started her battle with Alzheimer’s - her cards. You always knew you would get a card from Meme on your birthday, on Christmas, on mother’s day and sometimes just for no reason at all. I wish I could go back and tell the younger me to hold on to all of them, I am so glad this one missed the recycling bin.
I am quite sure that she never thought it would be something that I would frame when she gave it to me ten years ago. I don’t think she realized what it meant for her to underline “amazing mother”.
I placed the card open in a frame (that I now see could use some cleaning) and hung it right about my desk where most days I feel I need this reminder most.
I am so thankful today for this, for the reminder of her love and her support as I walked the single mother path ten years ago.
And this also confirms that I am her granddaughter - I mean we both excel in grammatical errors. Ha! But I still love it!
What can I say that haven't been said the last five years on this yearly blog post dedicated to my Meme.
She's still a part of most of my discussions from my faith to my encouraging of grandmothers I know. She remains a huge part of my life, of who I am and of who I plan to be. I can't even begin to explain the love I have for this woman. Oh man, will I ever get through one of these without crying?
During the past few months I have sank myself back to genealogy research mainly focusing on Meme's parents and her 20 siblings. My goal is to locate everyone of them. What where their names, how old did they grow to be, where are they buried. Through every step I wish I did this before Meme's alzheimer's diagnosis. I wish I had the stories that she could have told me.
And when I find myself missing her it also makes me long to have him around too. I wonder that our relationship would have been like if he lived past my sixth birthday. It's crazy that I can get involved in learning about them and their families and in some crazy (did I say that twice) way I can smell his scent. Twenty-One years later I still remember what he smelled like and still could shed a tear when I see and older man in a one piece jump suit.
Oh man, I love them.
My wish, my prayer is that my girls have this bond with at least one, if not all of their grandparents. Don't get me wrong I have a strong connection with my Granny (dad's mom) too. Every time I cook so truly Southern Recipe I think of her.
But there was just something about my Meme a bond that we made that I could never dream of recreating again. It was amazing - argh...tears.
Oh man, I really wished this year that I would write something profound, some great piece of knowledge, but instead I am a blubbering mess just crying for my Meme. Maybe it is as it should be, one good cry a year. Get it all out then pull myself back together and do the work she would want me to do - raise my girls, show the love of Jesus to others and sew!
So, here's to an amazing lady that I am lucky to call my Meme. Praise Jesus.
Just Morgan and I are awake at 8:30 am this Saturday. I'm letting the others sleep in since I've been pulling them out early trying to prepare for our new routine that will start next week. I was also trying to prepare myself...we will see how it goes. Hopefully, Shelby won't be late to school too often.
I should be cleaning during this quiet time since I'm having a shin-dig this evening, but in a few moments my house will fill with the smell of banana bread. The smell of smooshed overly ripe banana baking together with butter and sugar immediately transports me back to being 17 and my Meme's small kitchen with dark counter tops. It's hard to believe that it's been 18 years since I packed up all my belongings and moved from South Texas to live with my Meme.It's the move that saved my life and the Summer when Jesus grabbed my heart.
I don't believe I have many more words to type. I am just in awe this morning by the plan there was, and still is, for my life. I am overwhelmed by the grace and restoration I've been given through these years. And I am so thankful for the blessings, true major blessings I have in my life this morning.
Just think in about 45 minutes those ugly bruised bananas that were just calling for gnats to flock to my kitchen table will soon by this golden beautiful delicious bread that my daughters will adore this morning. Thank you Meme! Thank your for the recipe and thank you for being God's witness in my life - both have saved me so many times.
“Grace is the voice that calls us to change and gives us the power to pull it off.” ~ Max Lucado,
I use music so much in my life to deal and relate to things - this is apparent even more to me the past few days. Every time I sit down to write what my Meme's legacy means to me this song plays in my head.
I want to leave a legacy How will they remember me? Did I choose to love? Did I point to You enough To make a mark on things? I want to leave an offering A child of mercy and grace who blessed your name unapologetically And leave that kind of legacy
I pray you have a wonderfully powerful Easter weekend.
As she sat on the front row next to me prior to the services starting she asked question quietly that included how they move the casket. She handled everything well and gave me full run down of who did and didn't cry during the service. I balled...she confirmed it was an ugly cry.
I can always depend on my sweet soul of a child to make something out of an item she cherishes. She put this together when we got home.
And can also leave it to my daughter to be straight forward like she did below with her statement "Now that she is dead"
This is something I will cherish forever - it will be placed in the family bible where all the important art work goes. One day she will flip through the bible and find this as I have found many art creations I made for Meme.
I am slowly trying to catch up on life including writing.
This past Sunday we said goodbye to my Meme. It was a beautiful service.
As I entered Meme's death information into our family bible I found this poem that my grandmother wrote with her mother passed away. Mom my read it during the funeral service - it was perfect.
March 6, 1974
In Memory of Mom
My thoughts have wondered back today,
For today my mom has gone away,
God called her home to be with Him,
and missing her, my eyes grow dim.
Oh, but I would not want her back,
She is much better off,
I know that's a fact.
She suffers no pain in her new home,
In her tired little body,
She doesn't have to groan.
I stood by her bed, her last days on earth,
And begged my Lord to release her from hurt.
But the only answer I seem to get,
Now in His time, so don't you fret.
We've always been told there is a purpose,
And sometimes we can't or won't see.
I found a purpose for my mom to live on,
And that purpose seem to be me.
It made me stop and take stock of my life,
And give God the thanks He should have,
For so many wonderful blessings of each day,
As it might be the last we have,
Our Lord does not give out any guarantees,
Of how long our life span may be.
So, God give me courage and patience to take each day,
To live it completely for Thee.
Mary Phillips
My great grandmother passed away from a stroke in March of 1974. She also had hardening of the arteries which is back in the day speak for Alzheimer's Disease. My grandmother's writing is such a foreshadowing of how her family felt as she passed from this world.
I know that this section just resonants with meaning for me:
We've always been told there is a purpose,
And sometimes we can't or won't see.
I found a purpose for my mom to live on,
And that purpose seem to be me.
It made me stop and take stock of my life,
And give God the thanks He should have,
For so many wonderful blessings of each day,
As it might be the last we have,
My purpose in life has just expanded as I know that part of my goal is pass on the legacy that my Meme left with me. I hope to share in more detail what I believe to be her legacy in the next few days.
Thank you to all those who attended the funeral on Sunday and for all the prayers my family received.
One of my Meme's request for her funeral services is that it would include this song. I searched for something that reminded me the most of her...well...this reminded me of my Papa - not sure if he was a big George Jones fan, but this is just beautiful.
This obit ran about 10 days after my Meme's birth, it says:
W.G. Wordlaw (they spelled it Wordlow...journalism), Prominent Miller County Farmer died from Attack of Flu.
W.G. Wordlaw, 64 years old, one of the pioneer farmers of Miller County, died at his home on Line Ferry road, four miles south of Texarkana, at 9:30 yesterday morning.
While Wordlaw's burial was being discusses, his widow lay at the point of death from pneumonia in an adjoining room. Her physician held out small hope for her recovery.
It goes on to say how the flu developed and how my great-grandfather was one of the "best liked farmers of the community." After that it listed all of his children (he had 21 total...it's a long story). His last child to be born was my Meme, Mary Elizabeth, just ten days before his death.
I've been thinking for days on how to honor my Meme's 90th birthday and this morning this newspaper clipping from my genealogy research came to mind. It shows the struggle that my grandmother was born into and the experiences that molded her into a woman who I owe so much to.
You'll have to bear with with because this day is fully of mixed emotions. As you probably know my Meme is what The Alzheimer's Association calls the 7th stage of Alzheimer's - Very Severe Cognitive Decline also know as end stage Alzheimer's.
I have shared my feelings regarding my grandmothers decline many times:
I cried many times while sharing my heart with you. Today, I want to discuss what I've learned, How I've dealt and what I want to remember from this journey with one of my favorite women.
First, What I've Learned
Alzheimer's is an awful disease - not much of a shocker there. I think anyone how has been through this would agree. Of Americans aged 65 and over, 1 in 8 has Alzheimer's, and nearly half people 85 and old have the disease. So, there are many families that have been in our shoes.
There are many things that just plain stink about this disease, but did you know that Alzheimer's is the 6th leading cause of death in the US? Alzheimer's is the only cause of death among the top 10 in America without a way to prevent, cure or even slow its progression. That's the kicker there is nothing you can do as relative, or in my case a granddaughter, to stop this or even slow it down.
I've learned you take things day by day or even month by month. I've learned in my grandmother's case that this disease can come on quickly and then slowly progress. My grandmother diagnosed about 5 or 6 years ago. I remember that she was in her first rehab facility during her birthday and we sent her tulips. I spent her birthday sitting on her bed teaching her how to use her cellphone - she was still my Meme. It's seemed like a matter of months - maybe a year - before we really started to lose her. I remember being so extremely depressed and thinking that I would not see her again - little did I know that she would hold on until her 90th birthday.
How I've Dealt
As I said above at first I didn't deal well. I was depressed and desperate to help my Meme. As the years have progressed things have roller-coastered. There are days (as you can see from my past writing where there is hope and things are great then there are days that you think it's time to say goodbye. A few years ago I came to terms with the feeling that the Meme I know if gone and now we pray for her suffering to end and her opportunity to live in peace will come. That may seem harsh to some, but if you knew my grandmother you would understand. Early on while she was still living alone she accidently overdosed on her medication and I spent the night with her. As she went to bed she said to me "this is it, this is the night I will get to see James," my grandfather, her love that she had mourned for over twenty five years at the time. You see my grandmother has been ready for sometime and she has never had a fear of death due to her strong belief in Our Lord.
I know I'm rambling. Dealing is difficult, but eventually you come to terms with the situation. I said early on that I would always visit my Meme and I have, but that has decreased in the past couple of years. I want to say I feel that my pregnancies confuse her since early in the process she still believed I was 18. She did get the opportunity to meet Bekah one day when we thought it was time to say our final goodbyes - seeing Bekah made her smile and made my cry - it still does as a type this. As of today I go as often as I feel I personally need to and always make it a point to assist with my Aunt cannot go. It's hard and it's emotional, but it's my Meme. Ok, I'm not making any sense, let me move on.
What I want to Remember
I always want to remember the day that Meme met Bekah and the day she said "I love you so much." Most of all I want to remember as she is in this picture. My Meme from 2000, before the sickness. I want to remember the Meme who was a bit chunky and had a great smile. The Meme who would whisper "praise Jesus" under her breath over and over again. The Meme who gave kisses with her chin - my family will understand. The Meme who smelled of white shoulders perfume and always had her nails painted. The Meme who would wear the same purple dress at Easter with matching shoes, earrings, purse and lipstick - God love her! The Meme you could count on to send you a card for all occasions. The Meme I know prayed for me every morning and every night. I want to always remember that Meme instead of what there is today.
I am now a hot mess of tears and hormones - it's time for my yearly good cry and then pull myself up to go on.
Happy 90th Birthday Meme! I love you with all my heart and you so much.
You've have truly made me who I am today.
My favorite picture of my then newly married grandparents.
Please forgive my typos or misuse of words - I don't plan to proof read this before I post.
All facts regarding Alzheimer's above came from here: Alzheimer's Association. 2012 Alzheimer's disease facts and figures.Alzheimer's and Dementia: The Journal of the Alzheimer's Association. March 2012; 8:131–168.
I love everything about this picture - especially my Aunt Mary's Christmas apron.
When my sister first saw this picture 30 years after it was
taken she said “oh those were the simple days.” At least I think that is what
she said meaning that we were young and things were easy.
When I look at it I see the same thing, but not in us, in my
Aunt Mary. Things were simple. Now, that being said, things probably were not
as simple for her as I believe that they were. She was the last sibling in her
family still living, she had lost her husband and never had children. My Aunt
Mary lived a long full life and I am sure it was not simple at all, but it’s
just the time period.
Let me see if I can make sense of this for you. Earlier today,
well actually most of this week so far, I have been fighting this overwhelming
feeling that I am meant to stay at home and raise my children instead of
working. As you and I know in this economy and with as much as I have on my
plate that is not possible at this time, but I am still praying. I caught
myself today thinking I just want my
children to have a simple life.
This picture also reminds of the simple days – not that Meme
had a simple life either.
To me the simple days took place before internet and before
TV. When kids could play in their front
yards without a parent until dusk and not worry. When kids were excited to get
a piece a gum and were not asking for an iphone for their birthday. I so wish
my daughters could experience that.
At the same time I wish I could run away, back to the simple
life. I guess that is what I get for living in a suburb of a big city instead
of in the country, but really I don’t think the simple life I am looking for
even exists in the country anymore. I am good quality family television and not
going broke every time you went to the store .
I want my daughters to enjoy reading and be able to occupy themselves
without having to plug in a video game or get on the internet.
This is something I need to instill in them and I am sure it can be some to some degree in
even this modern world we live in. I am really not sure if this rant has made
sense, but you at least got to see some good pictures – I love that picture of
Meme and I am not really sure why.
Today is my Meme’s 89th Birthday. It is another one of those bitter-sweet days. I could sit here and list out the 89 things I miss and love so dearly about her, but I have done enough crying this week.
I think every year since her disease reared its ugly head I have missed her cards most. You could always count on a Meme card in the mailbox for your birthday and other holidays. I always wished for them to have money – they never did. Now I cherish the ones I have because they have her…all of the God Bless you and Meme loves you sentiments – urgh…now I am crying. I lectured my mom this morning on not getting emotional and now look at me.
On this my Meme’s 89th birthday here are all the posts I have written about her through the years. Oh man how I love this woman and miss her so much!
You can read about the day in 2010 when I was just overwhelmed by my grandmother’s disease and I also included the Alzheimer’s prayer: HERE
When I cried during Shelby’s baptism because I knew how proud my Meme would be: HERE
My debate on whether I should get genetic Alzheimer’s testing: HERE
I know it’s hard and I know it’s sad, but I am blessed beyond belief for every moment of clarity I have had with her over the past 4 years. I am also blessed with the years I had before – the long talks and the lessons I have learned. I am lucky beyond all measure.
Last year in the middle of my pregnancy we lost my Meme’s best friend Fran. At the time I could not bring myself to write anything about her and their long friendship. It may be hard to understand, but I was relieved that Meme didn’t know-that she didn’t have to feel the pain of losing her best friend.
I have years and years of fond memories of Fran – since I was always the tag-a-long at their events and lunches. I believe Fran was at my graduation and I know she was there for baby shower with Shelby. She was always like another grandmother.
I am so happy that Meme had a true friend to the end with Fran and I cherish the memories they have left for me in pictures from all their travels.
Now that I have fully depressed you please remember to tell the people you love that you love them and please please please live your life to its fullest…I know these two beautiful women have!
