Melancholy is a good word for it

I was reading blogs from my blogroll and this one really made me stop and think and realize that Granny's death has hit me a lot harder than I ever dreamed it would.

When I was a kid, I used to say that I had "spare" grandparents. I often volunteered to share my spare set with people. I was never really close to my step-father's family as a child. They were just kind-of there.

I grew up with my grandparents, all six of them, in the same general vicinity. Two sets of them lived in the same small town. I went to my spare grandparents' house on holidays and then went to my "real" grandparents' house as soon as possible. Even as a teen, I didn't see them much more than necessary. I had other grandparents, afterall.

When I was a young adult, I moved away from home. I didn't see much of my grandparents, any of them. I tried to stay in contact with my grandparents, my mother's parents and my natural father's parents, anyway. After Granny got sick, I asked about them more often, but didn't make an effort to really see them much. I did see Granny several times over the past few months. I made it a point to go see her when I was home for my internship.

I realized as I sat and spoke to this frail and very ill woman that she thought of me as her granddaughter. I got to know her a little bit while chatting during the commercials during Walker, Texas Ranger (one of her favorite shows along with Monk) and realized that though her body was weak, her sense of humor was intact.

The spunk that was Granny was still there. For an example... my favorite Granny story from the past few weeks is one told to me by my sister and mother today. It seems that my Aunt C kept telling Granny that she needed to stop watching Walker and Monk and instead talk to Jesus. Granny's response was simply that she would be able to talk to Jesus for eternity, but she didn't have much time left to watch Monk.

Now, only as an adult, do I realize the family dynamics that caused the lack of closeness and, while I don't pretend to understand or to like it, I do accept it for what it was. I had two other sets of grandparents, anyway, so my "spare" set were often an afterthought in my childish mind. It's only now as an adult and now especially after Granny's death, I realize how much I did love her and how special and lucky I was to have not one or two sets of grandparents who loved me, but three. They weren't spare, afterall.

Home Again

I am home again. To be honest, the weekend wasn't as bad as I assumed it was going to be. The funeral was actually very nice. I know that is an odd thing to say, but it was. In lieu of a eulogy, my cousin compiled a video slide show of Granny's life. It was nice... a little too long on each picture, but nice. Eulogies tend to sound disingenuous sometimes, but the slide show allowed everyone to see Granny at some of her happiest times. The graveside service was short and a bit wet because it started sprinkling so after a couple of prayers, someone said, "Let's go eat." and that was the end of the graveside service.

After the funeral things were over, we all went to my brother G's house. Most of my immediate family was there -- all but my brother in law P who had to work and wasn't able to get away. It was kind of a precursor to the big family vacation next summer for my parents', our parents', anniversary. It turned into a big cookout, reunion-type thing. We rode the 4-wheelers and played volleyball and generally just enjoyed spending time together.

It is strange how a death in the family brings out the worst in some people and the best in others and how even the smallest items are claimed by one family member because that family member feels entitled to them -- like the others have no emotional ties to anything. I would like to have something of Granny's to remember her by. I mean, I don't want anything big or valuable, just something small and useful like a jewelry box or trinket box or something like that. I just want something that I can look at and smile because it was hers and remember the lovely lady she was. I will leave the valuable items and the big stuff to the blood grandchildren. (Not that I don't think I'm important because I'm step, and it would be different if I had been closer to them.)

In the end, life does go on. We are all sadder for the loss, but as the chorus to Steven Curtis Chapman's song "With Hope" says:

We can cry with hope
We can say goodbye with hope
'Cause we know our goodbye is not the end, oh no
And we can grieve with hope
'Cause we believe with hope
(There's a place by God's grace)
There's a place where we'll see your face again
We'll see your face again

An Unexpected/Expected Trip to the Panhandle

I got a sad phone call on Wednesday letting me know that Granny had passed away. She had emphysema and was diagnosed with an aeortic aneurism several months ago. She died peacefully at home. I'm sad, of course, but I am also relieved for her. She was ready to go. She was tired. She went peacefully which is all anyone can really hope for, I think.

So, after giving notice of my resignation on Monday, I took Thursday and Friday off to get ready to come/come to Amarillo for the funeral. I don't know what Boss thought about it. I don't really care, to be honest. I was coming to this funeral. I wasn't especially close to Granny, family dynamics being as they were, but I did love her and more importantly, I love my dad and wanted to be here for him. Funerals aren't for the deceased anyway, they are for those left behind.

So, tomorrow I put on my funeral dress and go be there for my daddy. I will do my very best not to get irritated at anyone or irritate anyone. Still, I'm taking my car to the little town where the funeral is being held so I can come home when I need to. The cats (yes, I brought them, too -- that is a whole other post, though) may be my excuse to leave. We'll see. I may have to adopt the philosophy of Paula Dean's son... "I love you, I'm not above you, but I've had enough of you. Goodbye."

Answered Prayers

I was raised to believe, and do believe, that all prayers are answered. Sometimes the answers aren't what you want or expect, sometimes the answer is wait until the right time, and other prayers are answered in the way you want and quickly. Still, any prayer you pray is answered according to God's perfect will and plan.

The last of the forms of answer is the way P's recovery has been. I know there were people all over the world praying for his recovery and following his story. The outpouring of support and prayer/happy thoughts/white light have humbled me a bit, especially as I watched my nephew's recovery.

He was released from the hospital on Sunday. That was a day before we were told and a month or so before any of us expected the week prior. From all reports, he is doing amazinly well. Thank you, God.

Please call, I have some bad news...

I got a phone call from Moma on Saturday afternoon asking me to call her back because she had some bad news. Given the recent trip home to see Granny, I figured she was calling to tell me that Granny was not doing well or worse...

That was not the case. She called to tell me that my 16-year-old nephew, P, had been in an accident. I actually didn't speak to Moma when I called but Daddy instead. As he told me that P had been taken to Amarillo via Life Flight and that he wasn't responding to pain stimuli, his voice cracked. At that moment I thought I was losing my nephew or worse, had essentially already lost him.

My sister C blogged about it much more eloquently than I could have. (first post, second post, third post) I tried to post about it, but was I was a little afraid to and the words just wouldn't come. P is healing now. I think he's going to have quite a road in front of him, but given that he's 16 and healthy, maybe it won't be too bumpy.

All I can say now is, Thank you, God. Today is the National Day of Prayer and I know that today, I pray prayers of thanksgiving.

There are some days you should just get a do-over

Yesterday was that day.

It started out as any other day starts out... I was running late. Now, generally this is my own doing and yesterday was no exception. I'm just not good with mornings and sometimes find myself sitting on my bed or on the couch or sometimes just standing and not moving for minutes on end. It's like someone hit a pause button.

I made it to work *just* in time and that is where the day started to go wrong. It wasn't wrong because I was at work, but because the powers that be gave me a two-day project and less than 24 hours to get it designed/corrected, supplies to print and bind it, and overnighted to the appropriate locations.

Here's what happened: Wednesday, The Boss walks into my office and states that he has a presentation that needs to be finished, printed and overnighted for delivery on Friday. I immediately ordered supplies from our new Office Supply Company (OSC) so I would have what I needed. Now, generally, The Boss is pretty good about getting me stuff in advance, so I figured I would have the final approved draft by fairly early Thursday morning, early afternoon at the latest. At 11:00 he calls to say that they haven't started working on it yet but that he'll call me when they've approved it. Hours go by... OSC still hasn't delivered office supplies, The Boss hasn't called. AAARRRRGGGGGHHH!!!!!!!!

Panic starts to set in a bit. I make some phone calls to see where the office supplies are... Customer Service assures me they'll be to me within the hour. Called The Boss and got no answer so I left a message. An hour and a half goes by and still no office supplies, but finally got a call from one of the other Boss-type people saying that it was almost complete, would I make these changes, but don't print it yet because it isn't fianl yet.

By this time, it's 3:30. I get off work at 4:30. I finally get final approval at 3:35 to print. It's a 30 page presentation and I have many, many copies to print and bind. At 4:00 I asked my co-worker to go get paper from OSC, he got back, I got started printing and life sorta started looking okay again.

(Yes, I did get it all done and shipped, by the way.)

Through it all, I kept thinking, It's Miss A's birthday, I have to call her. Finally, at 8:37 last night (after work and school and everything was done and I had a second) I called A and asked if Miss A was still up. She was just going to bed, so I got to say goodnight and happy birthday all at once. The day, through all the stresses and trials ended on a happy note. Except... I can't believe she's five!! So, here's a few favorite pics of Miss A...

Traveling with Cats

I went to the Panhandle to see all the family there this weekend. I stayed at Uncle J's house and, because it's so expensive to board the cats and they HATE it, I asked if I could bring them with me. He's got a great sunroom, said the guys could stay there, so I packed them into the car and off we went.

I got harnesses and leashes for them to travel and packed them into the car with toys, food, dishes, litter box.... Maxie howled for the first hour. After that, he whined and voiced his displeasure for another three hours and finally, for the last hour, settled down and napped some. Buddy was quiet and except for the shaking violently, was okay. He figured out he could put his paws in my lap while sitting on the center console and relaxed doing that. He was fine after that. It was like traveling with kids (I assume) with all the "stuff" I had to take for them.

When we got to Uncle J's house, we unloaded all the stuff and packed them into the sunroom. Buddy immediately hid in the box Grandmother provided for hiding. She said she likes to spoil her great grands... so she gave them a box. Hmmm... don't kids usually like the box better anyway? It was all good as long as they couldn't see me. That was easier said than done since there were French doors between the sunroom and living room. Anytime we were in the living room, they could see me and Maxie would howl -- especially at night because I slept on the sofa bed and he could see me. But, by night three, he had calmed down and wasn't quite as vocal.

The grandparents are doing okay. Granddaddy is about the same as the last time I saw him. He is so quiet and just sits and listens or watches TV so it is hard to know how he was really doing. I did notice some short-term memory problems, though. He would ask a question and then a little later ask the same question. He'd do this three or four times in a row. That is a little hard to see. It is also hard to accept that he's a frail old man now. I know, he's 87 and had a full life and all, but he's MY Granddaddy and he's supposed to live forever... :::sigh::: yet, the way I saw him this weekend is the best he'll be.

Grandmother is a mess... and by that I don't mean doing poorly.... she's just a mess. She had the pacemaker put in on Thursday. Friday she seemed to be in quite a bit of pain but was reluctant to take the pain meds. She groused about being waited on. She grumbled about not being able to cook for her family. By Saturday, though, she was doing much better. The pain, she said, was all but gone. I think she was just frustrated because she can't use her left arm because she can't raise it up or lift anything with it until she goes back to the doctor next Monday. There was only one scary moment with her, really. She complained Saturday morning that she was light headed and dizzy and it felt like her heart was racing. Uncle J called the doc's office and they told him to take her blood pressure and check her pulse. We did and everything was normal. I don't mean that she didn't feel that way, but for the first time in recent memory, her BP was within normal range AND her pulse was 72. I am sure that it did feel like it was racing since before the pacemaker her "normal" pulse rate was about 48 beats per minute!

By Sunday, both Grandmother and Granddaddy were feeling good and we (Uncle G, Aunt J, Uncle J, G&G) were able to go out to dinner. It was nice and relaxed and I heard stories about when Granddaddy was a boy and had a hot pepper eating contest with his friends.

Monday morning it was time to come home. I loaded the guys up and off we went. Maxie and Buddy both settled down pretty quickly and it was an uneventful ride home -- only minimal whining from Maxie.

Moma came bearing curtains!

I had a great visit with my mom last weekend. She got to my office around 3:00, helped me finish up a project, and then we went to my house. Friday night's plans consisted mainly of (1) hang my bedroom curtains. So we did. It is amazing what a difference a little cloth hanging from a rod makes! It is actually dark in my bedroom at night now. No street light "pollution" in the bedroom now! Plus, they're darn pretty curtains. Hand-me-downs are a great thing when you have a mom and sister like I have. I laughingly told Moma that if it weren't for her and C, I'd have no furniture or anything on my walls! They buy the "good stuff" and give it to me when they don't need/want it anymore!

After the plans were completed, we sat on the couch for a sum total of 15 minutes and Moma said, "let's go do something." Ummm, okay. So, we went and wandered around Barnes & Noble and had deep, important conversations about literature with a complete stranger. We both adopted the time-tested way to look smarter than you are -- smile, nod knowingly and let him do all the talking. (All this because we were in the classic literature part and I said I didn't like Dante's Inferno or Paradiso and he overheard.)

Saturday morning, we lazed around the house, then went shoe shopping for a bit, looked at a McMansion on the way home and then it was time for her to head off to A, D & the Kids.

All-in-all, a great, allbeit short, visit.

During our chatting, something kind of struck me. If people had told me at 15 (actually age 13-20) that I would like my mother, much less want to spend time with her, I'd have thought they were insane.... and Moma felt the same way. It is funny what a little time, maturity (on my part, obviously), and medication will do. I wonder what my life would have been like, what my teen years would have been like, if I had been diagnosed and treated for my depression.

I realize that 20 years ago clinical depression, mental illness in general, had a certain stigma attatched that has, thankfully, begun to go away. But I look at my life now, with medication, and realize how much better I feel and sometimes wish we'd known then what we know now.

Digesting Bad News

It is strange how I still see my grandparents as young and active when in reality they aren't so young or active any more. Granddaddy B's 87th birthday was August 17, Grandmother B will be 85 in November. My other grandparents are all in their 80s. When did they get old? I don't seem to remember it happening, but it appears they have.

Last week, Grandmother called my aunt and uncle to come from Oklahoma. They came expecting to see Granddaddy B in the hospital when instead, Grandmother was. As Grandmother was discharged, Granddaddy had bloodwork done and was told to go to the hostpital in Amarillo immediately.

Grandmother had had another "spell" with her heart (she has congestive heart failure and has for what seems years) and she was in the hospital for about a week. Grandmother will have a pacemaker implanted sometime this week. She and my Aunt J and sister A met with the surgeon this morning.

I talked to Grandmother last Tuesday and she told me in her sugar-coated way that Granddaddy was in the hospital, but he was "fine" and would be "fine." As I got more information and the week wore on, it seems he's not really "fine" and it has been a bit hard to come to terms with.

Granddaddy had a mild stroke which has led to a diagnosis of ALS... Now, there is some waffling on the diagnosis at this point (as I understand it, diagnosing ALS is more a matter of ruling things out as opposed to finding an actual disease process). But, as of this morning, my Aunt J said that most likely that is the diagnosis. The doctors are just saying it is "bad"... there "is no cure"... typical doctor-ese. So, now it is just a matter of planning and preparing for things no one ever wants to plan or prepare for.

I spent a lot of the weekend crying and finally accepting the fact that my grandparents, no matter how much I want them to be, are not immortal.