A Litany of Loss

This week has been full of loss and heartache. First an old family friend dies suddenly of a heart attack last Saturday. A family friend my mom has known her entire life. His children all peers to my brother and me. Someone we’ve seen every summer of our lives at Higgins Lake. Gruff and funny and warmer with age, you just knew he would be one of those grumpy old men who seemed like he was going to live forever. Shocking and heart wrenching, his unexpected passing leaves a gaping hole in the reality of all who knew him.

And if that loss was not enough, my dear high school friend lost her courageous battle with breast cancer last night. Forty-one years old. The mother of three boys. A beautiful, vibrant, larger-than-life individual. I wrote her a letter last year and told her she was a bright, bright star in the sky of my youth. And even though we hadn’t done a great job of staying in touch over the years, knowing she was somewhere in this world doing good things was always a comfort. Now, I comfort myself knowing she is not in pain. And she still is a bright, bright star; one that I can now share my prayers with and throw my hopes to. She was always a great athlete, so catch them she will. I’ve nothing to fear . . .

Except for that little thing tomorrow morning . . . our dog, Holly, has a tumor the size of a lime in her neck that has to be removed. I take her for surgery at 7 a.m. Holly’s nine, has hip dysplasia, and takes Phenobarbital twice a day for seizures. She is also the nicest, sweetest dog in the world. The only thing that keeps everyone from falling in love with her: she’s stinky. We have a creek, she stays wet, and wet dog, well, it’s not so good. But for those who can get past the stench . . . it’s friends for life. Really. The other very best thing about Holly: she introduced Jeff and me nine years ago. I knew they were both keepers way back when. She’s not only a part of our family; she’s a symbol of our relationship. And I need her to be O.K.

So there we have it: a week of grief that’s a lot to manage. And I’m still waiting on spring. Or at least the time change. Not only do I need the light, I’m banking on the time change to re-set Sage’s sleep schedule. Sleeping all the way through the night and past 5 a.m. That’s what I’m shooting for today. More light, more sleep, more Holly. That’s all God. Those are my hopes Kris. Catch . . .

Happily Ever . . . In The Moment

I joke a lot about being a “recovering perfectionist”. Someone who is constantly trying to maintain balance amidst a long history of struggling for control. Wanting everything to fit just right. Not wanting to make a mistake. Not wanting to disappoint anyone. Holding myself to some really high standards I arbitrarily set. Being an all “A” student. Making my parents proud. Getting my Ph.D. Being a good wife. The best mom.

As I get older and life takes on more and more gray (and no, I’m not talking about my hair but we could be!), I’ve realized perfection is a lousy goal. Not only is it unrealistic, it’s simply not any fun (for me or those other braves souls who love me and call me their own). Perfection doesn’t work because life is messy. And it’s learning to live with and love this messiness that makes the journey as worthwhile as any happy ending.

In fact, when I bumped into my future husband at 6:00 a.m. on a public golf course as we both walked our puppies, I had no thoughts of perfection or “happily ever after”. What I thought was this: I just met the nicest guy on the golf course, walking the cutest Golden Retriever. Genuine, kind, unassuming. Solid. And I left it at that. We walked and talked on that golf course for six more months before we moved in together. Two years later we got married. Did I mention I had rolled right out of bed the morning I met my future husband – glasses on, frumpy warm clothes, maybe I brushed my teeth (maybe not . . ). Oh, and six months after the wedding, we had Taggart (you do the math . . . ).

My point being: perfection and control had nothing to do with the unfolding of our life together. I let go and it just happened. It is the journey we share, the living in the moment and not knowing exactly how it’s all going to come together that defines us. After we’d dated for a year I made Jeff a scrapbook and titled it: “Happily Ever . . . In the Moment”. Because rather than waiting for someone else to make me happy, we are creating our happiness one moment at a time.

And then we had kids . . .and I had to jump on the recovering perfectionist wagon with all my might. And, I constantly remind myself of the futility of falling off. Little ones running around pulling pillows off the couch, diapers off their bottoms, socks off their feet . . . in ten minutes, the house I just spent half a day cleaning and straightening looks like the house I set out to clean just this morning!

So again, we’re back to moments. Sage’s naked little body streaking through the house after she’s taken all her clothes off for the third time. Taggart’s determination while building a pillow fort in the middle of the living room with every single pillow in the house. A pile of dishes in the sink after a wonderful dinner we’ve all shared together . . . Here’s the thing: Our hearts are full. We are happy and healthy. We have so much to be thankful for. And luckily, my family doesn’t mind a little dust. Good thing, because I’ve just about given up on the cleaning all together! Life’s messy; and, I’m busy trying to love each and every moment.

A Grandparent's Gifts

My paternal grandparents - 84 and 86 - are as sharp and warm and wonderful as ever. I feel so blessed to have their continued presence in my life. They lost my father – their oldest son – ten years ago. Having them in my life fills me up and buoys me, especially when I long for my dad. They are a connection I cherish, not only because they are of him, but also because they are two of the most thoughtful, generous people I know. Not with money, which they’ve never really had, but with their love, their open hearts, their humble home.

I constantly tell my grandmother – amidst the chaos of my life with two children – that I do not know how she ever raised seven kids!!! That amazes me. And she did it without complaint. She was positive, affectionate, ever optimistic that it would all work out - even when she wasn’t sure how everything would come together. And it always did – or it didn’t – and then they’d go from there. Always knowing they’d be taken care of, there is not one of us (child, grandchild, great-grandchild) who would not do anything we could for Grandma and Grandpa. They have given us so much – our parents, traditions, values, their time and love. Anything – they’d give me anything, and I, them.

Their most recent, incredible gift to me was my birthday present. I had sent my grandmother a The Grandparents’ Book of Shared Memories. She has the keenest memory and can recall stories from her childhood, my father’s childhood, my childhood with the kind of detail that allows you to picture her memories as if they were your own. She took the time, along with my grandfather (I can just see her giving him his “assignment” to work on “Meaghan’s book”), to complete this detailed book that includes a family tree for both sides, favorite stories, favorite foods, favorite memories, information about schools – theirs and their children’s . . . They included old pictures and stories, an essay my dad wrote his junior year in college, an old driver’s license. The things memories are made of and a way of sharing our heritage that I could not do without their memories and efforts.

Because my grandparents have left such an indelible mark on me, I wrote a poem inspired by my relationship with them. The poem is called “A Grandparent’s Gifts”.

A Grandparent’s Gifts

Affection
Friendship
Generosity
Love

Honesty
Loyalty
Compassion
Understanding

Time
Respect
Integrity
Wisdom

Perspective
History
Roots
Wings

They have given me all of this - and more. And, I am grateful to them everyday.