Everyone Has a Momma

It was a Wednesday night at the very beginning of January, 2001.

Christmas break was over.  Thursday school started up again, and I was home from college to live for free while I did my student teaching.

I don't remember much of the day other than what was going on right in that moment.  I had just helped my mom finish up the dinner dishes.  Both of my brothers were in the basement watching TV or playing video games.

Mom and I were going to go get groceries and the boys were going to go to youth group later.  While my mom fluttered around trying to put things away, the phone rang.

My parents didn't (and still don't) have caller id.

Mom was getting ready to get groceries.  The house was dark because in the winter it gets dark around 5:00pm.  The only light came from the light over the sink and the glow of the stair light oozing up the basement stairs.  Even my brothers were sitting in just the glow of the TV downstairs.

I was the closest to the phone, so I answered it.

The woman on the phone identified herself as being from the nursing home where my grandma lived.  She asked to talk to my mom.  Something in my stomach turned over.

I told my mom that the phone was for her.

She stood near the counter where our phone hung. I sat uncomfortable on the kitchen table wringing my hands.

My grandma had been suffering from Alzheimer's for some time.  At this point she was in the final stages.  She was in a total care nursing home.  She didn't know who she was, who we were, that she even WAS.  She couldn't eat on her own...her body forgot how to do that long ago.  So she was in a bed. My aunt and cousin would go and take her for walks and paint her nails and do her hair.  But she wasn't my grandma anymore.

My grandma loved life and was out of control awesome.

this person didn't know she was alive. and because of this?  We had accepted the inevitable long before.

anyway, that phone call was to tell my mom--the power of attorney for my grandma--that she had passed away in her sleep.  My mom calmly took the information.

When she got off the phone she was stunned.  I asked her if she wanted me to call my dad at his archery club and have him come home.  She said no.  I asked her if I could help.  She started saying how she had to call all three of her sisters and make arrangements and tell my Grandma's brothers and sisters. 

I told her she didn't have to do it NOW.  She could take a minute. 

And in the weirdest moment of my life up until then, she looked at me and nodded.  We momentarily switched roles.

She went off to the bathroom.

I called my dad at his archery club anyway.  He said he would come home.

I went downstairs and sat down in the dark and told my brothers to please turn down the volume.  Then I told them that Grandma had died.  They were both sort of quiet and stunned.

None of us had experienced death before.

My middle brother asked me what we were supposed to do.

I didn't know.

I asked them if they were sad.

They said they supposed they were, yes.

I asked them if they wanted to stay home from youth group.

Neither did.  I understood that.  It's easier to go and do your life and avoid thinking about it. 

Then I went upstairs to tell my mom I had told the immediate family.

I found her in the bathroom, with the light off, sitting on the closed toilet softly crying for her momma.

And that is when I realized....

Grandma?  Was not just Grandma.

She was a mommy.  She was my MOMMY'S mommy.

Lots of people lose their grandparents.  Old people die.  That was a fact of life I knew.

But mom's don't die.  My mind couldn't understand what it was understanding. A mommy had just died.

Suddenly visions of my mom as a baby and a little girl and a teenager and a bride and a new mom flooded my brain.  Her mom was always there.  Just like my mom was always there.

And even though Grandma had been sick, she was there.

But now she wasn't. 

And I hugged my mom.

In my family?  We don't hug.  We don't say I love you.

We just love.

I hugged my mom in that dark bathroom. I told her I loved her.

And I have feared death irrationally ever since.

missing a you

A lake carries you into recesses of feeling otherwise impenetrable."   ~William Wordsworth

Today my family went to the beach.

We got their via boat because this particular beach is inaccessible by land unless you walk a LONG way.

The boaters that gather at this slice of beach have been coming here regularly for years.  It's their summer location.  They even have a gas powered blender (think string-trimmer motor meets blender.) they rig up specially for beachy drinks like margaritas, pina coladas, and daquaris. It really is the most lovely place to be on a hot summer day.

Today we made the trek out to this beach.  The waves were rolling at about 2 to 3 feet, but were sporadic enough that we could take the "small" boat (28 feet) without too much trouble.

As we approached the stretch of beach, we noticed that from where we were, it looked like the beach was nonexistent.  Or at least...vertical.  From where we were anchoring it looked as if the lake lapped up on shore and then the shore went straight up a dune.  For miles.

But we were determined.

And as everyone jumped in and handed off coolers and beach bags and children and bag chairs, I turned and looked out the other way.  To the part of the lake where there is no land in sight.

I remembered another time we road out to this beach.  A time almost five years ago.

We were on a bigger boat that time.  The waves were a bit smaller, but not much and it was just as breezy. 

On our way out, two brothers and a sister road together on the bow.  This would be their last time to take this ride together in this way.  This would be their last boat ride with dad.

As we cut the motors and floated, everyone gathered in the stern of the boat--around dad.  And the minister held dad.

There were many boats then as there was today, but unlike today, no one was anchoring.  No one was laughing and splashing water as they jumped off boats.  No one wore swimsuits.

Words were spoken.  I don't really remember the specific words.  I was too busy feeling watched.

After the words, dad was put in his favorite place--the lake.  The lake that gives way to the beach.  The beach that the boaters go to.

The boaters gave him a tribute.  They still do.

And this is where we visit him.  This is where we feel him most.  This is why, before jumping off the boat today, I took a big breath and said, "hey Pops!  Good to see you today! I like what you've done with the place."

And each time today I was told that my son looks like his grandpa, I smiled.  Because he does.  But I think he looked like him MORE today, if that is possible.

We had a cloudless, blue sky.  We had crashing, rolling waves to play in.  We had a breeze that kept us comfortable.

And we had a pleasant ride back.

Today was a good day visiting Pops.

for whatever we lose (like a you or a me),
it's always our self we find in the sea. 
~e.e. cummings

The Time Chair

I have stories to tell you.  Hence why I started this bloggy blog.  But I am finding it hard to choose which ones to tell first.  I started with my tattoo story because it shows you what a Bad Ass wannabe I am...while at the same time, hopefully showing you that I WILL do stuff.  I WILL commit.

So where do I go now...hmmmm....

My other goal here is to sit and write EVERY. SINGLE. DAY. and then hit publish.  No scheduled posts.  Just write and run.

I have no idea what that is going to produce.  Could be a jumble of nonsensical words (um, this post?) or it could be gold, Jerry! (Seinfeld reference?  no? you're killing me).

Anyway, I was sitting outside yesterday.  We have a deck with a couple Adirondack chairs and a lounge chair. This is pretty much my favorite place in/around our whole house.  It's my spot.

So I was sitting in one of the chairs with my book.  It was warm, there was a breeze, and I leaned my head back and closed my eyes.

Time is a weird thing.  When I am outside with my eyes closed, I could be 15 again.  I could be at my parents' house again.  I could be on the dock again.  The sun on my face and the breeze across my skin?  Is timeless.  It's felt the same to me my whole life.

But then I open my eyes and I am on a deck to a house that I own with a husband.  I have a kid inside that house who is napping in a nursery I helped prepare for him.

I have a career. I have debt.  I have responsibilities that I don't even really understand all the way.

I am an adult.

And yet...

I closed my eyes again because sometimes?  I don't feel like being in this time.  The adult that I am.