Happy Birthday, Jack

Dear Jack,

I didn't think I'd write to you again. I thought my last letter to you saying goodbye would be enough. After that, I had planned on writing about you. However, I just want to, I need to, talk to you once again. I haven't heard your voice for over 3 months, and I wanted to call and tell you happy 23rd birthday--like I do every year. Not this year, though; it would freak your mom out if I left a voicemail. I wouldn't want to do that to her. Can you imagine? Your mom sent me the voicemails saved on your phone of all the calls I had left for you, wishing you a happy birthday each year. I didn't realize you saved them. You are so sweet. I wish, though, that they were your voice I was listening to and not mine. I long to hear your voice once more. 

So, this need to write to you was overwhelming. I have so much to share with you, and I miss you so much. Things are changing around here, and I want you to know what's been happening and what you are missing out on. For instance, we finally finished the shower in our room! You would love it; it's genuinely spa-like. You'd be lined up to use it if you were here. Arguing with Soph! I can just hear you guys. Also, we completely remodeled the basement--it's very boho hippie. We did it primarily for your sister. We knew it would bother her to go down there now without you. We brightened it up; hopefully, she'll use it in time. Don't worry; we're not putting any pressure on her. It's cute, although it might be too girly for your taste. Oh, and Caitlin got her learner's permit and is now driving all of us around (when we'll let her), and Micah is now taller than his mom. Also, he is giving up the piano and taking up the guitar. I would like to know if you influenced him over that decision. My friend just gave him a beautiful one in a nice case to start out on this new endeavor. It will be interesting to see how that'll play out. I'll let you know. I hope you are okay with me writing to you periodically. It's therapeutic for me. I just have that deep need to converse with you. I miss you terribly. I wish I could give you a big bear hug! 

The leaves are turning, and the fall colors are just beautiful. Halloween is around the corner, which was one of your favorites. Your mom still decorated the house. She knows you'd love that. Oh, and you should see Pheobe! She's enormous but so very sweet. You picked out a good puppy, Jack; everyone loves her.

Grandpa had his knee replacement surgery. He was very nervous. I know you would be in school and working, the same as your sister, but I bet I would have tried to talk one of you into flying up and helping me with him. Instead, I have enlisted your uncle Curtis's help. Hopefully, he'll be as kind and patient as you. Hey, maybe I'll give Grandpa some space cake!

Jack, I know in my heart that you are rejoicing in heaven and are at peace with all God has for you. As Christians, we know that our lives don't end with death. We live forever with Him! So, I will be overjoyed when it's time to join you. I sometimes envision you sitting there with Jesus, smiling, playing your guitar, and singing. Just sitting quietly and worshiping him. I don't know. I just sense a real peace about heaven. And now, I look forward to seeing you again. 

So, while you are not spending your 23rd birthday here on Earth with us, please know that we celebrate you daily. We think about you, cry over missing you, look at photos, and reminisce about the places we've been. We constantly talk about you and share funny stories. You are still a massive part of our lives and always will be. Our memories of you will have to sustain us until we meet you in heaven one day. And know this--our grief is as deep as our love for you. 

If it's okay with you, Jack, I will write you a happy birthday letter each year and catch you up on the comings and goings of our family. There are many of us, so hopefully, if God allows you to see this, you'll be happy to learn of us--all our silly shenanigans. 

Oh, by the way, your friends are amazing. They visit your folks regularly, watch sports with them, and eat your dad's good food. They all chipped in and are putting a memorial bench near where you used to go hiking. I can't wait to see it this spring. I plan on sitting there, thinking of you, and having a good cry. I miss you so much.

Don't worry about your family, Jack. We are all taking excellent care of them. We don't let too much time go by without a visit. Grandpa is helping with whatever needs they have. I am taking your sister shopping as much as possible. All of your aunts, uncles, cousins, and grandparents are very involved with them continually, just like I told you we'd be. They are doing okay, Jack. They will never be the same, but they will be okay. We will always be here for them and remind them to keep going for you! 

Happy 23rd birthday in heaven, Jack. I miss you so much, and I love you. I would give anything to have you back here with me, but since that isn't possible, I will live a grand life for you and try to make you proud of me as your silly old grandma. Oh, I wish I could just say this to you now. You knew how I felt, which brings me so much joy. 

Love, Grandma

Navigating Grief--Part 3

There are five stages of grief; I believe that I have gone through a couple so far. The denial part, for sure. I kept saying this can’t be happening. This can’t be true. I’ll wake up from this nightmare, and everything will be as it once was. He’s not really gone. 

And then, the anger hit. That stage hit very hard. I was angry with God and felt anger toward others for no reason. I was just mad—mad at the world, mad at drivers, slow people, stupid people. I think that part is settling down now. I can tolerate others a little better. I was never mad at Jack, my grandson, Never!  Or at the friend he was with that morning. If anything, I am thankful that he wasn’t hurt. I feel no anger at myself or anyone, really, mainly just at God. When I prayed and asked him to protect my family—I stupidly thought he’d do that. It will take a while for me to reconcile that part with God. 

The bargaining stage has me needing clarification. Who are you bargaining with? And what are you bargaining?  Since I wasn’t involved in Jack’s accident, I guess the guilt part doesn’t affect me. However, maybe God would have spared him if I had been a better Christian. Perhaps that’s part of bargaining. I’ll have to think about this one.

Depression. That’s right where I am right now. I am so sad—all the time. Every few minutes, Jack’s death hits me full force, and it knocks the wind out of me. I wake up at night crying. I walk through the house and see where he has sat. I can’t seem to go more than a few minutes without thinking of him and missing him. Sadness overwhelms me to the point where I am almost afraid to go out with friends for fear of breaking down. Do they think I’ve grieved enough? After all, it’s been 2 1/2 months. Do they think I should snap out of it? At least that’s where my mind takes me, whether they think these thoughts or not, I wonder. So, I play a little game with myself. Get through this time with friends (or family), go there, do that, smile, and then when you get home, you can let it rip. And I do. I cry my heart out. Usually, all the way home. My motto now is—to fake it until you make it. I am managing my depression. I realize what is going on. I am taking all the essential steps. I don’t isolate. I get together with friends. I go out. I make plans for the future. There are times when I do feel happiness. And I do see a future. It’s just learning to manage the sadness. That part is so hard. 

The next stage I look forward to is acceptance. Life should get easier. I sure hope so because this part is so heavy—almost too heavy to navigate. I do see a slight improvement. I work hard, but I have crucial elements missing. It’s hard to explain, but I’ll do my best. I have been a Christian since I was six years old. I’ve always had a very close relationship with God. I feel that that relationship is now broken. I am dealing with trust issues. I haven’t been to church since Jack’s death. Nor do I have a desire to go. I keep putting it off. Next week. Next time. Anger is holding me back. In time, I know that I will turn a corner when I do go, but for now, I’m ok with where I am. Spiritually, I feel dead, although I know that isn’t true. Until that leaves me, though, I’ll keep that distance between God and me. I have not prayed, I have not sung, I have not felt close to God. And, for me, that is heartbreaking. I’ve never felt this abandoned before. It’s a terrifying place to be. 

I keep thinking that if others pray for me, God may hear them. He’s not listening to me right now, but maybe it’s because I’m still not talking to him. 

Navigating Grief--Part 2

Grief is hard. It's always walking around in a fog. Forgetting everything--why did I come into this room? Why am I on this street? What am I doing? Brain fog, it turns out, is real. 

Also, I found out that I am not grieving for just one person. I am not grieving for just my grandson. I grieve for my daughter, too. For every tear I shed, there are more for her. How can I not? She is my daughter, and her life has changed forever. She will never be the same. So, I cry. A lot. I miss my grandson, and I miss her. 

I wake up every morning, and the minute reality hits me, I instantly become sad. That's how I start my days now. Sadness overwhelms me. I hate the new reality of my life and that of my family. We are missing one. We are now broken. 

I have yet to return to church. I am still angry with God. I went from a person who prayed a lot to a person who does not want to pray at all. I do not want to talk to God. He has let me down. He did not protect my family, and honestly, that's all I really ever wanted from him: protection. Actually, thinking this over--I do pray a little. I tell him I am still mad at him and don't want to talk to him. I guess that's a start. 

I try to tell myself that I am making progress. I am walking out the steps of grief. I am not isolating. I am making plans, moving forward, and keeping busy. I need projects. I need to have things to focus on, even though I lose that focus often. Life feels empty, so I try to fill it with plans and more plans. 

Am I navigating grief? I don't know. I am trying hard. I am giving it my all. I am honest with my feelings. I am feeling the feelings. It's been almost two months now since Jack died. Everything reminds me of him—every single thing. I hear him saying, "Hey, grandma, whatcha got in the pantry? Hey, grandma, can I use your shower?" When I am out shopping, I see things that he liked. I see the foods, the clothing, shoes, you name it, it all points back to him. I guess that's normal, though. I hear that from a lot of people.

I worry about the upcoming months. His birthday is in October, and Thanksgiving and Christmas are coming up. How will we manage? It scares me. I want to hide my head under the covers, fall asleep, and wake up in January. 

For now, I will continue to do what I am doing. I will try to pray, I will try to go to church at some point, and I will meet with friends. I will be with my family, which brings me much comfort. And I will try to heal. But I will never be the same. My heart is in little broken pieces all over the ground. I am hoping someone will come along and sweep them up. I thought it would be God. 

Navigating Grief--Part One

It has been one month now since the death of my oldest grandson. I am not sure how one navigates grief. However, if there is a way, I will find it. I must. For me to maintain any type of life balance, I have to learn how to live with/through grief. So far, I hate it and am not doing well. I wake up crying and go to sleep crying. I cry on and off throughout the day. Any little thought or trigger can cause tears to stream down my face at any given moment. I have absolutely no control. I tell myself--you have control of this, do not start crying. I do not listen. I cry anyway. 

This is not my first encounter with grief. I've lost other loved ones. Cousins, aunts, and uncles. I've lost a niece and 2 nephews. I've also lost my own mother and father. So, I am no stranger to grief. Nothing, however, prepared me for this loss. Nothing. The loss of a grandchild? It feels like the loss of my own child. The grief is unbearable. It consumes me. It's all I think about, all I dwell on. 

My mind goes to sad, dark places. I think about all the things that my grandson is going to miss out on—holidays, marriage, children—everything. He will be forever 22 years old. If I could just put these thoughts in a box for a few short hours, I might stop crying. It's hard, though, when the leaves on the trees outside my window tell me that he will not see the fall changes. He will never again come through my door, hugging me and saying -hi, grandma. I obsess over these thoughts. I need them to stop.

I have tools—psychology tools—and I am using them. I am walking out the steps. The tools I used to help others, hopefully, will one day help me. Hopefully. Prayerfully. Prayer--I do pray. I pray hard. When I pray, though, I pray honestly. I am very mad. I do not sugarcoat anything when I talk to God. I gave my life to him when I was a child and expected him to protect my family. He did not, so he has heard about it from me. He has heard a lot. I am sincere in expressing my thoughts and feelings to God. He said he knows my thoughts before I think them--so why not let them fly. Why not be honest and tell him how I really feel. I am mad. I am so mad that I want to scream and yell and ask him why? Why did you let him die when everyone else walked away from the accident. Why? And then, I want to ask him how? How am I supposed to get through this while helping my daughter get through her grief at the same time? And what do I do with this anger? Tell me, God! What do I do now? 

This is the first part of me navigating through my grief. This is where I am. I am doing the steps. I am not isolating when all I really want to do is curl up in a ball on the sofa and cry. I am meeting with friends, even though it's hard-- I don't want to cry in front of them and make them sad. I go to shops and restaurants when I do not want to buy anything or eat anything. I do not have an appetite--for anything. I feel completely numb. I am reading the books, doing the things, feeling the feels, everything I should be doing. However, if I am not completely honest with you and lie about my feelings, then I can never help another person. I refuse to be fake.

This has been my first month. This is an honest, raw, painful story. But it's my story. And I won't sugarcoat it for anyone. I will share my walk through grief, how I feel, what I think about, and what my next steps will be. I will not lie. Right now, I am the saddest I have ever been. I am not suicidal. I am just brokenhearted. Will I heal? I don't know. Do I want to? Not really. I wish I could go to sleep and not wake up. Is that honest enough for you? This sadness overwhelms me. I am drowning in my tears. I hope and pray that next month is better/easier. 

This is my prayer: Take away my anger. Lead and guide me in all I say and do. Do not leave me. I am afraid. Heal my heart, please, don't leave me bitter. I want to survive this. Help me, please, God. Help me.

I Am Not OK

No matter how many times you ask me, no matter the months or years that pass by, please know this--I am not OK. I will never be OK ever again. My heart has been shattered into a million tiny pieces, never to heal. As long as I am left on this earth, I shall be a woman with a broken heart. Broken over the tragic death of my grandson and over the knowledge that my daughter is also suffering and brokenhearted. I now grieve for 2 people, her and her son. She is also broken. 

So, when you ask me, are you OK? And if I answer yes, I am not telling you the truth. I am not OK. 

I am surviving. I am trying to act like I am getting better or getting used to not seeing my grandson. As time passes, I will succeed in convincing you that I am OK, but I am not. I will not get over the death of my grandson. Honestly, it feels as if I have lost one of my children, not a grandchild. The pain that I feel deep in my heart aches. As I look at photos, some from just 2 months ago, I remember back over the last 22 years, and I sob with pain. I miss him so much. 

Fortunately, I had 22 years of pure joy with him. I am very thankful and grateful for those years. I tell God that every morning. When Jack was just a baby, he stayed with us for 9 months (with his mommy) while his dad was shipped out on a Naval aircraft carrier. I made him his own little nursery decorated with teddy bears and so many toys. When they left to go back home, I cried my eyes out. I missed them both so much but knew that their place was with their own little family. 

As a new grandmother, I committed to always being a presence in my grandchildren's lives. At most, two months could go by without a visit. Either my home or theirs, it didn't matter to me; I just wanted to hug them, hold them, and tell them I loved them. I wonder if Jack realized that. Did he know how much he was loved? I loved him so much and always will. He was my first grandbaby and will always have that special place in my heart. 

Every morning, I wake up and say good morning, Jack, I love you and miss you. And I wonder--with his birthday and the holidays looming, will I make it through? Will my daughter? Will we be content with our memories for the rest of our lives? I hope so. I am counting on God to walk us through this time. 

I am one of those grandmothers with family photos all over the house. The family room and hallways are covered with pictures. That's how I like it—family first. Now, though, as I sit and write this, I see his face everywhere—playing his guitar, hiking through a field, getting ready to go to Europe with us. Oh, thank God for that trip. Two weeks in Europe with our grandson—what beautiful memories. I had just wanted to make more--more time, more memories, more of everything. 

So now, I shall endeavor to make future memories with my other seven grandchildren. We will continue with our holiday fun, European trips, birthday parties, and much more. We will create memories, laugh, and cry together. We are a family. We will all remember to share our Jack stories. He will be a part of our lives, hearts, and memories forever. We will survive this and grow, and hopefully help others in their times of pain--however, I will never be OK. Part of my heart broke off, and now I am walking a different walk- a lopsided limp walk of a very mournful woman. I will pray and seek God. I will continue on with my life, and I will live on for my family. For we are survivors. 

So, when you ask me if I am OK, I am not and never will be.

Dear Jack

Dear Jack,

I have no idea how I will begin this letter, for it will be the last thing I ever write to you. My heart has been shattered into a million pieces, and I am trying hard to hold it together. You are now resting in the very arms of God. I know this, Jack. I know that I know that you are with Jesus. When you were just a little boy, you asked him to come and live in your heart. Little did you know that no matter what type of life you choose to live after that, God promised he would never leave or forsake you, and he never did. He was always with you. Always. I miss you so much, Jack. The pain of your absence is unbearable.

I remember you asking me questions about my faith. You were curious, and so was I. I have questions, too. Sometimes, I'd have to say, I don't know, and other times, I'd give you short answers for you to process on your own. And that's what we must do: work out our own salvation. So, even though my heart is aching, I am at peace because you are with Jesus, and I will see you again one day in heaven. So, don't worry about us down here. OK? God will take care of us.

Jack, when your mom called me to tell me that she was going to have a baby—my very first grandchild- I was so excited. Of course, you have heard all the stories about how you were supposed to be a girl. Surprise! Your grandma Gumm had to convince me that you were indeed a boy! And little Jack was born. I had the strangest sensation when I first held you in my arms. I told your mom that I felt like I had had another baby and given you to her. I guess it's a mother-daughter thing. I don't know. But wow, Jack, you have just had the best mom (and dad) ever. You know that, though. It was so evident in your close relationships with them. And, then, there was the sister…such a cutie. She worshiped the ground you walked on, although sometimes one wouldn't know that! I was so happy that you ended up being great friends. 

When Grandpa and I heard you all were moving to DC, I was so excited that we were only six hours away. We spent countless joyous times together—our big Penick family with aunts, uncles, and cousins—BBQs, pizza, and so much more—all centered around food. We truly loved those moments, didn't we?

Jack, I have cherished every moment of the 22 years God gave me with you. I have loved you fiercely. I would have moved mountains for you if you had asked. I adored your kind, gentle heart, bright smile, and even your long, beautiful hair. I loved everything about you. I loved watching your baseball games, watching Grandpa let you drive his convertible, and watching you hang out with your dad—two peas in a pod and such great friends. I loved our trip to Amsterdam and Paris, and even our shared space cake—don't tell anyone. Remember how we laughed until our stomachs hurt? Such beautiful memories that I will hold forever in my heart. I have all my crazy photos to look at and cry over. Thank you for being such a good sport about it. 

Jack, you were my first grandchild, and you'll always be my first grandbaby. I love you so much. Now, lean in here, Jack. I need to whisper something in your ear. I have a secret to tell you—you're my favorite. You are my special boy. Just don't tell the other cousins; they all think they're my favorite, too. And they are, all of you are.  

Jack, I will always carry you in my heart. I promise to be there for your mom, dad, and sister. So don't you worry. We will take care of each other. I love you, sweet boy. I am here to support and comfort our family, just as I know you would if you were here. 

Love, Grandma 

Dear Mom

Dear Mom,

It's been about 6 weeks now since you passed away. It seems strange. Not that I could talk with you for the past year or so anyway. Dementia ruined that for us. However, we had many fun conversations until it set in and took you away.

As you know, I am optimistic about life in general. I have always been that way. It isn't that I don't remember the bad; of course, I do; it's just that I choose to remember good things instead. Why dwell on the bad stuff? I can still be a truth-teller--I may not share it all with others. 

So, for this last letter, I'll share the good things about my life with you as my mom. I want to thank you for so many things, and I'm happy that as I went through life, I let you know how thankful I was to have you as a mom. You were a great mom for a teenager. I couldn't have asked for anyone better. I have great memories of you driving me by the homes of boys I had crushes on. Taking me to drive-throughs for sodas. Driving my friends and me to parties, dances, football games, and the movies. You let me ask my many questions about life and love. You were a great mom. One thing that I was incredibly thankful for was that I could ask you or tell you anything. And you never made light of me. You took me seriously, and I appreciate that so much. Being able to pour out my heart and share my dreams and secrets meant the world to me. 

After I married and began having my own children, you were there for me to bounce ideas off of. You never told me what you would do, but you let me figure things out alone. You never interfered. Thank you for that.

The thing I miss most now is our long phone conversations. We'd talk forever, laughing, discussing, and just being friends—good friends, adult friends. I wanted that, and I believe I have that with my own daughter. No judgment. Just an excellent, deep friendship and the knowledge that I could go to you about anything. That is my tribute to you, Mom. You were awesome.

Were there things I didn't like about my childhood? Yes, there were. But I'm not writing about that now. We've talked about those. Let's leave the past in the past. Let's talk about the good things, the happy times, and the many ways you touched my life. 

The most important aspect of my childhood, the one thing that changed my life forever, was when you became a Christian at 26. I was only six years old, and the transformation of your life and our home life molded me in ways I can hardly explain. Going to church, learning about letting Jesus into my heart and life, and watching you and Dad change before my eyes was nothing short of miraculous. Because of your faith in God, taking me to church, and showing me how to live a life for Jesus, I now serve Him and have raised my children similarly. I am so grateful for that. Thank you, Mom. 

So no, not everything was a rose garden. It was more of a mixed bouquet—wildflowers, weeds, thorns, and so much more. But it was our life—one filled with many emotions and memories (good and bad), and looking back, for the most part, it was good. Would I go back and change a few things? You bet! Wouldn't you? However, that is life. I believe that we can only learn or grow with the mixed bouquet. And I sure had that in my life!

I hope you know how much I miss you. I sometimes wake up at night with tears running down my face, just missing you. I know that you are so much happier now. You are in heaven with God and all those that passed before you. However, please understand that those left here have a big hole in our lives. I miss your laughter and your stories. I miss sharing my life with you. I miss so many things. Some days, I am so sad. I try hard to act normal, smile and say that everything is just fine when, in reality, it isn't. I wait until I am alone and then have myself a good cry. Grief has a tendency to sneak up on me. It catches me unaware, and it's all I can do to control it. However, one day, we will be united; I am eternally grateful for that. So, once again, I thank you. You were, and always will be, a fantastic mother. 

I am so thankful for your time with us here in Ohio. Your hatred of the cold (which made us all laugh), you joining in with me and my many activities, meeting my grandchildren, and getting to know them. Not only did you create memories for yourself, you allowed them their memories of you. They still talk about your time here. I love reminiscing and looking through our photos. So many memories. Again, thank you for sharing your life and time with us near the end. 

I hope you know how much you were loved and still are. I hope you know how much you are missed. I appreciate you so much. And I miss you desperately. So, Mom, until we meet again, let everyone in heaven know you are all thought about so often. Thank you for my memories, and I will see you again one day.

Your loving daughter, Veda

River Cruising--the Ins and the Outs

Have you ever wanted to do something so badly that you always think about it? Well, this is my story on our River Cruise. We finally did it. We went on a European River Cruise on the Rhine River for eight days and seven nights. It's been on my bucket list for the last twenty years. My husband always said they were for old people and just plain wasn't interested. And then, our hair turned gray, and we became old. Also, since we were celebrating our 50th anniversary--I had leverage! Let the planning begin! 

How did we like it? Did it meet our expectations? Was it full of old people—walkers, canes, and wheelchairs? Was the food good? I promise to answer these questions and more. And even though, by nature, I am an optimist, I'll tell you the truth. I promise. Remember, though--it's my viewpoint, not necessarily how others feel--at all. 

I admit I do see things through rose-colored glasses. It's a massive part of who I am. So, going on a river cruise was highly anticipated. I couldn't wait. I did tons of research and planning. I wanted the best cruise line and was ready to spare no expense. Europe is our favorite travel destination, so we chose to cruise the Rhine. We went through 4 countries--The Netherlands, Germany, France, and Switzerland. Although we had visited them before, we looked forward to seeing some ports we'd never visited. Unfortunately, we sailed right past some that looked inviting. Hmmm, who's steering this boat anyway? 

We decided to spend a couple of days in Amsterdam before joining our fellow shipmates on our adventure. Our hotel room had a canal view, so from my perspective, things were already going great before we even embarked. Also, at the end of the cruise, we stayed a few extra days in Switzerland and took a train to Colmar, France, for a day of much-needed shopping. What a city! It was my favorite day of the entire trip. Beauty overload. We will return to Comar and most likely stay for a while! 

Back to the boat--once we arrived at the dock, our bags were whisked away, and we were introduced to Andre. He showed us to our room, told us how everything worked, and answered our questions. I'll now do my best to describe the room. However, I will admit to being a complete hotel snob and highly picky, so consider that. Our room was pretty small, and the bathroom was tiny, I mean little! The shower was minuscule. There were nice bath sheets, though, and excellent hair care products. The room was spotless and had a lovely balcony for 2 people; it was wonderful for having early morning coffee, a late-night glass of wine, or just enjoying the fresh air. The ship had great a/c (which is the most important thing to me), plenty of storage with a small dresser, and a nice closet. I tend to be claustrophobic, but I did okay with this room. We weren't in it for a two or three-week trip, which made a difference. 

On our first night in, I noticed a few things. I could hear and feel the engine of the longboat running. It didn't really bother me, but it might bother some. Our Wi-Fi on the boat was excellent; we never had any issues. Every evening, while at dinner, our room steward straightened our room up and left an itinerary for the next day. Having a hard copy and the info on our phone's onboard app was excellent. And I loved the housekeeping staff. Everyone was so friendly, and they kept our room tidy, which I absolutely loved. I am a neat freak, I'm a little OCD, but it's something I accept about myself.

The beds in the staterooms are not king-sized; they are bigger than a queen, though, and can be separated upon request. The mattresses are hard and should be pillow-topped for those older folks with arthritis issues. My hips were killing me. And speaking of pillows--not good. I would be tempted to bring my own in the future. Also, the bathroom floor light does not turn off at night. I had to cover it with a towel and shut the door, and I could still see a faint glow. It drove me nuts. Not having a make-up mirror is one of my biggest pet peeves in any hotel room. No make-up mirror, really? Half of your quests are women! Install a small make-up mirror! I brought my own, but it's a sticking point. As an experienced female traveler, I have expectations. Especially when I have spent money on something like a river cruise. Picky? Yes, very. I warned you. 

Our first dinner on the ship was good. The dining room can accommodate all the guests, which is really nice. We met some incredible people and made good friends while traveling. One thing that I do need to address is the food. It was good, with local cuisine and some American dishes for the less adventurous. Is the food 5-star? No. It's more 4-star, but it was fine. The crew's service was great, and they tried their hardest to accommodate our every whim. I really appreciated the quality of the service. However, I missed visiting restaurants, eating with locals, trying new foods, and people-watching. It seemed that we were eating on the boat in the morning, noon, and night. I felt compelled to eat on board, especially since we had already paid for the meals. However, after the first couple of days, I was getting tired of that. I wanted the Europeans around me, not my fellow Americans! I was in Europe, surrounded by Americans. It kept messing with my brain. We did sneak out a couple of times for coffee, lunch here and there, and dinner out one evening. That helped me. I really needed my Europeans. 

Oh, and one of my favorite items on the ship was the coffee bar on the upper deck. Oh my. I do love a good coffee bar! My husband brought me a cappuccino every morning, and I loved it. The coffee bar was open throughout the day and evening, serving pastries and cookies—a lovely addition to our stay. However, I missed the sense of coffee/cafe culture; it is an essential part of traveling for us—sitting, drinking coffee, watching people, and listening to them talk. 

As you can tell--some things for us could have been better, right? And that's okay. What's not so good for some might be fine for others. Keep that in mind while reading this, and remember—I'm picky. 

So, what were the guests' ages? Most were in their 50s, 60s, and 70s, with a few in their 40s and 80s. One woman had a walker, and one man had a cane. The excursions also included a leisurely walking group, which was awesome. There was no pressure for the slower crowd. I loved the way all the guests on the cruise were cared for. Everyone was treated with care and respect. We had those on the boat who were mother/daughter or father/son, we had various age groups, etc., and everyone was extremely accommodating. 

So, bottom line: Would I do a river cruise again? The answer is maybe. 

However, I would do more research and find a European cruise line rather than an American one because I want to be immersed in the culture of the countries I visit. I missed the cafe culture and had to try to find time for that, which was hard to do because the scheduling of the excursions and docking times for walking tours of the port cities were very limiting for me. They usually took place before the shops opened, and the streets were empty. I looked forward to shopping and coffee with the Europeans, not a history lesson and a quick walk through town. I needed more time. 

One of my favorite days was cruising the river to see the castles. They were beyond amazing, and the weather couldn't have been better. It was magical. We sat on the top deck in the sunshine, breezes blowing, and castles floating by—what's not to love? I decided right then and there that I needed a castle to renovate. I'm going to have to work on that one. My husband might disagree. 

As I thought long and hard about this trip, I realized something. I enjoy planning our adventures. I love researching cities, looking for train routes, finding suitable hotels, and scouting nearby restaurants. Are there trams, trains, and buses that we can take? Should we rent a car? Planning is so much fun, and cruising takes that out of your hands. You show up and follow their itinerary. I will likely plan another river cruise when I'm older and want someone to "do the planning" for me. However, while I enjoy good health, I will plan my own land excursions, walk the towns, shop the shops, and visit all the cafes I can while I still have my health. While I genuinely enjoyed the cruise, it wasn't a perfect fit for me. I am happy that we went. And one day, we most likely will go again. 

We discovered a long ago that we aren't truly vacationers. We like adventures. We don't lay around on beaches, reading the days away or relaxing. Nope, not us. We get up early, drink loads of coffee, and hit the streets. We shop, eat, drink even more coffee, walk some more, shop some more, stop for snacks, and repeat. We love to take side excursions (scenic boat rides, water taxis), look for out-of-the-way places, and discover open-air markets. And finding a trinket or two is right up my alley. 

So, there you have it—my perception of the ins and outs of river cruising. It was a beautiful, fun, and genuinely fantastic trip. We have many memories, incredible photos, and new friends. 

Easter

I sometimes wonder why Easter isn't my favorite holiday. As a Christian, it signifies the resurrection of Jesus Christ. It's a day of celebration. And as a child, we went to church in new little dresses and sometimes even new shoes. We got Easter baskets full of candy, and after church, we had a wonderful ham dinner with all the trimmings. We did our annual Easter egg hunt with the cousins, and then, well, then, I grew up. Things changed.

I wanted the same idealized version for my own children—church, Easter egg hunts, and baskets. I sewed little dresses with tons of lace for my daughter and bought new little suits for my sons. And then, they grew up. 

And now, we are left alone. Sometimes, memories have to suffice, and I don't like that. We've all spread out. Sometimes we travel to see each other, and sometimes we travel away from each other. Business trips, spring break, and vacations to different places separate us. I didn't realize that was going to happen. I've lost control, as it should be. 

That's why Easter isn't my favorite holiday. It comes in last behind Christmas, Thanksgiving, and most birthdays. We get together for those, as well as Memorial Day and Labor Day—long weekends are enticing. But not Easter. We don't seem to plan for it.

So, no, it's not my favorite holiday. It's down quite far on my list. Today will be fine; some of our family is coming, and I've got some Easter candy ready for them. However, a sadness has settled on me. I went to church, set the table, and made the dinner. Grandkids are due any minute, and yet...

I wonder if this is how it will be from now on. I also wonder if my parents and in-laws felt the same way. It's too late to ask them now, so I'll write all this here. That way, my kids will eventually know that this is how I felt, and it might ease their sadness one day—when it happens to them. 

Princess Room

When we retired and downsized (because that's what you do when you retire), we bought a smaller 3 bed, 2 bath home. It's a cute little house, a cottage style, with some features that really stood out. One was a bay window in the dining room, and the other was a large brick fireplace in the family room. I'm all about warm, cozy, intimate spaces. However, with those small spaces come small rooms and closets. And so begins my story about a small master bedroom closet and my vast collection of goods.

I decided that I wanted an extra large closet. One that housed everything. Shoes, coats, makeup, an actual giant closet. A princess room. A room just for me. I guess it would be similar to a "man cave," only for women. I thought long and hard about what I wanted it to look and feel like. After all, I would be spending a lot of time there. It had to reflect my personality and meet my high expectations. 

Since we had a 3 bedroom house and only needed one guest room, I took over the room closest to the master bedroom. First, I had to decide on color. I painted it a beautiful blue and found an antique desk with many small drawers to accommodate my makeup and hair brushes. I painted it magenta and found a floral rug for the floor that incorporated both colors. I bought a blue stool--to sit on and put on my shoes. I purchased white wicker shelves and roll-around carts and hung six racks for all my hang-up clothes. 

My husband caught the bug--and helped me with the remodel job. He hung a chandelier and all the clothing racks for me. He removed the sliding doors from the closet in the bedroom and put up shoe and boot racks. By the time we were finished, it had looked amazing. Everything about that room reflected me. I can now get ready each morning--hair, makeup, get dressed, put on my shoes, etc, all in one room.

It is a princess room; the best part is that it's all mine. 

I love that when my granddaughters are over visiting, they love my princess room. They'll sit on the floor, looking through my jewelry or waiting for me to give them makeup samples I won't use. We try on shoes, chatter away, and just enjoy being together. 

My little princess room is more than a closet. It's a means to spend time with my daughter and my granddaughters. We talk, have fun, try on things, and laugh. And what could be better than that? 

Man cave vs princess room--I know what I'd choose. 

This is Why I share

I amaze myself when I think about all that goes into my Christmas planning. I begin by shopping. I shop for my three grown children and their spouses and grandchildren. That doesn't include friends, other family members, or any parties I might need a gift for. That's just my family--14 people. I begin early, shopping for just the right gifts, and when they open them, it feels like the best thing that's ever happened to me. I am more excited than they are. Their expressions and their joy are so wonderful to watch. Oh, and the wrapping! Boxes and bags must be just right, matching the age and personality of the right person. My husband thinks I'm crazy to put so much effort into wrapping. However, for me, it's part of the gift. How it's presented is very important to me. 

I also clean my house from top to bottom, scrubbing and decorating each room so they feel like they did as children on Christmas morning. Tow large Christmas trees--one for the living room, which is full of ornaments from our world travels, and one for the family room, which is full of a little bit of everything. Homemade ones, coffee, photos, and trinkets of all kinds. Looking at this tree, one sees family, hobbies, and kids. Wonder, delight, joy. All the emotions. I feel them all. 

And then I cook. I buy the best of the best. A feast. Prime rib, roasted veggies, fresh warm bread. I set the table with Christmas dishes, presenting them with a bountiful setting and making memories as we go through each moment. 

Why? Because I love them. I love my family so much and want them to feel that love deeply. 

So, why do I share my life with you? I feel that love for you also. I love my children and grandchildren, my friends and neighbors. I love the people I see on the street and the people in the grocery stores. I care for you. I want you to know what I have and tell you you can also have it. Why wouldn't I share? Why wouldn't I tell you about my most incredible gift ever? Why would I be selfish and keep it to myself? 

I want you to experience Christmas at my house--metaphorically. I want you to feel that excitement brewing. Because my life began with just that feeling. It was the day I met Jesus. It was Christmas for me that day. And it had all that comes with it. The forethought, the presentation, and the excitement.

It was the most incredible day of my life. Everything changed. Words can barely describe what happened in my home. I was just 6 years old, yet "Christmas" happened before my eyes. Jesus moved in, and fear, loneliness, and hunger moved out. I've written much about my childhood in this blog, but I've tried not to push Jesus down your throats. I've shared in modest, simple terms, just little bits here and there. But what if time is running short? What if I'm not here later to share more? And there is more. There's so much more. 

I know that God loves me more than I love others. I know that. But, wow, I sure do love God. I love the changes he brought into my home as a child. It's something that I can never ever repay. The peace alone is priceless. Then, add safety, joy, acceptance, forgiveness, and love. I can rest in God's arms and know all is well with me. 

So, I share. I share my faith. A little at a time, some a little more than others. I want those around me to know that Christmas isn't a day. Christmas is a way of life. It's the prep that God does. It's the gifts that God gives. It's the joy that God brings to my heart. I'll keep sharing as long as you'll keep listening.

You might never want what I have, but then again, you might. So, if you ever do, if you'd ever like me to share--I will. Just ask. I'm always praying for you, always waiting for you to experience what I have. Always willing to share my faith with you--without any pressure. This is why I share. I am hopeful.

Oh Canada

We finally made it. Canada. We've been trying to go for the past 3 years or so. But, you know, Covid! We were banned. We were not welcome. We were so sad. However, to be fair, we weren't welcome in New York either!

All we wanted to do was go camping. Or rather, glamping--in Canada. We wanted to take Fiona (our travel trailer) and Chanel (our dog) and camp along the eastern coastline of the US and Canada. Well, this year, we made it. We packed up Fiona, threw our dog in the Expedition, and away we went. 

We decided to spend 2-3 nights in each location and get to know each area better. Stopping first in Niagara Falls, we camped close enough to enjoy the surrounding area. We love Niagara-on-the-Lake and spent the day with our dog--eating and shopping. We are so happy that most of the little shops are dog friendly, we take her everywhere, and she's well-behaved. However, she's developed a bad habit. She now sits prim and proper in front of each wrap station expecting a treat for her good behavior. I don't know if we can change that particular behavior. She even did it at border control! 

As we proceeded eastward, we then went to the Kingston area, then on to Montreal. We hadn't visited Montreal before and were excited to check out their famous old downtown area. I'm sure it was quite nice at one time; however, now the "boutiques" are nothing more than tourist shops full of souvenirs, so not really my "cup of tea." 

Finally, we were on our way to Quebec City. I love old Quebec, and I also love all things French. That's one thing I can say about the Quebec province--it's so French! Once over the Canadian border, we started seeing signs in both languages. When we arrived in Montreal, all signs were in French, with many people speaking both languages. However, it took more work in Quebec City to find English speakers. I loved it. From then on, it truly felt that we were in a different country. The food, the shops, the architecture-- everything was wonderful. We drove out to Ile d'Orleans one day. I felt like I was back in Napa Valley, where everyone spoke French. The vineyards and orchards were beautiful. We drove around the island, stopping at fruit stands and getting coffee. The weather was perfect, and I could practice my French as no one on the island we encountered spoke English. 

We both agreed to revisit Old Quebec and Ile d'Orleans one day and spend longer than 3 days! More like 3 weeks!

As we camped our way toward home, we stopped to visit the parliament buildings in Ottawa. They were gorgeous. In my opinion, they rivaled what we've seen in London. Absolutely wonderful.

Was it worth the three-year wait? I think so. It made us appreciate our country to the North. It made us realize how much there is left to see and visit. We are truly travelers and explorers. We love different cultures and cuisines. And, once on the road heading back home, we were already planning our next big adventure. 

Glamping for us is perfect. Imagine taking your "tiny house" with you everywhere you drive? We have our coffee maker, smart TV, comfy bed, and a great shower. All the comforts of home--that we pull behind our huge Expedition. Talk about first class! Most nicer campgrounds have wonderful laundry facilities, and we can take our dog and plan our stays--just how we like it. It's perfect for us. I just wish there was a bridge to Europe; wouldn't that be awesome! So, while we travel North America, we are all set. And, when we do our European travels, we just have to get over missing Fiona; we know she'll be waiting for us when we get home.

Hello Ireland, We Are Back

My love for travel started when I was about 6 years old. I didn't realize then that little one-and-a-half-hour ride to my grandma's house would change my life. Sitting in the back seat, looking out the window, seeing blue skies, big puffy white clouds, and cows. We'd then drive by orchards, rice fields, and olive trees. I was hooked--I'd see birds perched on wires, old-time gas stations, and cafes. Travel soon became a goal. I just didn't know it then. So when my parents would tell us--we were going to grandma's house, I was ready in a flash. Adventure became a part of me.

So, my love for travel was birthed at an early age. When I became an adult, my husband and I planned weekend trips up and down the west coast--from Mexico to Canada, hotels to camping, we just wanted to explore. That eventually turned into international travel, and we looked for any excuse to travel.

We drug our kids with us for as long as we could, and now long after they've all flown the nest, we get to kidnap our grandkids. We take them camping as much as they'll come. And when they've outgrown that--we take them to Europe. Last year we took our grandson to Amsterdam and Paris. He chose those cities for his high school graduation gift. This year during her spring break, we took his sister--she chose Ireland. The land of many of my ancestors. We were just there in 2019, pre-covid. So, to be able to show her what we had discovered and then, in turn, discover new things with her was fantastic. 

First, before I begin the story about our adventure, let me share a bit about our oldest granddaughter. We were visiting our daughter and son-in-law when my daughter's labor began. I was so excited to be with her during that time. Unfortunately, she had to have a C-section, so we waited until our little granddaughter was delivered, and then the nurse came out to get me. She said, come on, grandma, you get to be the first to hold her. Your daughter is still in recovery. I looked around, wondering if this was OK. Me? First? OK!

What a joy. I held that little baby girl and rocked her and thought right then--we're going to have a special relationship. And we do. She's almost 18 years old now. She's graduating this weekend from high school and is ready to take on the world. She's got several ideas of what she'd like her future to look like. Ireland, for her, was the first step. I was excited. I knew that traveling with her was going to be a blast. And it was. 

I learned a lot about Sophia during those two weeks abroad. For one thing, she's fearless. She could have made that trip solo and would have been just fine. She's highly independent and very easy to travel with. We drove all throughout the country, staying in five different hotels. Our hotel rooms were, for the most part, pretty nice. Some were better, and some were bigger than others. Upon traveling with her, though, I learned a few things--she loves hotels. One of the first things she noted was the lobby. She made us laugh--as she walked into each one, she would immediately rate them. Nice lobby, or where's the lobby? And next? The bathrooms. We'd walk in the door and into the bathroom, she'd go! A rain shower! Then, she'd sit on her bed--soft, big enough, her own nightstand, USB ports, water? She was our own private room checker. Another thing I learned about her was that she is very tidy. From her bed area to her suitcase to leaving the bathroom nicely--she made traveling with her a breeze. Her OCD grandmother was relieved and thankful for this newly discovered attribute! 

Sophia was also our free entertainment. She is hilarious. She made everything funny. She kept us laughing, from our small rental car to the tiny winding Irish roads, the baby sheep, and the castles. She just made everything fun. There was no time to get grumpy from jetlag with her around. Nope, we laughed our way through it. I would travel with that girl any time and any place. 

Hopefully, we have ignited the travel bug within her. She says we have. She's ready for another trip! And while it won't be Europe--how about a camping trip with grandma and grandpa to the Michigan shore? Yep, she's up for that. She's flying up to our house to go camping with us. It'll be her first time in our travel trailer. I'm looking forward to her "review."  It's not Ireland, Sophie, but it's fun, I promise. So let the adventure of your life begin!

Granduations and Europe

My husband and I came up with a plan. Since we could not swing it financially to take our children to Europe for their high school graduations--we'd take our grandkids! All eight of them. One at a time, of course, and as a gift for graduation. We thought the plan was ingenious. First, however, we had to let them know that these trips depended on our health. So no promises were made, only dreams. 

So, we made plans for our oldest grandson's graduation in June 2020. We bought airline tickets, train tickets, made hotel reservations, and dreamed--until March. And then Covid 19 hit, and all plans were canceled. So, it wasn't until two years later that we finally grabbed Jack, boarded the plane, and took off for Amsterdam and Paris. 

Excitement doesn't begin to describe how we all felt. So many emotions. We finally got to travel after 2 years of being stuck at home. Unfortunately, everyone else on the planet (at least it seemed that way) had the same idea that we did. Let's travel! We did not let that dampen our spirits, though. We boarded that plane, and away we went. Amsterdam, here we come. I did feel the need to warn Jack--we'll be tired, jet lagged, homesick, hungry, needing a shower and a nap, and just a little bit grumpy. I didn't lie. That's just how it was. Especially since the room wasn't ready until 3:00pm that afternoon. I'll admit something here--grandpa and grandson did lie down on park benches for a bit. I was embarrassed but totally understood. When you're tired, you're tired. 

Traveling with a grandchild all to ourselves was an experience to be savored. We got to know Jack in a new way. Sadly, by the time we left for Europe, he was already 21 years old; however, I was so thankful that he still wanted to travel with his grandparents. He's an "old soul" like me, an INFJ, so he has always been very easy for me to read. As we walked through Amsterdam, going into thrift shops, riding slow canal boats, and eating fantastic food, I knew he was happy. And, by the time we took the train to Paris, he was already an old pro at traveling through Europe. I had the feeling this would not be his last trip. 

Paris, as many know, is my favorite city. I've been many times. There isn't one thing about Paris that I do not love. So, when it was a city that he chose to travel to, I was so excited. I was going to get to show him my city. Again, a slight turn of events--a heat wave hit France, and it was horrible. Walking through streets that usually sparkled--they simmered in the heat instead. Also, it was mobbed because people had yet to travel over the last couple of years. I felt like I was visiting Disneyland. Tourists, children, traffic, long lines, humidity, dirty--so disappointing. However, I am the type to make lemonade out of my lemons. I was determined to show him that all was not lost. We made the riverboat rides, museums, and fantastic food as fun as possible. We stopped at many cafes, drank coffee, and just meandered. We were in Paris, after all. 

My husband and I have a goal. We want to infect our grandkids with the travel bug. We want them to think of nothing but travel when they get home. We want them to experience other people and cultures and be fearless. For me, the more I travel, the smaller my world gets. The more I travel, the more I want to travel. The more I travel, the more I learn and grow. It's a never-ending gift. And we want to share it with them--our grandchildren.

I hope they will never forget these trips and that, in the future, they share their stories about our European adventures with their children and grandchildren. I'm praying for that. Because in the giving of these trips, they are giving us so much joy. We love them so much, and we are so proud of them. They are all unique and have taught us about themselves and us. Seeing the generational sameness and yet also their differences as young adults--it's an amazing thing to experience. 

So, while they are thanking us, we are the ones who are thankful. Our children have done a fantastic job raising their children. We are so blessed. We are so thankful. We are so appreciative. We will be forever grateful.

Slowly Fading Away

She is losing her memory of me. It is quickly fading. She tries hard to pull them out of the shadows, those memories. She complains that something is wrong with her brain and will bat softly at the side of her head. It infuriates her. Why can't she think or put two words together? Why can't she remember our names or where she lives?

Who are you again? What is your name? Where do you live? How old are you? Why can't you come to visit me? These are the questions she asks me. These are the tough questions that I find myself answering over and over again as she sinks deeper and deeper into the ocean of forgotten memories.  

The phone calls become harder and harder to get through without breaking down in tears. I feel such grief. I am slowly losing her. Very slowly. It's like having my heart ripped in two. She sometimes begs, like a child. Please take me with you, why can't I come, are you my sister? How do I, as her daughter answer these questions without crying? I cried today while on the phone with her. She asked me--are you crying? And when I said yes, she began to cry. Why are you crying? She asked. I didn't know how to answer. Do I tell her how sad I am? That I am already grieving her death? The death of her memory? And soon, her final death? And will it be easier? The final death? Or harder? I guess I'll find out soon.

I wonder now if I will lose my memories? My sister and I talk about it. Will it happen to us, we wonder? Both of our parents suffered and do suffer from dementia. Both. Our father died a few years ago. It nearly broke our mother; she would call out for him in the night. I could hear her crying. Even now, in her demented state, she knows who he is. She knows of him, not his name or who he was; deep down inside her psyche, she knows she is connected with this man in the picture. She likes the photos of our younger father. He's cute, she says. When I show her the oldest version of him, she pushes it away--no, the other one, she says, holding that picture close to her heart. This is the one I remember, she says. Interestingly, she remembers him from long ago, when they first met. I'm glad she has this imprinted on her heart. 

Will I be that way? Will I call out for my husband? Will I remember our lives together? Will I know my children's names? Will I recognize them when they come to visit? Or will I say--who are these strange people? It scares me. I don't want to live that way. Anything but that. Memories are something that I treasure. There are huge photo books in my home, along with many pictures in every room. Children, grandchildren, dogs--will I forget who they are? Will I forget my mother? 

Some days sadness overwhelms me. I can go for days or weeks and not dwell on her and her disease. However, when I talk to her, it all comes back. Slow death. Memories lost. 

God be merciful. Take her soon. Please. Hear my prayer.

Spoons

There was a knock on my bedroom door. Everyone wants you to come down and play--said my oldest son. It was one of the best requests ever made to me. Come down and play. My son and some of his friends were playing games in the basement. And they wanted to know if I'd play Spoons with them. That was something I'd never ever turn down. I got up, got dressed, and headed for the basement. Spoons it is.  

When your children are teenagers or young adults, you never turn down a request to hang out. You are well aware of the shortage of time. It's ticking loudly in your ear. The clock of clocks, tick tock, tick tock. I lived in dread of the last alarm going off. I feared the day that there would no longer be anyone to ask me to--go down and play.

So, down I went. For a couple of hours, I played Spoons and laughed with a bunch of loud teenagers. I had the time of my life. They all called me mom, laughing so hard they snorted and made great, long-lasting memories--in my basement. 

For them, most likely, they've forgotten. Me? I'll always remember it. It was spending time with my children, who really were no longer children. It was that feeling of being wanted and of feeling included. I've always thought of myself as being close to my kids, and that was a time that made me feel a part of them. Of their friends, of their lives, and of their memories. All over a game of Spoons. 

I've often wondered-- what if I had been the type of parent who had said no--I'm sleeping or too busy watching TV. However, my husband assured me they would not have asked me in the first place. They knew the answer. They knew that they were important to me and that I loved spending time with them, and still do. Even now, as adults, when they call us and ask--hey, do you want to ...we say yes. Even when we don't. 

My prayer is that I've passed that on to my kids. I pray that they play Spoons with their kids and friends and make memories--silly ones, important ones, memories that will last them until the clock stops ticking. I pray that they learned from us the value of not just being parents but the value of building relationships. 

We will always say yes. We love spending time with them. So even when we're busy, even when we cancel plans already made, we try hard to always say yes. Because when your kids ask you to play Spoons, you do.

Taught By a 7 Year Old

I now have 8 grandchildren. Varying from ages 2 1/2 to 21 years old.  I've learned a lot from them over the years.  Basic things like how to love deeply, protectively, and longingly.  They've kept me humble and teachable and ignited my imagination. I love being with them. I always want to make myself available--to babysit and take them places. I love taking them shopping, camping, out to lunch, and sneaking them little treats. All those grandma things that parents shake their heads at. 

However, I mostly love sitting and asking questions. And that's where this story begins. I learned yesterday that I do not know everything. Even in my ripe old age of grandma life--I have much to learn. I was taught this very thing while sitting with my 7-year-old grandson. 

I must give a little background on him. He is the second son of my second son. He looks like his uncle-- my oldest son in stature and height. And yet, oh and yet...he has the same personality as his father. In other words, I can read him like a book. Each facial expression I have seen before, each gesture, each shrug of the shoulder, they are all familiar to me. I'm sure he's not too pleased with that revelation. I am constantly one step ahead of his mischievous shenanigans. I believe the word imp came from him. He's adorable.

I was with these grandkids yesterday while their parents were at an appointment; I made it a day of asking questions and learning more about what makes them tick. Just what do they think of this and that? The 7-year-old and I had a fascinating talk about twins. He did not know that there were two types of twins. I mentioned that one type was identical in every way. Even their DNA. He listened intently. learning about the two types and asking questions--leading to triplets, and so on. Finally, after he'd heard enough, he had something he wanted to teach me. So, he very seriously rested his hand on mine and said--grandma, they aren't identical in every way. Not exactly. They have different fingerprints. God made them unique. Each person has their own fingerprints. Then he held his fingertip to mine. Tears sprung to my eyes.

I had forgotten about the fingerprint part. So much so that I had to google it. And, of course, he was right. We are all uniquely made in the very image of God. Each one of us, and it took a 7-year-old to remind me. 

My prayer is that I am always young enough to learn. Learn from anyone at any time. Even from a 7-year-old. And especially from my grandchildren. 

My Youngest Son--Part 2

To my youngest son,

Dec 27th is a day for me to remember!  Happy 40th birthday. Wow, I am having a tough time wrapping my brain around this. My baby is turning 40 years old. When did that happen? What has happened to the last four decades? And mostly, why did it go by so fast? I hope you know how much you are loved, how much you were wanted, and how proud I am to be your mom. 

When I discovered I would have my 3rd baby, I was so happy--for many reasons. To name a few--your big sister and brother were about to have another sibling! Your dad and I knew we wanted three children, so we were excited to hear the news! Baby number 3 was on his way. Oh, yes, I knew you were a boy before I was even tested. I just knew. Just like I knew you were going to be a great little brother. I loved that you were the perfect size when you were born, not too small like your sister or too big like your brother. Just right. Within a few months, I watched as your personality emerged. Super funny, intelligent, and easygoing. Until you were two, however, I'll skip that part; most kids go through the terrible twos, so why dwell on it. Right?

I always thought it was interesting when you were school-age. You were much wittier than most of your teachers. I could see it, but they could not. You seemed to outsmart them at every turn. But, once in a while, you'd get a teacher who saw you! The real you. The bright, witty Curtis. And they thoroughly enjoyed having you in their class. Those were outstanding years for you. They helped nurture you.

I never doubted that you would turn into the man you are today --a great husband --hard-working and a great provider. A great father - you always loved kids! And, a wonderful son. But, I can honestly say a son who became a real man- thank God for answering my prayers. And by real, I mean gentle, tender-hearted, and kind - actual fruit of the spirit. When I carried you, I prayed for you just like I did for your siblings. I prayed for your childhood, adulthood, and future spouse and children. And, God, in all His wisdom and mercy, gave me you and answered every prayer.

Continue, Curtis, to always put God first, serve Him all of your days, and do what is right in the sight of God. These are the words of wisdom I want to give to you. You are an amazing son. I am so proud of you. I love you so much. I love everything God has done in your life, and I will continue to pray for you until I take my last breath. 

Happy 40th birthday!

God bless you and yours and thank you for being my son.

Love, Mom

This Is Where Home Is

As I age, I always make wonderful and fascinating discoveries about myself. For example--I discovered that my true home doesn't reside inside a house. It's taken me all these years to discover that my true home is where my husband, children, and grandchildren live. Not in proximity to my house per se, but almost. It isn't necessarily living distance--it isn't as though I need to live closer to them (although I certainly would be okay with it). It's more like a feeling of closeness when we are all together. That time of "living" and "being" together. 

Our sons live within a 30-minute drive, and our daughter lives about 6 hours away. And my life feels complete when she and her family visit and join us for the holidays. That's the only way I can describe it. It's a completeness that makes my heart feel safe. Knowing that my baby chicks are within my wings reach. Silly as it might seem, it's a feeling that appears extremely real to me. 

Yes, there are some holidays, some horrible holidays, that I have to share my children with their in-laws. I will be sincere here and say I hate that part. The part about sharing my kids' lives. I don't want to share. I understand that the in-laws wish for their time also; I really do. I just don't like to share. I want my kids close by--joining in our family fun, playing games, laughing, eating, and watching TV together. Sometimes, I want to stop time. I want them home. With me, especially during the holidays. It's a weird feeling; it feels selfish, yet they, indeed, are my feelings. My very selfish feelings. 

Tonight, as I write this, everyone is where they are supposed to be--according to me. My daughter and her husband are sleeping here in my home, and my oldest grandkids are here also. My sons are close by in their homes, all within 30 mins of each other. That is home to me. It's that special feeling of peace, safety, and love, and once again, I feel as though I can protect them--for I am their mom. 

How do I describe this feeling of home any better than this? For this is where my home is. It's in the heartbeat of my family. Snuggled in their beds, safe and sound, with their mom watching and praying over them. Just as it should be. 

Merry Christmas, kids--I'm so glad you are home.

Christmas Time

I find myself becoming so reflective at Christmas time. I think most of the birth of Christ and what God means to me. And also, I think a lot about my memories. Many memories contain my parents and relatives; however, most are of my husband and children. They are memories of past Christmases. All that to say--I am reflecting. And, when I remember, I learn about myself. When I do that, I can grow and change, hopefully for the better. That's what this is all about. Growth and change. 

I actually have a lot of quirks. Most people don't care for their idiosyncrasies; they wonder if they irritate others, are too different, or fit in. They question themselves. Oddly enough, I don't do that. I have learned to be content and embrace my quirks. I like them. I'm a little strange, and that makes me--well, me.  

During our pandemic years, each person I've talked with had a unique way of dealing with their isolation. My method was to pretend it wasn't happening. So, each morning I made a plan. I got up, drank my coffee, got ready, and went somewhere--anywhere. I had to go and get out. My husband and I did some pretty silly things. We made picnic lunches and ate them by ourselves in the car. We took long drives along Lake Erie. In other words, we made the best out of a bad situation. As restaurants and businesses were closed, we were forced to make due with what we had. We did a lot of hiking and biking. Cleaning and baking. Remodeling and gardening. Anything to make the time go faster.

And now that things are back to normal and we are about to experience a typical Christmas with family and friends, I have again begun to reflect. I can look back on 2 years of crummy Christmases and holidays, and I can see that growth took place.  

I've come to realize this: I am living each day as if it's my last. I get up thankful, and I go to sleep grateful. I get ready each morning, and I'm ready to explore, wonder, and appreciate all that I've been blessed with. I plan my days and pack them full of time with my friends. I make plans to get together with my children and grandchildren. I want to experience life to its fullest each day. So that when I lay my head down at night--I can say--this has been the best day ever. I can pray and thank God for all that happened--good and bad, for each encounter, and I find that each endeavor is a learning experience, and I can see growth in my life taking place. It draws me closer to God, makes my heart more thankful, and makes me reflect on the goodness, mercy, and grace of the God I serve.  

What better time than Christmas time.  

Time to reflect, time to heal, time to praise, time to worship--at Christmas time.

11 Boxes

I don't know how it happened. Well, yes, I do. I know how it happened. It happened because I love Christmas. I do. I love it so much that I've lost all self-control. So I have boxes and boxes of decorations. And that's not including the trees, wreaths, and garland. In those 11 boxes are nothing more than knick-knacks and bric-a-brac, from Santas and sleighs to candles and manger scenes. And believe me, each one holds a memory.

Some--friends gave me, and some were handmade by my children. Some were from European Christmas markets, and others were found in wonderful gift shops. So tell me then--which should I dispose of? Which memory shall I throw away? This is what I face each season as I ask my husband to haul those 11 boxes down from the attic. So what do I do with these memories of mine?

After almost 49 years of marriage, 3 children, and 8 grandchildren--do I toss the handmade ones? Do I throw away the photo ornaments? How about the one from Germany that we picked up on vacation? Do you see the dilemma here? This is what I face each year.

We have downsized homes substantially, which means fewer rooms, fewer walls, and less floor space. So, where do I put my treasures? As I walk around our house, where do these memories hang? 

However, I've made myself a promise. Each year I will donate one box of tchotchkes until decorating for Christmas is manageable. Notice that I did not promise to stop buying. I cannot stop doing that. It goes against my nature. But, donate, I will. And I did. After putting out my favorite and most loved items, I donated one box to charity. I shall never again view, touch, or hold those memories in my hands. They are gone. Hopefully, to create a memory in someone else's home. 

And as we pack up 10 boxes of decorations after Christmas this year, I hope I don't miss that 11th box. With 10 left to love and then deciding next year what to donate, I shall be happy with what I'm left with. 

I really hope I don't hit up the after-Christmas sales and fill that 11th box again. But I'm really going to try. I promise. I really do.

It's Not Writer's Block

No, it isn't writer's block. It's--I don't have time to write. So, it could be time block. I just don't have time. I love to grab my computer, and jot down some thoughts and ideas, just as I love to grab my kindle and read a bit. However, I am at a loss--for time. 

By the time evening rolls around and dinner is made, I'm ready to cozy up, throw a blanket on my lap, watch some TV, and knit. But, instead, the thought of thinking hurts my brain. It's a problem, though, that needs to be fixed. I need to write. It's how I process; without it, I will eventually crash and burn. And nobody wants to see that.

Without this way of processing, my thoughts tend to pile up like a wreck on a foggy night on the freeway. Get the picture? As each story of my day or week goes by without an outlet, my brain begins to overcrowd. Things get messy up there, and pain (also known as emotions) begins to back up. I truly never realized how much I depended upon this outlet of writing and how important it is to me.

My goal now is to write about something going on in this brain of mine. I want to put my thoughts down and rid myself of this backlog of emotions. I find that by just grabbing my laptop and writing--poof. Brain drain commences. It's incredible--this way of downloading my innermost thoughts. It's like jumping into a pool on a hot summer day. Refreshing is the word I'd use. I need to be refreshed weekly, if not daily. 

So, there you have it, my first of many brain dumps. I promise to start the week off right-- brain dump at least once weekly. Tell my stories, share my thoughts, and make writing a part of my life again. Story by story, I'll make time for writing. I promise. 

Memories of Laura

My first real friends were my cousins. Perhaps yours were also. I have 33 first cousins. Yes, you read that correctly. I was one of the oldest, which I liked. It meant that most times, I was a ring leader, especially for the girls. Depending on which side of the family we visited determended the type of play that transpired. And just how bossy I could become!  

This particular memory is of my mother's side. I am writing about my younger cousin Laura. She was 4 or 5 years younger than me, the daughter of my mother's oldest sister. I was the oldest girl cousin and, yes, very bossy. Laura's older sister and my little sister were the same age and hung out. My job was to watch out for them as we all played together--making sure they toed the line. My relationship with Laura was a little unique as we had many things (despite our age) in common. One of which was our love for animals--primarily horses. Man, could that little girl draw! She would sit for hours drawing pictures of the most beautiful horses. I loved seeing them as I had absolutely zero drawing ability. We would sit for hours talking about horses and dogs, sharing books and movie recommendations, and loved being together. Even though several years separated us, we were very compatible. 

For many years, as I was growing up, my family would go to theirs for Thanksgiving or Christmas. My aunt always bought my sister and me little gifts that meant so much. I have such great memories.  

And then something horrible happened. My aunt, uncle, and 2 of my cousins were killed in a horrific private plane crash. Laura and her older sister were not on the plane and were left without their parents and siblings. They were only 16 and 18 years old. Laura went to live with her older sister and, in my opinion, never fully recovered emotionally from that horrific accident. 

Still, though, we remained close--the 3 of us, and lived close by each other for many years. Laura had a son and then eventually a grandson. She had her job, raised her child, and had a few friends. As the years went on, she became more and more withdrawn. She developed some major medical problems and had significant weight issues. The more weight she gained, the more of a recluse she became. When I would come back home for a family visit (from 2500 miles away), she would make excuses not to be able to join in on our cousin's family reunions. It made me so sad.

We conversed via Facebook and emails, and she even commented on my blogs. She was a faithful reader. I loved reading her posts, opinions, funny memes, and comments. Oh, how I shall miss that. You see, she passed away last week in her home of natural causes. Most likely heart failure. She was alone and seated at her desk, probably getting ready to type something funny on Facebook. Just a few hours before, she had posted funny comments on some of my grandchild's photos. And, now she's gone.

That fast, that quickly, her death sneaked up on us all. I shall miss her tremendously. However, her sister, who is now my closest cousin, my soul sister cousin, shall miss her the most. She will need loads of prayer. She now has lost her entire immediate family. Thank you, God, that she also has lots of cousins to pray for her. She has an awesome husband and three wonderful children to help her through this loss. She has great friends and a wonderful church family. And she will need them because a loss like this is a significant loss.

I will miss you, Laura. I know that if you were reading this blog, you'd be telling me not to be so sad. You would be telling me that you are happy. That you are not only with your God, but you are finally with your mom and dad, your brother and sister, and with our grandparents! You would tell me--it's ok, I'm happy. So, Laura, I will heed your words, and I'll be happy for you and take care of your sister--don't worry.

Rest in peace, sweet cousin; I shall miss you forever.

When I Was Born

When I was born, I was born into a family of three. Soon after, my little sister was born. Now we were four. And then, when I was eight years old, I found out that I had an older half-sister. So we were now a family of four and a half. Kind of. However, that's a whole other story.

I had a Granny and Paw Paw and a Grandma and Grandpa. I was closest to my Grandma, we were thick as thieves, and she was pretty much my favorite person. I also had 9 aunts and uncles, then add in their spouses and viola! 18 of them. Add their children into the mix, and before too many years went by, I had 14 cousins on my mom's side and 17 cousins on my dad's side of the family. So yes, 31 first cousins--to play with, grow up with, hang out with and learn all about those close family ties that are very important to our development. 

Let's not forget about my parent's cousins--I actually thought they were also aunts and uncles in my early years, which added to my cousin count. I was in heaven--so many little cousins to play with. So many cousins to have fun sleepovers with, share secrets with, and, yes, even fight with. We were a brood to be reckoned with, that's for sure. Hurt one cousin, hurt them all. We were a fierce bunch. It's funny that one particular cousin has become more like a sister to me. I've nick-named her my soul sister cousin. We have become very close over the years. We have each other's backs. We pray for each other, listen to each other, and try hard to see each other across the miles as much as we can. Those family ties are just that important. I don't ignore those. They are even more crucial now than ever. Memories are what I will have to hold on to in the future. So, I will work my hardest to preserve them.

Since I was one of the oldest cousins, I observed our family's growth. Many babies, lots of little ones running about, and a couple of older cousins that got us into trouble--more than a few times. I believe my best memories are those that wrap around my extended family. They were incredible times, from playing in their backyards, playing in the sprinklers, and having sleepovers. I miss them. A lot. The older I get, the more precious those memories become. I want those times back; there are things I want to say to some of them. Especially to those I've lost.  

As I've mentioned before, I was closest to my paternal grandmother--we were 2 peas in a pod. I'm told I look like her, act like her, and have the same sense of humor. That makes me proud. I wish I could have told her how much I love her. I valued those summers staying at her house, picking blackberries and making cobblers. I loved staying up late, watching TV, and laughing. I also want to tell her that I saw her cheating at poker and never said a word. She was awesome!

I have others in my family that I was close to--for example, my aunts. One died of cancer,  another aunt from a plane crash, and another from a heart attack. Gone way too soon. Sometimes, I get very nostalgic when I think of things they've missed out on. I wish they were still here. I want them to see what I've seen. Their children and grandchildren...so much loss.

And then there is the horrific loss of 2 of my nephews at ages 17 and 24 and my niece at age 6. What do you say when you think of them? How does one heal from the loss? When I dwell on what they were unable to experience in life--it is too much. To lose family creates a deep sorrow. It is an emotion that should not be visited often. Instead, I believe we should dwell on the memories--the good ones, the funny ones, the stories of our family that bring about a smile. I like to let that smile rest a bit deep inside of me and then move on.

I wonder, what will my children's memories be? Of their grandparents, aunt, uncles, cousins? Will they be bittersweet, like mine?  How different will their perspective on life be?  Will they be shaped by their memories like I was? And, will they one day look back and wonder--what should I have said when I had the chance?

I am thankful for my family--for all of them, from young to old, from the past and the present; I absolutely love the memories--from when I was born.