I Miss Him

Today is a hard day. I have them often. Hard days. Days when no matter how much I try to hold in the tears, they come anyway. 

I tell my daughter to feel the feelings. To cry the tears. To remember the times of laughing, hugging, and memories. However, for me, it is almost impossible to control my emotions. They rise up when least expected. I should listen to my own advice. I can only imagine what today and tomorrow will be like for her. And that's another reason to cry. I grieve for her and all her pain. I want as a mother to absorb it all for her. My pain is bad enough, but hers? It's on another level entirely.

I miss my grandson. It is Christmas Eve, and he's not here. He should be. He should be here, getting ready to go on another one of Grandma's little adventures, no matter how crazy or dumb or silly they are. It usually involves food (ok, it always involves food), then some shopping, and don't forget the family pictures. So many pictures. My advice—take them. Take so many, because one day, it might be all you have left. 

I am that grandmother who loves being with her grandchildren. I go to baseball, soccer, and other sports activities with them, even though I don't understand them. I cheer for them and tell them how good they are. I go to piano and guitar recitals. I want to spend time with them and be a part of their lives. 

And now one is missing. One less grandson to spoil, listen to, tease, and laugh with. One less grandchild to buy presents for, to celebrate holidays with. To shop with and go to festivals with. To eat fish tacos and French dip sandwiches with. One less. 

So, today, as I sit and write, I want to hold on tight to my memories and hug them as though he is here. I want to imagine him in the next room watching TV or playing his guitar. I want to pretend he's going on and on about the prime rib we are having tomorrow. I want to remember everything—all of it.

Tomorrow, on Christmas Day, I will hold him in my heart. I will remember his sweet smile, and I will be thankful for the 22 wonderful years I had with him. And I will pray and ask God never to let me forget. To remember always to honor his life. 

As grandparents, we have been blessed with nine grandchildren. All are so very loved. We are grateful for them. My prayer is that I always show it, that I always spoil them. That I always be remembered as the crazy grandma who did and said funny things. Who took them shopping and who thought they were the best grandkids in all the world. 

I hope Jack thought and felt that way about me. I hope he knew how much he was loved. I really do. 

Merry Christmas, Jack. I miss you. 

Second Birthday

I still can't wrap my brain around the loss of my grandson. It's been 16 months since he died. We have now celebrated two of his birthdays without him — his 23rd and now his 24th. I was not able to buy him gifts, ot leave him a silly birthday greeting on his phone; however, we still celebrated him. We drove down to our daughter's house and went out that night to his favorite restaurant with his friends. A French dip sandwich at his favorite restaurant was our first mode of celebration. There were 12 of us total, 5 family members and 7 friends. What can I say, the kid was so loved. So very loved. 

Did we have a good time? Yes, we did. There was laughter, stories, remembrances, and loads of love around the table. I was pleasantly surprised that I didn't break down in tears. I was proud of myself. We made it through without tears. At least until bedtime--that time when you are all alone and you can let the tears flow. 

I like this ritual now, of going down to our daughter's house to spend his birthday with them, even though he isn't there. I can still feel him. There are so many memories. 

We were there for a few days, so we went to many of his favorite places. Eating many of his favorite foods. We went to an apple farm that his family had been going to for years. We've been before — donut-eating, cider-buying, and, of course, apples. I love these memory reenactments. I think they are good for me--for all of us. Some might disagree; however, I feel so close to him when we go to all his favorite places. He's there, walking alongside in spirit, in memories that we carry in our hearts; we all feel his presence. 

After Jack died, his friends all pitched in to buy a bench for him at a local state park where they used to hike. It sits high upon a hill overlooking the park, looking out as far as the eye can see. And, there in the distance is the little town where his favorite restaurant is located. I'm not sure if his friends knew that when they bought and placed the bench; however, it turned out that way. We hiked up the gentle hill, sat on his bench for a while, cried, hugged, and looked out to where he once stood. It was healing for me in some respects. A little anyway. There was an emotional tie. A place to remember and reflect. I could feel him smiling. 

Even though he's been gone now for almost a year and a half, to me it feels like yesterday that we lost him, and then some days it feels like he's still here with us. It's a bizarre emotional conundrum. He was such a sweet boy, so loving and kind. There are times when I feel his arm around my shoulder,  comforting me. 

Has the grief dissipated? No, it has not. Do I still cry? Yes, I do. Is the pain of loss still there? Yes, it is. Why, because sometimes I forget. Sometimes, I think he's coming to my house. Sometimes, I accidentally count him in as I get ready to host a holiday or buy gifts, or set a table. I miss his sweet face, his love of food, his funny sense of humor--all the things that made him, him. I just plain miss him. 

In a little over a week, we will again celebrate a holiday without him. It will be hard, there will be tears. However, there will also be laughter. Stories will be shared, food will be gobbled up, and our family will once again experience another level of healing and coming together. We will visit many of the same places we have in the past and say things like, "Remember when Jack..." and we will laugh. And then maybe cry a bit. We will shop together and say--Oh, he would have loved this...we will eat at a restaurant and say--Oh, he would have ordered this, for sure...yes, we will say and do those things, we will remember when, we will cry, and we will also build new memories. 

It is complicated for me to write these days, as I am very self-absorbed. Grief swirls around me, never ever far away. I walk into it. A never-lifting cloud. Most of the time anyway. Some days are better, the cloud lifts a little, the sun shines, and I forget for a while. Grief is an emotion that is very hard to pin down, as it's a shape-shifter. 

I am allowing myself to walk through this time in my life — exploring, changing, feeling, growing, and, most of all, waiting on what I do not know. I can sense change, though. 

I don't share much with friends anymore. They think I should be over it by now. So, I keep my grief to myself. I try to keep it bottled up, only to be spilled out during the dead of night, or times like this, when I can be alone and write. Writing for me is very therapeutic. I need to do it more often, but I am at a loss for words now. The words, you see, are all about grief. And that's too sad for most to handle. So, I keep it hidden, deep down inside, and open the door when I am all alone. 

I will be sharing another thing God has shown me later. It isn't the right time yet. I'll be writing about it in the future, though. I will have to. It was an eye-opener for me. A realization. It has helped me in dealing with the heartache, and that's a good thing. It may be my next blog; I don't know when I'll write about it, but it happened, and it's essential. And, it has helped me. 

One last thing — my relationship with God has changed. Not my beliefs, not my closeness, just my perception. I've never been a phony; I've always been honest, so at some point, I'll have to write about that, too. Stay tuned...

Don't Tell Me You're a Missionary

I grew up in the church. I was raised from age six on in a protestant denomination that was pretty large. It was called The Assemblies of God. And, what I am about to share, question, and ask about is going to make you mad. It isn't that I want to make anyone angry, it's that I have so many questions.

Every Sunday, we went to church as a family—a morning service and back then, an evening service. They were a little different in that in the mornings, it was a little more formal, singing, announcements, and the sermon. In the evening, a lot more singing and a lighter sermon. I truly enjoyed the evening service. I love to sing, especially about the God that I serve.

We also had a midweek service that was much more like a Bible study time. Smaller, more intimate, more studious. As a teenager, I went to a youth group. I also went on mission trips—as did my children. I'll write more about that later. 

I have gone to church my entire life. I raised my children in church, and they still go. I am proud of that. My husband and I now attend a Methodist church, and my adult children and grandchildren participate in different denominations. I am completely fine with that. I love that they go. 

I have great faith in God. I do not hesitate in my belief in Him at all. I read my Bible, I still sing my songs, I still go to church, and attend a bible study. 

So, where is my disconnect? Was I lied to? I am not asking this question about the church I attend. Please know that. I am asking about the church where I grew up and raised my children. Did they lie to me?  

You see, I have some questions about the mission trips we went on. Why did we go? We went to places like Mexico, indian reservations, Honduras, and Congo. We took food, medicine, eyeglasses, toys, midwife kits, and Bibles. We taught bible studies, held church services, and prayed for them. Why? What was the purpose? I want to know! 

We were told to pray hard for them, to show compassion, to love them, to overlook their culture, and to try hard to understand it. To meet them at their level, to try to minister to them in a way they'd listen to us, to teach them the ways of Jesus. We told them they could come to God just as they were, because He loved them and died for them. That God was good. We lied. 

Why did we lie? I don't know. That is truly my disconnect with the modern church. And, with today's so-called Christians. But we must have lied. Because now we put them in concentration camps, we tear their families apart. We don't provide clean water, enough food, or bathroom facilities. Why, because they are not as good as we are. They are brown skinned, dirty, smelly, and foreign. Ewwww, they must be bad. They must be criminals. Let's get them as far away from us as possible. Let's ship them off to countries that are similar to them. Who cares if that's not where they are from! They sure don't belong in our country! Let's beat them, rape them, kill them. That's what Jesus would do, right?

Is it? I need to know. Because if that is true, then my whole life is a lie. And, I want to rectify that lie now. It is bad enough that I am now questioning my own beliefs. But now I'm questioning yours. If you grew up like I did and can justify what is happening in our country today, then we are not the same. And you lied to me! 

I wash my hands of the people who call themselves Christians; you are not. How can I judge you? Easy. You are known by your fruit. That's in the Bible, by the way. You are known by what you do, say, how you vote, how you love, care, and minister to those who are not like you, which means white, affluent, and privileged. Are you mad at me yet? How do you think I feel? You see, I was lied to by people just like you. You have broken my heart. You have let me down. You preached to me, took me to other countries, asked for money, donations of all kinds for those less fortunate, and now…look at you! You are hypocrites. And you lied. 

So, don't tell me you are a missionary. You are a fraud. Does this make you mad? Good. You know how I feel now. Have I wasted my entire life believing in something fake? It is a question I now grapple with. Sadness, depression, and questions about people like you now dominate my prayer life. I ask God why? Why have his people betrayed his teaching and betrayed the church? Why have his people turned away from his ways and taken on such hard-hearted ways?  

What is a person like me to do? I am caught in the middle. A pariah among my people, called names, made fun of, and thrown under the bus. I am a bleeding heart liberal (like Jesus), a libtard, and woke. Woke? As in, I woke up? I now realize that I was lied to. That woke? Yes, I am woke. I woke up. 

You missionaries, you no longer fool me; I am no longer a fool. However, because I am a Christian, and I do serve God and follow his teachings, I will pray for you, for you have been led astray. You have been lied to, and you are walking in the opposite direction. You are lost. And I pray for the lost.

I wonder, though—who do you pray for?

Year One

There are always firsts for everything: the first birthday, the first Thanksgiving, the first Christmas, and all the other first holidays. And then, there is the first year. An entire year without him. Without my grandson. Yes, a whole year has now gone by. And yet, it seems like it happened yesterday. I can close my eyes, and the day he died plays like a loop in my brain. The call, the hospital, the death. It remains all too real and incredibly raw. 

Grief is horrible. Reality sets in. And one is never the same. 

This past weekend marked one year. The first year. We didn’t want our daughter and her family to face the weekend alone, so we decided to spend the week with them. Other family members came, friends of our grandson, etc. We had a nice day, sharing stories about Jack and remembering him in so many ways. So many cute stories. We had a huge BBQ and lots of great food. It was a very long day; however, when it was over, I felt that if Jack had been there, he would have loved every minute of it. His friends (who’ve now become a part of our family), his family, so much love, and so many memories—it turned into a good day after all. 

I do wish that he had been there, of course. However, I’m beginning to understand emotionally that that dream will never come true. I hate it, though, I really do. I hate it so much. I want to hug him, tell him he’s my favorite, and hear him laugh and see his smile. I guess I should be happy for the 22 years I’ve had. Maybe I’m greedy. And if I am, I’m OK with that.

So, the first year is now behind us. It’s over. It’s done. Maybe next year we’ll be able to breathe a little easier. Remember more without so many tears. Maybe. That’s what I’m praying for anyway. Not that we forget him, that will never happen, but that when we do think of him, we smile, or laugh, or just plain remember. It’s hard right now, though. Remembering brings tears, at least in my case. I seriously need to buy stock in Kleenex tissue. 

It’s been a long, sad year, and I’m glad it’s over. I want things to go back to normal for my daughter and her family. I want to see them smile, go on vacation, not live in fear, and live again. Live without sorrow. Will that ever happen? Will that be in their future? I’ve always considered myself to be living a fearless life. And now? I know I’m not. I am not fearless. I live in fear. I know that in a split second, it could happen again. There are no guarantees. I have no control over anything. So what does a person do? Well, as a Christian, I pray. I pray that God spare my family from any further pain and suffering. It’s all I can do. Trust isn’t there right now. My heart is still broken, not healed, maybe not ever. 

That’s what year one of grief looks like. Raw, sad, and fearful. I’m still holding out for hope, though. I want my heart to feel hopeful again. 

We leave to head home tomorrow. I hate leaving my daughter, I worry so much, and I never was a worrier before. My faith kept me from that. But now? Now I worry. It’s my new normal. How long will this normal last, though? That’s the question. 

The first year without our Jack. It’s, well, you know what it’s like. 

What I've Learned

 I’ve learned a lot this past year. From July to July—yes, life-changing things. 

I’ve learned that you never heal from the death of a loved one. You learn to live with the grief. It walks by your side, everywhere. 

I’ve learned that crying every day is hard, stressful, and tiring.

I’ve learned that I hide my emotions now in public so as not to upset my friends.

I’ve learned not to talk about it for fear of breaking down and crying.

I’ve learned to fake a smile; it’s not as hard as you think.

I’ve learned to say that I am fine, thank you.

I’ve learned that the first thing I remember each morning is that my grandson has died.

I’ve learned that I feel hollow inside. 

I’ve learned that not everyone cares.

I’ve learned that some care a lot. 

I’ve learned that all day, every day, I think of him.

I’ve learned that 90% of the time, I am sad.

I’ve learned that to still my sadness, I must keep extremely busy.

I’ve learned that business calms me, while it makes others nervous.

I’ve learned that I talk to God throughout the day more often now, and that must mean what it means to “pray without ceasing.” 

I’ve learned that keeping my mind busy is very important. 

I’ve learned that TV, reading, and projects must now dominate my life.

I’ve learned that sleep is my only rest.

I’ve learned that writing about it helps.

I’ve learned that I now live in a constant state of fear of losing someone I love, because now it is real. 

I’ve learned to buy boxes of tissues in packs of 4. It’s cheaper.

I’ve learned to plan away each day, so that I don’t drown in sorrow.

I’ve learned that it’s essential to walk through each stage of grief and embrace it full on.

I’ve learned not to isolate—friends are essential.

I’ve also learned the importance of family. I’ve leaned into some and moved away from others, depending on the nature of the relationship. 

And I’ve learned that sharing is crucial, because somewhere out there is someone else in pain, grieving deeply, barely holding onto God each day. Please know—I am here for you, I will pray for you, and I hope, in some small way, to encourage you to keep getting up each day. Face the hard truths of life, don’t give up. Be there for another person. Be caring, thoughtful, a listener, and a friend. 

These are just a few of the things I’ve learned about myself this past year. I hope that next year will be easier; however, I somehow don't feel optimistic about it. Does that sound pessimistic? Probably. I am being honest, though, which is why I am writing this. To be real. And to share with you what I’ve learned.

Life is hard right now. Very hard. That's what I've learned about it anyway. 

Bye-Bye, Fiona

It was time. We both felt it. Here’s our story.

Before the COVID-19 pandemic began, my husband and I decided to purchase a small travel trailer for some enjoyable camping trips. Camping here in the Midwest, though, is quite different from our time in California. We owned two campers while our kids were small. A tiny one that I found and refurbished, then sold to buy a bigger one. We have many wonderful memories of camping in coastal and mountain areas. Warm beach days to cool summer nights by the campfire.

Fast forward to moving to Ohio. Rain, rain, and more rain. We did try tent camping, as we still had lots of equipment. We tried it once. Then gave everything away. No more camping for us!

Until seven years ago, when we bought a super cute little travel trailer called a Vintage Cruiser—new but made to look old —she was the cutest thing ever! I named her Cora. Cora the Cruiser. Torquise appliances, and cute little curtains. What’s not to love? Well, size for one thing. She was a great weekend warrior, but we took her once on a two-week camping trip, and after two weeks and lots of rain, we decided to upgrade. I needed more space!

Along came Fiona. She was amazing. The best floor plan ever. Recliners, fold-out sofa bed, luxury shower, and a very nice master bedroom. We could and did go for a month at a time. For five years, we traveled from Michigan to Quebec. We went down to DC, and everywhere in between. We loved it. We pulled her with a big, beautiful Expedition and had a very comfortable time camping, or, as It Turned Out, Glamping. 

One day, though, things changed. We left for a camping trip, very excited, full of plans. It turned out to be excessively hot (we were under a heat dome), our poor little Fiona could not keep up with the heat index of over 100 degrees, and she became a hot box! So now what do we do? We had our dog with us, and we were hot and grumpy; we couldn’t keep cool, and we weren't having fun! After much discussion, we realized our camping days were coming to an end.

Neither of us wanted to give in to that mindset. Gosh darn it, we were having fun!  Weren’t we?  No, we weren’t. As we talked, we realised we had camped in all the places we wanted to, we had seen the sights, we had done the things. It was time. It's time to admit that we weren't enjoying camping. We (okay, I) wanted to drive a smaller SUV, one that I could park, and also, hotels were looking mighty good. 

So, one morning I put her up for sale and the next—she was sold. And, just like that, we were minus a travel trailer and Fiona was gone. We have so many incredible memories, countless photos, and have had countless fun times with our grandkids. However, our time as campers for now has come to an end. 

Will we ever buy another RV? Perhaps, one day. Not anytime soon, though. For now, we will travel by car or plane, and we will stay in hotels or Bed and Breakfasts. We will cherish our memories and be grateful for our camping days. 

Fiona’s new parents already love her. I’m praying for their future memories…may they be as wonderful as ours. 

While in Portugal

We had two weeks in Portugal. So many things to do, see, and eat! So, we did just that, we did everything! We started our adventure in Lisbon. We stayed in the upscale shopping area (Avenida da Liberdade), in fact a block behind Louis Vuitton, and I was not sorry. Cute little restaurants and cafes surrounded us. And also, all the major shops. We found that in Lisbon, we needed an Uber or Bolt to get around the city. It wasn't nearly as walkable as we thought it would be. So, while in our little neighborhood, we walked, and when we wanted to visit others, we Ubered. 

My favorite thing to do in Lisbon was the tuk-tuk ride. For two hours, we were hauled all over the city center, up and down curvy, tiny streets, and into neighborhoods that we would not have known existed. I loved the old part of Alfama. We stopped and took many photos. Additionally, we made note of the places we wanted to revisit and explore. We looked at pottery and tiles, visited some open-air markets, and enjoyed the small custard tarts. We got espressos, shopped, and had a blast. We heard about a place called the FX Factory, which was incredibly fun, featuring local artisans and fun eateries. I highly recommend it. 

One day, we took an 8-hour tour to the little mountain town of Sintra and visited several castles. All of which were amazing. We had lunch at a charming local spot. On our own, we might not have chosen it, but because of our tour guide, we liked it very much. I wish we had carved out more time for Sintra, though; it was adorable. 

And then, of course, as a big tourist, I had to ride tram 28. Was it worth it? Yes, it was. I never wanted to get off. It was awesome, and navigating the tight little streets was a lot of fun. We actually decided to take a few more tram rides on different trams after that. 

Lisbon offers excellent food, impressive trams, and beautiful tile.

Now on to Porto. I liked Porto better. I liked the vibe, the walkability, and the people. It was just different. 

In Porto, we rented a little apartment in the Bolhao neighborhood. It came with daily cleaning, which we appreciated, and also included a unique feature. It came with a basket breakfast! Each morning, we received a basket full of coffee, juice, protein, bread, and fruit. It was a true highlight for me. I loved it. Like opening a gift each day! What a way to start each morning. 

Porto was a great little city to walk in—lots of shops, cafes, and coffee, as well as tuk-tuks and trams. We took a river boat ride and even a gondola. For me, Porto fits my personality. With the fantastic Livraria Lello bookstore, the chandeliers in McDonald's, the Time Out Market, and everything else, we kept very busy. 

I've had many friends ask me if I'd go again. I would like to see some of the coastal towns. Who knows, maybe one day!

Portugal is a lovely, casual country. They have slippery tile, so wear sneakers! Both Lisbon and Porto have Time-out markets or food halls. Such excellent food! Both have trams, tuk-tuks, great food, and coffee. Also, I have to tell you — look for cork products. Portugal is the world's largest producer of cork. Just make sure that what you buy is made in Portugal. And don't forget actually to touch a cork tree! 

Make sure to be a tourist. After all, you are one! Own it. Ask the questions, do the things, eat the food. It's safe, and the people are super friendly. They love to talk and share their culture and worldviews. We had a wonderful time there and I'm so glad that I took as many pictures as I did. I love reliving those wonderful memories. 

My Near-Death Experience

My cousin sent me a video made by John Burke on near-death experiences. I was on vacation when I received it and forgot about it until my daughter asked me if I had seen it. I said no, and I watched it as soon as I could. It’s funny that as someone who has had a near-death experience herself, I was and still am a skeptic. Oh, how human am I?

I found it riveting and didn’t want it to stop. I wanted to hear more, much more. I could relate in a lot of ways. My experience wasn’t as dramatic as some, but it was extremely real, just the same. 

Here is my story—I was in my 40s and became severely sick. I thought I had the flu—vomiting, diarrhea, and all the regular symptoms that come with it. After five days, I became so sick that I had to crawl to the bathroom; I was too weak to walk. My husband finally insisted that he take me to the emergency room. I guess my three children were in school that day. I hate to admit that I do not remember much. I was that sick.

As we pulled into the parking lot of the hospital, he ran to get a wheelchair, as I was too sick to walk in on my own. While sitting in the waiting room, I became so ill that I slid out of the chair onto the floor and remember feeling so much better, just lying on that cold tile floor. Of course, the staff wasn’t having it. They kept telling me I had to sit in the chair, which I couldn’t. They determined that I was, in fact, very sick, so they got a gurney and took me into a treatment room. The nurse tried to get my blood pressure, she had me sit up, and then she began yelling and pushed the code button, all the while shouting orders. I lay there on that gurney feeling so glad that I finally had someone to take care of me. I guess my blood pressure had dropped to 60/30. 

I was rushed into another room, hooked up to several monitors and IV’s. 

Here’s how I remember things happening. As I was lying in the room, approximately 10 people crowded around me; some were nurses, and some were doctors. All were talking fast and moving fast. In my mind, I was not afraid at all. I wasn’t praying and asking God to take care of my family (which I thought was interesting), I was thanking him for my family, and for everything he had done in my life. I felt so much peace. I rested in his arms and felt great love and comfort. Had I died in that moment, I would not have cared at all. I wouldn’t have been sad because I knew God had complete control. 

And then it happened, I was up above everyone in the room, looking down at my body while they were all working on me. I was separated from myself. I was in a completely different dimension. I could hear everything they said, and I knew all their names. I could even hear the fear in their voices. 

The next thing I remember is waking up in a room with two nurses tending to me. I smiled and said their names. I then told them what had happened and mentioned the names of the others in the room. They called in a couple of the doctors and nurses so I could tell them. I listed the names of those attending me. One doctor was visibly shaken and left the room, returning a while later. The nurse told me I had upset her because I had listed everyone's name. I didn’t mispronounce anyone's name, nor leave anyone out. They were all very amazed and said that they had had a few other patients who had also had near-death experiences. 

That was the first time I had heard that term. Near-death. I asked my doctor—Was I near death? She said, Oh yes, had you waited even another hour to come to the ER, you would not be alive right now. We almost lost you. 

My diagnosis? E Coli. A bacterial infection. Usually not fatal. Mine had turned quite serious, though. I was severely dehydrated, and my kidneys were failing. I am very thankful that my husband was insistent that I go to the ER, and I am also grateful for my near-death experience. I have never, even to this day, experienced such peace and comfort from God. I don’t understand his reason for having me go through that, unless it was to lessen the pain and heartache that I am feeling over the profound loss of my grandson Jack. Grief has its own category. It’s a pain like no other. 

From several spiritual experiences in my life, I know that Jack is with God in heaven. I want to desperately cling to that fact. It’s not a hope for me but a fact. I know that I know he is with God. 

It’s just like God—the way he does things—that my cousin would send me a video, and I would vividly remember my own near-death experience. That’s how he works in my life—quietly and in small doses so that I can absorb and handle each life hurdle. God moments. That’s what I call them. 

Just as the Bible teaches, we see through a glass darkly. I can’t see the future, but he can and does. That’s where my trust has to kick in. It’s not that I won’t feel times of great sadness and loss, but I will also feel times of great joy. I walk with God. I always will, sometimes with my eyes and ears wide open and sometimes with them closed, and asking him to help me and lead, because I can not do this life alone without him. I wouldn’t want to, I would give up. However, with God, wow, what an amazing life! Here on earth and also in heaven. I just need to remember that!