Navigating Grief--Part 4

No matter how hard I try to run from it, it follows me everywhere. I'm not doing a great job of navigating grief. I wake up sad most mornings. And, then, I remember. My grandson is gone. It hits like a tidal wave. I try hard to reign in my emotions, take a few deep breaths, talk myself out of crying, and get up and start my day. I do pretty well for the first hour or so. However, as reality sets in, with the help of coffee, my memory wakes up, and the tears begin to flow.

I am a planner by nature, and now planning has become the focus of my life. I plan my days away to be busy; I must keep my brain occupied. I now make plans for almost every minute of every day. It can be simple things—TV, coffee, reading, meeting up with friends—just anything to fill in the blank void of my mind and, yes, even my heart. Being busy is what I need right now to navigate my walk through grief.

Grief is strange. It's always there, a never-ending sadness that never goes away. It sneaks up on me, waits behind corners, jumps out to scare me, wakes me up at night, and invades my thoughts. When I think I feel a tad stronger, it punches me in the gut again—a never-ending blow. I am convinced this is my new normal: stay busy, prepare for the gut punch, accept sadness, get through each day, and repeat. 

What is normal anyway? A regular life? A typical life? Is that what my daughter living in now? Just what is normal? I've only lost a grandson; she's lost a son. I think sometimes what it would be like if it had been one of my own children who had died and not a grandchild. I honestly can't imagine the pain worsening, but would it be? Could it be? How much pain is a person supposed to endure? What is considered the normal amount of pain for loss? My heart is breaking, and my pain is not dissipating. It's now been five months. Will it be like this in five years? Will I be able to go on like this? Sometimes, I don't think so. 

And now, Christmas is here. I am looking at our Christmas tree, all decorated with lights and ornaments. Our entire house looks like Christmas. We have lights, villages, and lots of European Christmas market decor; it's festive. I thought it would help. It doesn't, but not decorating our home would have made it worse. Here I sit, riding another emotional roller coaster. I'm waiting. Waiting to see if somehow, someway, my spirits are lifted. 

I am praying again. I'm not as mad at God as I was a month ago. He and I are coming to an understanding. He is in control, and I just need to understand that. I need to accept it. Bah humbug. I don't want to. I do believe that as I navigate all this horribleness, I will grow in my faith. I have to believe that to survive this. My questions for God this week are--will I survive this? Am I navigating this correctly? Will I do all this grief stuff correctly? Will my daughter? Will we grow closer to God? Will we make it? Will God forgive me for being so mad at Him? So many questions for God. As if He doesn't already know my heart, right? 

I am trying. I really am. I am not isolating; I am sharing my feelings and staying in touch with friends and family. I don't hold back. I'm doing all the steps for healing, growing, using the tools, etc. 

I am navigating. Sort of. I am trying hard. 

Last Year

A lot can happen in a year. Your life can change instantly, never to be the same again. That's what happened to me and my family. Last year, we celebrated Thanksgiving with all 16 family members, including 8 grandchildren. This year, one person is missing: our grandson Jack. Last year, I was looking forward to the holidays. This year, I am not. 

Everything changed so quickly. I still haven't been able to catch my breath. This year, my grandson Jack will not be here with us. Just the thought of it is horrific. You see, no one told me he wouldn't be here. I didn't even get time to prepare myself. Last year, I didn't get to say--well, this is our last holiday season together, so let's make the most of it. I just took it for granted that he'd be here--celebrating. Instead, he is in heaven. I am very thankful and grateful for that. I know he is happy with God, and I look forward to the day we will see each other again. However, we (as a family) are having a challenging time with his death. We want him back. We miss him. It's hard. 

We will still have our dinners, watch movies, go shopping, and eat out—all the usual holiday activities. But without Jack, these activities aren't normal. They are now abnormal—as in, not fun. We miss him. 

Now, when I set the table, there is one vacant seat—one person is missing. When I go shopping and see things he'd love, I can't buy them. And restaurants? We don't want to go without him when looking for that favorite restaurant. I mean--we are all about food. Just how are we supposed to navigate that? It's so hard. How do we enjoy life again without him?

I have gone through the motions of living out this holiday season. I have decorated my home. I have made the family favorites for dinner. I have baked the pies and roasted the turkey. However, my heart is with Jack. I want to just sit and talk with him, and he's not here. And because of that, I have concluded that, at some point, I need to make some changes in my life. I need to spend more time with each grandchild--talking, laughing, and sharing. They need to feel special (and they are). They need to know how much I love them. I do all these things for them, too, and not just Jack. They are all so unique and loved and cherished. 

So no, things will not ever be the same again. It will not be like all the years past. Things are different now. There are future years yet to be determined. And I promise to make each one special so that this time next year, I might feel just a little bit of joy and maybe even more joy each year after that. So, no, it's different from last year. It's this year. A new year. I know that is what Jack would want. He'd like all of us to finish enjoying our lives here on earth for as long as God wants us here. So, I will. I'll do it for him. 

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.