Year Two

This has been a long, hard year. We have now been without Jack for two years. I had hoped it would feel better, a little easier to breathe, a little less crying. However, it hasn't been that way at all. The breathing is still hard, the crying is still going on, only I've learned to hide it better. I don't want to bring others down or make every day all about me. So, I hide it and say, "I'm good, how are you?' 

Actually, it isn't all about me. It's really all about him. How much we all miss him, and want him back here with us. I'm very selfish; I want my grandson back. I've never known that such heartache was even possible. It's always with me, always here, always. Weighing me down, hurting my heart, and making me sad. The only thing I do is try to outrun it. I stay very busy. Going, going, busy, busy. 

This past weekend was bittersweet for our family. That word never really meant much to me before. It does now, though. It means a lot because it explains a lot. Jack died just a few days before his little sister's birthday. So, as a family, we celebrate her. And, as a family, we mourn the loss of Jack. Bittersweet, two-fold. We all hate it. We want to make it a special day for our granddaughter. Taking her out to eat, shop, laugh, and have fun, and then reality sets in. We wish Jack were here. But he's not, so we do the best we can. 

We arrived at our daughter's house this past Friday afternoon, unpacked, and went to our favorite Mexican restaurant. We had a birthday to celebrate! Our granddaughter was turning 21. We had them bring out that big, beautiful sombrero, and we all sang and clapped for her, my granddaughter. The entire restaurant was involved. And oh yes, I got pictures. Lots of them. We had fun that night. We laughed. And that was important for healing. This wound we all carry around in so many different ways is still here. I really wish that it would just heal up. It's so hard, so painful, and so debilitating. I hurt for my family.

Saturday, we took our granddaughter shopping for her birthday. We put on our party-shopping faces, our let's-have-fun faces, and our let's-eat-fun-food faces, and away we went. Yes, it was hard. However, periodically, we'd laugh and have fun. And that's an important step for us all. 

Sunday was a little harder; we shopped for food, BBQ'ed the ribs (well, my son-in-law did), made sides, and all of Jack's good friends came over. All the while wishing it was just a regular old BBQ, without thinking about the whys that we were all together. My grandson was fortunate. He had a great group of friends. They are the kind that show up. They came to the hospital, came to the house, brought flowers and food, came to the funeral, and came back to the house afterward. They helped with anything we asked. They are amazing. And every few weeks, those boys show up, and they have dinner with my kids. I hope they know how much that means to them. To keep in close contact with those kids, those friends of Jack's, we even pretend, for a short time, that Jack is in there with them, laughing away. We feel him during those times. We made it through Sunday; we were exhausted afterward, and the adrenaline from that day was just crazy. I think we all pretty much collapsed that evening. 

The real challenge, though, was Monday. The exact date, the 13th, the 2-year date, and the "on this day" date. It was hard. I felt like a clown juggling balls. I wanted to keep their attention —again, with shopping and eating — you know the drill. I think I succeeded; others may disagree. I tried, though, I really tried really hard. I just wanted everyone to be happy again.

So, yes, we survived. And I am praying hard that as each year passes, it gets easier for us all. I just want the broken-heart feeling to be a little less acute. A little less pain, and just more love. We all loved him so much. 

Yes, I'm praying for that day. The day when we can all say, "Not my will, but your will be done, God." 

I need to accept this. this change in our lives, this new way of living. I hope in some small way, it changes my heart and makes me a better friend, grandma, mom, wife...I hope it changes me, I really do. And I hope that it makes me a better follower of Jesus. 

Grandma's Jobs

My 17-year-old granddaughter was surprised by something that her grandpa told her. He mentioned a job that I had years ago. She was dumbfounded. Grandma, did that? I didn't know. So, I decided to tell my grandkids about my life before them, job-wise, that is.

To begin with, I started at about 15 years old with a non-paying job. As I've mentioned before, I was into horses, had 2 of my own, and used to ride and show. Well, at the academy that I attended, we had a veterinarian and a horse farrier. Oh, those poor men. I followed them everywhere. I asked, of course, and, being the quiet type, they always said yes. They let me tag along. I wanted to know everything the vet was doing. From worming to vaccinations, I wanted to watch. I also wanted to become a vet one day. That didn't happen, however, something else did. 

In between the something else, I had an under-the-table job. I was paid cash. My father owned his own business and let me work as a receptionist in his office on the weekends. I was paid $100 per weekend. I loved it. Mall money!

My next job, which was my absolute dream job, was working in a veterinarian's office. I worked in the back office, where I handled the dog stuff. All of it. I cleaned the cages and dog runs, held the dogs for their shots, and helped out in surgery. I did this for about a year, and still, vet school was on my mind. Unfortunately, money was not in my future, so I had to find another job. 

I began work in a podiatrist's office. I had experience working in the back office (x-rays, surgery, etc.), which is what I was hired for. I really liked that job; I had a great boss, and I earned my X-ray technician license. All paid for by him. Like I said, great boss. It was interesting work; again, I took X-rays, assisted in surgery, and learned a lot of medical jargon. I was sad when I had to quit my job, but a little baby girl was about to be born. I worked there until I was 8 months pregnant. 

Thus began my stay-at-home mommy years. It wasn't until my last little one began kindergarten that I decided that I wanted to go back to work. It was kind of funny, actually. We were out shopping one day at the local mall, and as we were walking through a big department store, my husband said, "I could see you working here." I had never worked retail, but I sure knew my way around the mall. So, I interviewed, got the job, went through customer training, and began working part-time while my kids were in school. I did that for 7 years. I loved it. I would have worked for free. Being able to help people with picking out clothes for vacations, etc., well, it was my dream job. I was and still am a master shopper. I was made for that job.

At the end of my mall dream job, it was time for me to get serious. I had, at that point, only finished two years of college and 3 1/2 years of Bible college (can't forget that), so my education needed to be addressed. And, back to school I went. I thought I loved retail. Well, I loved college even more. I loved learning, and I absorbed it like a sponge. I loved being with the kids and felt like I was there to protect them and pray for them. I ended up with 2 majors and 3 minors, and I would still be going if I weren't so old.

My jobs after that were working in counseling, working with rape survivors, and the mentally, physically, and sexually abused. It did take its toll on me. I was ready to retire. I needed to "air out my brain". I could only hear so much before I had to call it quits.

I'm glad I fulfilled my passions in each of these jobs. I felt useful and full of knowledge. I would not change anything about my job experience. I learned so much and had a great, fulfilling work life.

My next job after that was to be the best grandma ever. I spoil my grandkids, take them shopping, and feed them rubbish. I love it. And, I hope they do too.