I have had a really rough last two weeks or so. Starting with the passing of my grandmother, the week at work was stressful enough and I climbed into this chasing an emotional plateau. I could not stabilize myself emotionally and took it out on the people closest to me (Kevin took the brunt of it bless him) and unfortunately my Facebook wall took a beating. Sorry guys.....
All that I wanted was what my grandmother was a constant supplier of- affection. Emotionally saturated love. Things have been good with Kevin and I. But I pushed him- asking for more and more and more. And that was something that he just could not give. I picked fights when there was none to be had just so that he would have to console me. I could feel him wearing thin, but he did not waiver. Yet he was not fulfilling my irrational need for him to fill that void that was unfulfillable. I could not understand why they did not understand why everything was wrong. Everything anyone said, did, or tried to do- wasn't right. I was constantly angry, or sad. I have been a mess.
The funeral was amazing. It was shockingly hard for me to get through. My mother was my rock. She was comforting me at a time when she was facing the second hardest loss that she has ever gone through. She held me as I sobbed and my brother reached around my dad and held my arm as I clutched onto her for stability. That is just how our family is.
We are so large that we all could not fit on the front row, and we started to move chairs because we all just wanted to be together- as I sat behind my whole family with my parents and my brother I looked at how they all supported each other. One making the other smile, or my youngest cousin taking her brother's head in her hands and placing it on her shoulder as he began to silently sob. As one of my cousins began to struggle to breathe in between her sobs I pulled my chair closer to the back of hers and tightly wrapped my arms around her shaking body from behind and whispered into the back of her hair, "Breathe, just breathe. Breathe." until she calmed down. I know how it feels to not be able to breathe. To not be in control of your own body and not know why nor be able to stop it. I also know that there was someone there the first time that happened to me to hold me tight and help me breathe. Our family amazes me daily.
Wednesday, October 31, 2012
Wednesday, October 24, 2012
A picture is worth.....what? Venting!
I need to vent, and I need to vent fast.
Photos are my thing. I love pictures and the value that they hold. People take photos of happy times, to remember the smell, the light, the joy of a memory. People take photos of not so happy times. To remember a fleeting moment, gone too soon, never to be had again but wanting to be stricken in the books as having happened.
I have said before, and I will say until I die- I can not stomach when people say things like "Oh delete that one..." or "Oh that looks horrible!" or the evil, disgusting phrase that I have grown to despise, "No, no, don't take a picture of me."
Guess what?!?! There will be a day that no more pictures will be taken of you, and it is because you will be GONE. Then what? What are your loved one's supposed to remember you by? Your....clothes hanging in your closet? Your... art hanging on the walls? What?! If I didn't have photos of my Grandy- how would I remember that he resembles Elvis when he is not smiling, and that when he was smiling, it could stop anyone in their tracks. How would I remember the smell of the shop on his 'uniform' white shirt that he is wearing in so many of the photos that I have. I can almost hear his laugh when I see a photo of him in his happiest place, with us grandchildren. How would I be able to hold on to all of that love and all of that if I had nothing to look at, nothing to listen to, nothing to have and to hold? If I did not have photos and video of my Aunt Cheri, how would I remember that she was the most sassy and classy dressed woman that you would ever meet? That she always had her makeup done perfectly, and that she loved huge gold jewelery. How would I remember the sound of her singing loud to anything Mariah Carey in the middle of the living room if there was not evidence that it happened?
Yes, memories are good and fine- if you have a good one but if you are like me and do not then pictures will help me one day tell a story that I can not so easily remember. What if I want to tell my children about a grandfather that they will never get to meet? About my father's father and how he taught me to live off of the land. I can show them, there are hundreds of photos of him with us in the garden, or naked running around in the sprinkler on a hot day. I can see in a photo, his watchful eye, and almost hear his country accent saying my name in a firm tone as to say, "Amber, stop that." I can smell the Irish Spring soap on his skin when I am posing beside him in a family photo. All because I can see him. I can see his face. I can see his balding head, I can see his bowed legs. I can see him.
Maybe not every picture of my aunt, or my grandparents is perfect. Maybe their eyes are slightly closed, or their meds made them look 'puffy', maybe their hair was messed up, or maybe they had NONE. I certainly do not care a stitch if I look horrible, if there is a picture of me alive and well- I am good. At least my loved ones will have something to remember me by since none of us are guaranteed a second chance and tomorrow is not promised either.
Photos are my thing. I love pictures and the value that they hold. People take photos of happy times, to remember the smell, the light, the joy of a memory. People take photos of not so happy times. To remember a fleeting moment, gone too soon, never to be had again but wanting to be stricken in the books as having happened.
I have said before, and I will say until I die- I can not stomach when people say things like "Oh delete that one..." or "Oh that looks horrible!" or the evil, disgusting phrase that I have grown to despise, "No, no, don't take a picture of me."
Guess what?!?! There will be a day that no more pictures will be taken of you, and it is because you will be GONE. Then what? What are your loved one's supposed to remember you by? Your....clothes hanging in your closet? Your... art hanging on the walls? What?! If I didn't have photos of my Grandy- how would I remember that he resembles Elvis when he is not smiling, and that when he was smiling, it could stop anyone in their tracks. How would I remember the smell of the shop on his 'uniform' white shirt that he is wearing in so many of the photos that I have. I can almost hear his laugh when I see a photo of him in his happiest place, with us grandchildren. How would I be able to hold on to all of that love and all of that if I had nothing to look at, nothing to listen to, nothing to have and to hold? If I did not have photos and video of my Aunt Cheri, how would I remember that she was the most sassy and classy dressed woman that you would ever meet? That she always had her makeup done perfectly, and that she loved huge gold jewelery. How would I remember the sound of her singing loud to anything Mariah Carey in the middle of the living room if there was not evidence that it happened?
Yes, memories are good and fine- if you have a good one but if you are like me and do not then pictures will help me one day tell a story that I can not so easily remember. What if I want to tell my children about a grandfather that they will never get to meet? About my father's father and how he taught me to live off of the land. I can show them, there are hundreds of photos of him with us in the garden, or naked running around in the sprinkler on a hot day. I can see in a photo, his watchful eye, and almost hear his country accent saying my name in a firm tone as to say, "Amber, stop that." I can smell the Irish Spring soap on his skin when I am posing beside him in a family photo. All because I can see him. I can see his face. I can see his balding head, I can see his bowed legs. I can see him.
Maybe not every picture of my aunt, or my grandparents is perfect. Maybe their eyes are slightly closed, or their meds made them look 'puffy', maybe their hair was messed up, or maybe they had NONE. I certainly do not care a stitch if I look horrible, if there is a picture of me alive and well- I am good. At least my loved ones will have something to remember me by since none of us are guaranteed a second chance and tomorrow is not promised either.
Saturday, October 20, 2012
I. Hate. Cancer
The cancer finally claimed my grandmother. She has fought this demon for 14 years. The year after she was diagnosed her daughter died of breast cancer after 6 months. But she fought on for her family. We have seen her bald, we have seen her sick, we have seen her healed. Cancer lived in her, yet we were given 14 more amazing years full of memories, forgiveness, and a whole ton of love. Enough of that talk, that ugly disease deserves none of my words.
The last time I saw my grandmother was last Tuesday night. She was admitted in the hospital that Monday morning and stayed overnight for testing. The found that she had tumors and that there were options, they sent her home with the full intention that she would return the next week for Chemo....to fight- again. She came home to her house that Tuesday night, where I was staying with Tiffany so I was there and we sat on the couch and talked. We had grown apart several years prior to this one so it was the greatest gift that I have been given in a long time, to have those several hours with her- just like we used to be. We held hands and she 'hugged' my arm as we sat side by side on her couch in the living room where so many of my fondest memories were made. She rested her head on my shoulder and she kissed the back of my hand and we just talked.I am so blessed that point in time will be my last memory of her. Just how we were.
The rest of the week went by and on Saturday (one week ago) she was not feeling well again and was admitted to the hospital Sunday morning. She would be rushed into emergency surgery to remove a large portion of her cancer stricken organs and she was on her way to recovery by Wed/ Thursday and was even moved out of ICU by Friday night. She was going to beat this, again.
Saturday morning I awoke to my second massive migraine in as many days, but I took some meds and started cleaning. There were things to be done. There were children to be shuttled here there and to Homecoming festivities everywhere. Since her admittance into the hospital this last time, we have all taken shifts staying with Tiffany and making sure she gets where she needs to be in an as normal schedule as possible.
My phone rang, it was my dad. He told me to get dressed. He was coming to get me. I asked Why. He said, get dressed.
I knew.
There was no way that my father would have called me if something terrible hadn't happened. And it had. I called everyone I could think of to try to hear the words that I needed to hear. I needed someone to tell me. I called my 16 yr old cousin to see if her mother, my aunt was home- I could tell that they (the kids) did not know yet....so I played it off and kept calling others. I needed someone to tell me the truth. I was not one of the kids, I am no longer needing to be protected. I needed to know. I finally called my mother, thinking back now I am not sure why I didn't call her first. She told me. She told me the words that I needed to hear. The words that I already knew in my heart. I yelled, "What?! WHY?!" But I knew why. Her body was tired, her heart was weak and she was ready to go Home.
My dad picked me up and drove my numbly to the hospital. I asked him when, he didn't know. I asked him if she was still in a room, he didn't know. My meds had made me loopy and I was nodding in and out. As soon as we arrived, I all but RAN to the elevators and went up, my brother was waiting for me there. He lead us to the room. I went right in, there was no hesitation. This was not my first time seeing....that. It was not her. She was not there. I sat with my mother and held my grandmother's hand. We stroked her hair and told her things. But she was not there. I know no one person who loves her Lord more than my grandmother does. I told my mother that I imagined her; loud as ever, HAPPY as ever, and healthy as ever- running into the arms of Jesus when He called her Home. That's who she was, that is who He made her to be. She was larger than life. No doubt she ran up to Him, yelling "Here I am!!" and rejoicing, HAPPY, laughing, singing, just like she was with us, but a million times moreover.
She was never afraid to die, she was ready and she told us that all the time. She would miss us- no doubt. But she was ready to be with her Father in Heaven. And all of the ones who were waiting for her there. Her parents, the love of her life- my Grandy, her daughter Cheri, Kenny, her best friend Jane......
She was an amazing woman and will be greatly missed. She taught us about faith, love, and laughter. She was the tree trunk that brought our family to life and held us together. She taught us how to love and how to prosper as a family unit so that one day- this day...We could go on after she was gone from our arms.
The last time I saw my grandmother was last Tuesday night. She was admitted in the hospital that Monday morning and stayed overnight for testing. The found that she had tumors and that there were options, they sent her home with the full intention that she would return the next week for Chemo....to fight- again. She came home to her house that Tuesday night, where I was staying with Tiffany so I was there and we sat on the couch and talked. We had grown apart several years prior to this one so it was the greatest gift that I have been given in a long time, to have those several hours with her- just like we used to be. We held hands and she 'hugged' my arm as we sat side by side on her couch in the living room where so many of my fondest memories were made. She rested her head on my shoulder and she kissed the back of my hand and we just talked.I am so blessed that point in time will be my last memory of her. Just how we were.
The rest of the week went by and on Saturday (one week ago) she was not feeling well again and was admitted to the hospital Sunday morning. She would be rushed into emergency surgery to remove a large portion of her cancer stricken organs and she was on her way to recovery by Wed/ Thursday and was even moved out of ICU by Friday night. She was going to beat this, again.
Saturday morning I awoke to my second massive migraine in as many days, but I took some meds and started cleaning. There were things to be done. There were children to be shuttled here there and to Homecoming festivities everywhere. Since her admittance into the hospital this last time, we have all taken shifts staying with Tiffany and making sure she gets where she needs to be in an as normal schedule as possible.
My phone rang, it was my dad. He told me to get dressed. He was coming to get me. I asked Why. He said, get dressed.
I knew.
There was no way that my father would have called me if something terrible hadn't happened. And it had. I called everyone I could think of to try to hear the words that I needed to hear. I needed someone to tell me. I called my 16 yr old cousin to see if her mother, my aunt was home- I could tell that they (the kids) did not know yet....so I played it off and kept calling others. I needed someone to tell me the truth. I was not one of the kids, I am no longer needing to be protected. I needed to know. I finally called my mother, thinking back now I am not sure why I didn't call her first. She told me. She told me the words that I needed to hear. The words that I already knew in my heart. I yelled, "What?! WHY?!" But I knew why. Her body was tired, her heart was weak and she was ready to go Home.
My dad picked me up and drove my numbly to the hospital. I asked him when, he didn't know. I asked him if she was still in a room, he didn't know. My meds had made me loopy and I was nodding in and out. As soon as we arrived, I all but RAN to the elevators and went up, my brother was waiting for me there. He lead us to the room. I went right in, there was no hesitation. This was not my first time seeing....that. It was not her. She was not there. I sat with my mother and held my grandmother's hand. We stroked her hair and told her things. But she was not there. I know no one person who loves her Lord more than my grandmother does. I told my mother that I imagined her; loud as ever, HAPPY as ever, and healthy as ever- running into the arms of Jesus when He called her Home. That's who she was, that is who He made her to be. She was larger than life. No doubt she ran up to Him, yelling "Here I am!!" and rejoicing, HAPPY, laughing, singing, just like she was with us, but a million times moreover.
She was never afraid to die, she was ready and she told us that all the time. She would miss us- no doubt. But she was ready to be with her Father in Heaven. And all of the ones who were waiting for her there. Her parents, the love of her life- my Grandy, her daughter Cheri, Kenny, her best friend Jane......
She was an amazing woman and will be greatly missed. She taught us about faith, love, and laughter. She was the tree trunk that brought our family to life and held us together. She taught us how to love and how to prosper as a family unit so that one day- this day...We could go on after she was gone from our arms.
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