Those who know me well will report that I am usually stoic. I have often wondered if I “stuffed” emotion as a youth, or has the fear of being too emotional created my stoicism as an adult. Perhaps a combination of all my experiences.

Maybe my self reflection will help my granddaughters some day. I recall when a dear family friend died. I was probably 13 or 14 years old. Sitting on our living room couch I watched the hearse come to the neighboring home. I sat very still and decided if I could make it through this experience without crying, I could get through anything. Now I wonder why it wasn’t ok for me to cry. I remember coming home from school on many occasions and finding my mother in her bedroom crying. Now I recognize the signs of her serious depression, followed by Alzheimer’s. I decided I would not like to be like my mother. I’m still slightly offended when someone says I look like her.

Throughout my adult life I could put on an acceptable public face. Tough ‘ole broad…one client said! Today I have to face the possibility of being without my husband of over 51 years. My emotions are raw. For whatever reason, I have decided that this must be faced by me with complete emotional honesty. I am painfully aware I do not want to lay my emotional burden on those who either don’t care or are not affected by my eventual loss. But I choose to feel my hurt, pain, anger, and deep sorrow. Bring on the tissue!

If I believe in an eternity…..
If I believe in a God…..
If I believe that He “possibly”, “could have”, or “might have” sent His son to live on earth to die for my sin…..
If I believe that God cares about me….

If, just if, any of this is true, then I am….

Responsible for my actions
Justified in being human
Strong because of my creator
Forgiven because He has pardoned my sin

My inadequacies are filled by God’s abundance.

Youth rarely considers the concept of death. The older we are, the more likely our passing from this life will become very real. Some fret, panic and fear. Others may welcome the relief of death.

I live with a very different man. He has overcome multiple health issues, always with a drive to live life at its’ fullest. He has never considered death an option. Heart transplant, gallbladder, thyroid, and multiple cancer surgeries….nothing has sent him the message….you are not going to live forever! Even when he had no voice box, he learned to speak again. There was always a way around, the adventure was the challenge.

Pain. Until recently he didn’t even understand what others felt. Cancer is the killer. Watching my husband fall into the depths of cancer pain, I am torn apart. My reality is this: I hurt for him. However, I also have very selfish emotions. What am I going to do without my husband of over 51 years? We were teenagers when we married. Life has not been easy, the relationship not always rosy, but we always knew we were meant to be together. Like magnets, in a crowd, we were drawn to each other. If we saw one another heading two different ways in our own car….it was a treat to see one another and wave. We each agreed that pulling into the garage was special when the other’s car was already there.

Yesterday. A conversation with one of the doctors led us both to face reality. There isn’t much more medicine can do to stop the cancer. One last effort to maybe slow the cancer, put off death a little longer. But, how long? I know others have gone through what we are facing…..time and time again. This time, however, it’s US. I commented yesterday that he was going to leave and I had to pick up the pieces. Then I felt so selfish. How could I be so crass? He’s in pain and miserable. One time I had asked him “what will I do without you?” and his reply was simply “you will be a gracious and strong woman”. Well, wasn’t that a nice thing to say? Except yesterday as I had my first good cry, I blurted out the same selfish question “what am I going to do without you”……his reply was “well figure it out”! THEN it dawned on me; he was facing his own death and going through some normal stages. He’s angry.

Now I get it. We all face our own demise. Alone. Or alone with our Heavenly Father. I cannot walk this road with my husband, he has to go this one alone. Death come a’knockin’. Or, maybe this will be another act of defying death. This is God’s plan, and I’m along for the ride.

Oh My Goodness….She’s 18!

My oldest granddaughter is now 18. This is a case of “I remember”! I remember the day you were born. Grandpa and I drove to Seattle to celebrate your birth—before you were born. Standing around the hospital hallways, we were with your other grandparents. It was quite a party! Occasionally your Dad would peek his head out of your Mom’s room, give a report, and go back to be with her. We waited and waited. All of us now joke that you liked your warm and cozy home, and there was certainly no need to hurry into the cold, cold world! And take your time, you did!

As Grandpa was walking down the hallway he heard your first cry. Of course, Grandpa cried. It was the beginning Allie….beginning of how we loved you. From the beginning you were beautiful. We were not prejudiced….you have always been beautiful. Now you are tall, thin and blond. Pretty smile, lovely blue eyes.

In hindsight, all of us wish we could have identified who you were much more quickly. Autism is one of the cruelest conditions for so many children. And yet, in spite of your handicap, you are happy and cheerful. You like a quiet, controlled environment. Maybe there is a part of me that deeply understands you. I don’t like social interaction, need everything around me in order, and my brain doesn’t function as well when there are too many things going on at once. The other part of you, darling Allie, is how smart you are. If there is anything to learn about science, the universe, or space….you have read it, and retained it. Then repeat it verbatim! We marvel at how you think.

Allie, while you lived with us we learned so much about you and other autistic children. We have read all the books, talked with every counselor and teacher. Every teacher loves you. Your achievements are exciting. We loved to see you do well in school. Math and Science….a snap! We watched you thrill at good grades, and agonize at low scores. You learned how to organize and arrive on time. Well, it was always a challenge to get you out of the shower. Some things may never change…I was sure your Dad would never figure that one out!

Our greatest joy is when you voluntarily give us a hug. We know you love us. I believe, with all my heart, that someday you will find yourself. The world is waiting for you and your special skill. Allie, we have always loved you as our granddaughter, but we love you as a special joy to our lives. I pray God’s protective hand will always be on you, guiding you to Him.

MOIRA….what a girl!

Moira is my youngest granddaughter. What a gorgeous, delightful finale! Moira is alive, feisty, strong, opinionated, determined, smart, and now she’s 6. Nothing gets by this bundle of energy. She picked up language skill quickly and I have to believe she started out running, not walking. Perhaps it was the need to keep up with her older sister, or perhaps to out-do her sister.

When Moira visits us we have determined that a list of “things to do” works very well to satisfy her energy. Usually the first project is the art room. “Let’s paint”….and off we go. I’m always amazed at her painting and color choices. Of course the day has to include the skooter, going to the top of the hill, and taking the ride down. Unnerving to a grandmother….but Moira has no second thoughts about the thrill. While driving with me, tucked into the back seat of my sports car, she said “hmmm…that was like a massage Grandma”….after I had taken a turnabout with a little zest. Then, she assured me she didn’t want me to die, but when I did, could she have my car? Now this girl thinks ahead.

This darling girl is beautiful. Lovely hair, styled in a long bob. Occasionally it’s in a braid or pony tail. Her Mom loves everything “girly” so Moira will occasionally sport a few pink and highlighted streaks. Spunky lassie! She is quick to give hugs to her Grandfather and me. Every hug is accompanied with a cute little kick of the heel. It must be the princess in her. Moira knows every princess movie, sings the songs, knows the lines ahead of time. She loves her American Girl doll, but probably more love goes to her giraffes. Big ones, little cuddly ones. Pictures of giraffes, birthday cakes decorated appropriately, or anything that resembles a giraffe.

Moira’s bedroom is decorated in a Noah’s Ark theme. Why she picked out a giraffe….I don’t know. I would like to think that she saw the giraffes in my bathroom and decided it was “the thing”! It’s what started my collection of giraffe pictures, stamps and stickers. If an art project has a giraffe, it’s complete.

My darling bright, blue eyed, granddaughter. I love you more than words can ever express. I need your energy around me. It’s this Grandmother’s desire that you live a life filled with adventure and goals that are met. More than that, I want you to know Jesus Christ as your personal Savior. He will guide you and grant you peace in your life.

Recently I read a quick blurb that said “Sometimes when I open my mouth, my mother comes out”. If and when my children read this they might have a different memory of me, however, I don’t think I can even remember what my mother would have said.

Mom was not very verbal. She was stunningly beautiful. Rarely did I have a conversation with her. However, in my memory, she had opinions. Why can’t I remember what she said? Dad was five years her senior and he seemed to always have a speech for every opinion. Maybe mom let him “rule the roost” because of his age…or was it a choice? Or was it her inability to communicate. She was only 16 when they married and they lived to celebrate nearly 64 years of marriage. Dad was incredibly thoughtful of her—she really was spoiled by him.

I do not remember anything my mom taught me. Nor do I remember any discipline that she imparted upon me. She was an example of being a lady, acting always with kindness and thoughtfulness. Mom always looked lovely. Hair and makeup in place—always. While I have always struggled with my weight, she was tall and thin. She made it very clear that she expected me to be thin as well. I do remember one picture of myself very thin—and she commented that this was “the one she liked”. Ouch, to the core.

My mother lived the last ten years of her life with Alzheimers. I have a very clear memory of a telephone call with her and I realized I would never have a meaningful conversation again with my mom. She was mentally and emotionally gone. I have frequently wondered if there were signs of her illness long before any of us identified the problem.

Nevertheless, even as a child, I remember my Dad and the things he taught me. School work that he helped me with, theories we discussed, insight he shared with me. Even now, my husband will say “sometimes when you open your mouth, your father comes out”. I may have some physical resemblance to my mother, but there’s probably a little more of my Dad that is repeating itself in me. Hmmmmm……

I have finally faced my reality………..I am a social misfit. Here’s the definition:

“A person who is different from other people and who does not seem to belong in a particular group or situation.”

Yup, that is me. I have played the game, pretended and put on a good face. But there are those occasions (and probably much too frequent) when the real me enters stage right. Now that I have come to this truth I have been thinking back to how this happened.

Raised by a mother who was an A plus introvert, a father who was a social butterfly but catered to my mother, and then me, trying to please them both. I’m probably still confused. As a student I was known as being straight forward, perhaps honest. Friends were few, but close. There was never one moment of hesitation when asked my opinion. Or in the classroom, I had the answers. And freely shared. Early beginnings paved the way to being a social misfit.

There is no memory of direction and counseling on “how to be accepted in a group”. It was more important to be truthful. What if someone had said to me “be careful what you say in public, because you don’t want to offend someone”. Well, of course, over time I figured it out. The looks of horror on the recipient’s face…………..oh yes, I could tell what I had done. But deep down I knew the truth…and eventually it would come out.

As an adult I sit on boards, committees, attend fancy functions……..and I am a misfit. The truth comes bubbling out. I try hard, I really do. But the truth will prevail. If that was the only problem I would still be accepted. But the words blurt. Let it be understood, I love the people around me. I don’t understand, still, why truth isn’t acceptable. I want the truth from people that care about me. Because you see, I believe when I know the truth, I can accept, reject or repair. If no one tells me I have spinach in my teeth, I can’t clean it out!

There is a positive side to my handicap. When committees have concluded all their craziness, they ask me what I think. It’s usually a pretty good summary. My friends know me and they can count on me….I’m honest. All disagreements can be addressed if we’re honest.

Honesty has set me free, time and again. I’m sorry to those that have been offended. No, I’m not.

Music speaks to my soul. Sometimes it makes me smile, other times cry. Then there are those times I find it so disturbing I cannot listen. For instance, I find it difficult to listen to classical piano music. Not that I don’t like it, because I do. I am a pianist and studied classical music for most of my youth. I listen with a very critical ear. I picture myself playing the notes, experiencing all the thought processes it would take for me to play the music. It’s hard work. I cannot relax with it. For the most part, at this stage of my life, I find music that tells an encouraging story to be the most enjoyable. This evening these words came to me from a hymn that has touched so many people. Then I realized, my song is back! I have peace. My heart sings.

1. When peace, like a river, attendeth my way,
when sorrows like sea billows roll;
whatever my lot, thou hast taught me to say,
It is well, it is well with my soul.
Refrain:
It is well with my soul,
it is well, it is well with my soul.

2. Though Satan should buffet, though trials should come,
let this blest assurance control,
that Christ has regarded my helpless estate,
and hath shed his own blood for my soul.
(Refrain)

3. My sin, oh, the bliss of this glorious thought!
My sin, not in part but the whole,
is nailed to the cross, and I bear it no more,
praise the Lord, praise the Lord, O my soul!
(Refrain)

4. And, Lord, haste the day when my faith shall be sight,
the clouds be rolled back as a scroll;
the trump shall resound, and the Lord shall descend,
even so, it is well with my soul.
(Refrain)