I can't believe that it has only been three weeks since that magical night when I sat with my grandpa, drinking tea and watching the football game. I knew that our time together was precious and the moments were fleeting, but I didn't think that he would be gone so quickly.
I am thankful, however, that the kids were able to see him on one of his last good days - we showed him my IPad and he wanted to buy one on which to type his memoirs. I thought it would be a great idea to buy him a handheld voice recorder - much easier than typing, but by the time I took it out to him, only one week later, he didn't have the strength to use it. I don't think even he realized how quickly this terrible disease was going to take him Home.
He went into the hospital last Saturday (was that only five days ago?), and I had seen him Friday and Sunday, but the difference in two days was so noticeable; I knew there wasn't much time left. However, I had a vision on Saturday morning (driving home from kickboxing, of all things!), and it was of my grandma standing next to Jesus, asking, "Can he come now?", but Jesus responded, "It's not time yet" and my grandma, being patient as always, just waited.
That was such a comforting moment, not because I knew we had a few more days with grandpa, but because I realized at that point how God's timing is perfect, and He has a plan, whether we understand it or not. Some members of my family have discussed assisted suicide and how it would have been appropriate in grandpa's case, because he wanted to die, but he also believed in a God that is far wiser than we could ever hope to be, and he would have accepted whatever God was handing to him.
When I visited the hospital on Sunday he was somewhat coherent, squeezing my hand tight and asking for water when his strength would allow, and I told him that I had seen grandma with Jesus and she was waiting for him, but that Jesus said it was not yet time. The last thing I said to him was, "Grandma's waiting for you, you'll be with her soon, you're the best grandpa I could have ever hoped for. I love you grandpa," and he responded, almost in audibly, "I love you Jo." He then fell asleep and we left the hospital shortly after.
I had thought about returning to the hospital, but I think I just wanted to have my final memory of my grandpa being that quiet little, "I love you Jo.", something to hold in my heart forever.
And the thought of his reunion with his beautiful bride makes my heart happy, for he will dance with his beloved for all of eternity.
I love you grandpa.
Thursday, October 24, 2013
Wednesday, October 2, 2013
Moments in Time
We are on this planet for such a short period of time, and when we look back on our lives, there will be moments that we remember more than any other. There are moments that, when you are experiencing them, you just know they are special.
I had one of those moments on Saturday night. Elizabeth had a gymnastics practice in Sherwood Park, and rather than watching a bunch of people twirling and tumbling for two hours, I decided to go visit my grandpa. I called him up, having to cut the phone call short because he couldn't hear what I was saying, but I did know that he was thrilled that I was coming over.
As I arrived through his front door, the first thing I noticed was his new chair. Since he returned from the hospital, he has been sleeping in an old green recliner, the one that was in my grandparents' basement forever, because he was too uncomfortable sleeping flat on a bed. That chair was old and hard, and I don't know how he slept in it (apparently, not very well). His new chair, however, was like a fluffy cloud of comfort, and I could see the happiness on my grandpa's face, joy that I hadn't seen in a long time. The chair has a remote control so that he can lie back or stand up with no effort, and he said he hadn't slept so well in years.
We sat in his little room and watch the football game, eating cashews out of his big jar from Costco, and I asked if he felt like a cup of tea. He exclaimed, "I was just thinking how nice a cup of tea would be!" I boiled the water, loaded the tray with sugar and a cup, and brought it over to his chair. He sat and drank tea with a smile, and for a moment I forgot all of the stresses of the past year; it was just me and my grandpa having a cup of tea and watching the football game.
As I left, I gave him a hug as I always do, but this time he held me close for a long time. He said, "Do you remember going to the Yukon?" (I didn't, since I wasn't yet three years old.) He continued, "You sat in the back of the trailer and looked at me and waved. I have so many good memories; I have lived a good life."
My grandma often had spoken about that day that we left for Whitehorse, how I just looked at them both as we drove away. My grandma and grandpa both lived full and happy lives, their legacy continuing on with children and grandchildren and great grandchildren. The moments that they are likely remembering are the moments that truly mattered in their long lives.
And I ask myself: What are the moments that I want to remember?
I had one of those moments on Saturday night. Elizabeth had a gymnastics practice in Sherwood Park, and rather than watching a bunch of people twirling and tumbling for two hours, I decided to go visit my grandpa. I called him up, having to cut the phone call short because he couldn't hear what I was saying, but I did know that he was thrilled that I was coming over.
As I arrived through his front door, the first thing I noticed was his new chair. Since he returned from the hospital, he has been sleeping in an old green recliner, the one that was in my grandparents' basement forever, because he was too uncomfortable sleeping flat on a bed. That chair was old and hard, and I don't know how he slept in it (apparently, not very well). His new chair, however, was like a fluffy cloud of comfort, and I could see the happiness on my grandpa's face, joy that I hadn't seen in a long time. The chair has a remote control so that he can lie back or stand up with no effort, and he said he hadn't slept so well in years.
We sat in his little room and watch the football game, eating cashews out of his big jar from Costco, and I asked if he felt like a cup of tea. He exclaimed, "I was just thinking how nice a cup of tea would be!" I boiled the water, loaded the tray with sugar and a cup, and brought it over to his chair. He sat and drank tea with a smile, and for a moment I forgot all of the stresses of the past year; it was just me and my grandpa having a cup of tea and watching the football game.
As I left, I gave him a hug as I always do, but this time he held me close for a long time. He said, "Do you remember going to the Yukon?" (I didn't, since I wasn't yet three years old.) He continued, "You sat in the back of the trailer and looked at me and waved. I have so many good memories; I have lived a good life."
My grandma often had spoken about that day that we left for Whitehorse, how I just looked at them both as we drove away. My grandma and grandpa both lived full and happy lives, their legacy continuing on with children and grandchildren and great grandchildren. The moments that they are likely remembering are the moments that truly mattered in their long lives.
And I ask myself: What are the moments that I want to remember?
Monday, September 9, 2013
Rhymes With Dancer
It seems like through every stage of life there is a season. When we are in our 20s it seems like everyone we know is getting married. Then soon comes the season of children, when everyone we know is pregnant or chasing toddlers around their house. That gives way to the season of school, soon to be the season of graduation and then the season of going to the weddings of our children and their friends. Generation after generation, the seasons continue.
But there are new, sad seasons that also come with age - the season of losing grandparents. I was lucky enough that my parents were young when I was born and I had a full set of grandparents and I had two great grandparents. As I grew older, my friends started losing their grandparents, and then there was the inevitable season of moving the grandparents, and it seemed like everyone I knew was dealing with immortality in their families in some fashion.
And now I seem to be at the age where the season of cancer is dwelling like a black cloud behind a closet door. My first friend with cancer was diagnosed last week, and the prognosis is poor. I cried and prayed for her, for it was not fair - she has always given so much of herself to others. My cousins' grandma had breast cancer at 91, but sailed through a surgery and now seems to be okay. But my poor grandpa, so sad and lonely for the past few months, has now been sledgehammered with another tragedy - possible pancreatic and liver cancer.
He has taken the news well, but even at the age of 89 his mortality staring him in the face is a frightening prospect. Yes, he will see grandma soon, but he wanted to write his memoirs, and now there will be so little time. He wants more coffee time with the boys, more time with his books and maps, and more time with his precious family. I thought we would have so much more time together, but it is looking like God has a different plan.
The seasons will continue to come at astonishing velocities, as I watch my parents, now in the season of losing their own parents. I am fearful of the pain and suffering to come, which is why there is only one way to get through this mess of life - by handing it all at the feet of Jesus.
But there are new, sad seasons that also come with age - the season of losing grandparents. I was lucky enough that my parents were young when I was born and I had a full set of grandparents and I had two great grandparents. As I grew older, my friends started losing their grandparents, and then there was the inevitable season of moving the grandparents, and it seemed like everyone I knew was dealing with immortality in their families in some fashion.
And now I seem to be at the age where the season of cancer is dwelling like a black cloud behind a closet door. My first friend with cancer was diagnosed last week, and the prognosis is poor. I cried and prayed for her, for it was not fair - she has always given so much of herself to others. My cousins' grandma had breast cancer at 91, but sailed through a surgery and now seems to be okay. But my poor grandpa, so sad and lonely for the past few months, has now been sledgehammered with another tragedy - possible pancreatic and liver cancer.
He has taken the news well, but even at the age of 89 his mortality staring him in the face is a frightening prospect. Yes, he will see grandma soon, but he wanted to write his memoirs, and now there will be so little time. He wants more coffee time with the boys, more time with his books and maps, and more time with his precious family. I thought we would have so much more time together, but it is looking like God has a different plan.
The seasons will continue to come at astonishing velocities, as I watch my parents, now in the season of losing their own parents. I am fearful of the pain and suffering to come, which is why there is only one way to get through this mess of life - by handing it all at the feet of Jesus.
Sunday, September 1, 2013
Some Enchanted Evening
It has been a wonderful summer, full of activity and travels, but it has also been tough to live without the rock of our family, my grandma. Every day I think about her and every Sunday the skies open up during worship and I can feel her looking down, and I cry, happy that we sing in the dark and no one can see my tears.
I am so sad for my grandpa; I saw him today and he is so heartbroken. I don't think anyone of us can imagine what it is like to lose someone you have know for over 69 years. I was lucky enough, a couple of weeks ago, to hear him tell the story of when they met. I had heard it in pieces before, but never in so much detail, and his eyes shone as he spoke of that night.
Grandpa was in Canada on duty for England in the Second World War, and he was stationed at Penhold in early 1944. On Saturday nights, busses full of young ladies from Red Deer would travel to the base and the young ladies and the soldiers would dance the night away. One February night, my grandpa, barely 20 years old, spotted a beautiful young lady across the room and couldn't believe she wasn't dancing with anyone. He asked her to dance, and they spent the night together, dancing slowly and quickly, all of the dances of that era, and he said she was such a good dancer.
At the end of the night, she went back to the bus, and he followed, not wanting her to go, and he said it was a cold night and he didn't have a jacket on. She was wearing a big fur coat, and she opened it up and wrapped it around him. He said that was it, and he knew he would marry her. She came back in the bus every Saturday, and after 5 or 6 weeks of dancing, he asked her to marry him. Her response was, "I'll have to ask my mum", to which he replied, "Aren't you old enough to decide? Do you want to marry me?", and she said, "Yes, I think so, but you'll have to ask mum." Obviously her mother said yes, because they were married soon after, on May 12, 1944. They rest is history.
When I was younger it was my grandma with whom I had long chats, and my grandpa and I would talk about soccer or play crib. Now I just visit to sit and listen to him, and some days, like a couple of weeks ago, he is in good spirits, full of happy memories. But today, he started to cry as he thought of her, and as I touched his shoulder, I realized how thin he had become, and how lonely he has been.
As I listened to the message today about the Holy Spirit, I prayed so hard for the Holy Spirit to comfort him, and I hope that my grandma visits him tonight and they can dance the night away just as they did on that cold February night 69 years ago.
I am so sad for my grandpa; I saw him today and he is so heartbroken. I don't think anyone of us can imagine what it is like to lose someone you have know for over 69 years. I was lucky enough, a couple of weeks ago, to hear him tell the story of when they met. I had heard it in pieces before, but never in so much detail, and his eyes shone as he spoke of that night.
Grandpa was in Canada on duty for England in the Second World War, and he was stationed at Penhold in early 1944. On Saturday nights, busses full of young ladies from Red Deer would travel to the base and the young ladies and the soldiers would dance the night away. One February night, my grandpa, barely 20 years old, spotted a beautiful young lady across the room and couldn't believe she wasn't dancing with anyone. He asked her to dance, and they spent the night together, dancing slowly and quickly, all of the dances of that era, and he said she was such a good dancer.
At the end of the night, she went back to the bus, and he followed, not wanting her to go, and he said it was a cold night and he didn't have a jacket on. She was wearing a big fur coat, and she opened it up and wrapped it around him. He said that was it, and he knew he would marry her. She came back in the bus every Saturday, and after 5 or 6 weeks of dancing, he asked her to marry him. Her response was, "I'll have to ask my mum", to which he replied, "Aren't you old enough to decide? Do you want to marry me?", and she said, "Yes, I think so, but you'll have to ask mum." Obviously her mother said yes, because they were married soon after, on May 12, 1944. They rest is history.
When I was younger it was my grandma with whom I had long chats, and my grandpa and I would talk about soccer or play crib. Now I just visit to sit and listen to him, and some days, like a couple of weeks ago, he is in good spirits, full of happy memories. But today, he started to cry as he thought of her, and as I touched his shoulder, I realized how thin he had become, and how lonely he has been.
As I listened to the message today about the Holy Spirit, I prayed so hard for the Holy Spirit to comfort him, and I hope that my grandma visits him tonight and they can dance the night away just as they did on that cold February night 69 years ago.
Tuesday, July 9, 2013
Grandma
My grandmother passed away in the early morning of June 16, 2013, and at the time, I wasn't sad. I had been to visit the day before, after my dad called because my uncle had told him he should come up right away. Things couldn't have been good, so as soon as my dad told me that, I headed to Sherwood Park myself, dropping whatever plans I had for that afternoon.
I walked into their room and my grandpa and aunt were there; my grandpa was busily working on a painting and couldn't hear my knocks, but my aunt did. My grandma lay in the bed, eyes closed, breathing shallow, and I took her hand. I talked to her for a while, laughing about the past, praying as tears rolled down my eyes, knowing this was going to be the last time I saw her. I recited Psalm 23 and the last thing I said to her was that she would see her sisters Joan and Jerril soon, and to say hi to Jesus.
When my aunt called me at 7:12 the next morning, I was on Skype with my sister, but I wasn't surprised at the phone call. I had awoken with a start in the night, knowing that God had finally sent his angels down to take her away. They allowed my grandpa to say one last goodbye in the morning as he rose to use the washroom, and he prayed for them to take her, and they did. Those same angels that I prayed for God to send to my grandpa to protect him during his surgery a year ago; and he woke up from his surgery, family waiting in the room, and said, "The angels on my shoulders took care of me."
The Sunday that my grandma died was Father's Day, and it was business as usual. We went to church, went for brunch at the in-laws, but all the while I felt a hole in my heart, like a piece of me was gone. I can't imagine how my grandpa felt and still feels. But there didn't seem to be any tears left; maybe I cried them all away as I saw her wither from my grandma in late February to a frail old lady by June. It was so little time, and it happened so quickly.
But I had so many wonderful years with her, and maybe that's why there were no tears. Thankful to God for giving me such a wonderful grandmother. I spoke at her funeral without a tear, wondering why I didn't feel like crying, but it wasn't a sad occasion, it was a happy one, because she had left her broken body to be in the Glory of Jesus. Who could cry about that!
The hole has remained, and I wondered why I hadn't dreamt about her. I dreamt about Scott's grandma the night after she died and she told me how wonderful heaven was, and she was so happy. I thought grandma might visit me once in a dream and tell me that she was okay. And last night I did dream about her; I dreamt that I was at their house in Sherwood Park and she was on the phone, and I tried to tell her that she was calling from Heaven but she didn't believe me and hung up on me.
It was so good to hear her voice, but I'm feeling that hole in my heart again.
And tears on my face.
I walked into their room and my grandpa and aunt were there; my grandpa was busily working on a painting and couldn't hear my knocks, but my aunt did. My grandma lay in the bed, eyes closed, breathing shallow, and I took her hand. I talked to her for a while, laughing about the past, praying as tears rolled down my eyes, knowing this was going to be the last time I saw her. I recited Psalm 23 and the last thing I said to her was that she would see her sisters Joan and Jerril soon, and to say hi to Jesus.
When my aunt called me at 7:12 the next morning, I was on Skype with my sister, but I wasn't surprised at the phone call. I had awoken with a start in the night, knowing that God had finally sent his angels down to take her away. They allowed my grandpa to say one last goodbye in the morning as he rose to use the washroom, and he prayed for them to take her, and they did. Those same angels that I prayed for God to send to my grandpa to protect him during his surgery a year ago; and he woke up from his surgery, family waiting in the room, and said, "The angels on my shoulders took care of me."
The Sunday that my grandma died was Father's Day, and it was business as usual. We went to church, went for brunch at the in-laws, but all the while I felt a hole in my heart, like a piece of me was gone. I can't imagine how my grandpa felt and still feels. But there didn't seem to be any tears left; maybe I cried them all away as I saw her wither from my grandma in late February to a frail old lady by June. It was so little time, and it happened so quickly.
But I had so many wonderful years with her, and maybe that's why there were no tears. Thankful to God for giving me such a wonderful grandmother. I spoke at her funeral without a tear, wondering why I didn't feel like crying, but it wasn't a sad occasion, it was a happy one, because she had left her broken body to be in the Glory of Jesus. Who could cry about that!
The hole has remained, and I wondered why I hadn't dreamt about her. I dreamt about Scott's grandma the night after she died and she told me how wonderful heaven was, and she was so happy. I thought grandma might visit me once in a dream and tell me that she was okay. And last night I did dream about her; I dreamt that I was at their house in Sherwood Park and she was on the phone, and I tried to tell her that she was calling from Heaven but she didn't believe me and hung up on me.
It was so good to hear her voice, but I'm feeling that hole in my heart again.
And tears on my face.
Friday, May 3, 2013
The Old Folks
My grandparents have been in their Seniors' Lodge for a few weeks now, and I decided to go visit them today now that the madness of tax season is over. I told my grandpa that he could go out and run some errands while I hung out with grandma, and he was happy to oblige. Of course, he could go out and run errands anyway, and the nurses would check on my grandma, but it breaks my heart to think she could be one of those seniors who just sits in their chair for hours, dozing, staring, not doing anything. Her knitting and sewing days are long over - sometime it seems a struggle for her just to remember how to use a fork.
And so I sat, open box of Timbits beside her chair, and I watched as she dozed, coming in and out of dreams, and mentioning her sister Joan like she was there in the room with us. We didn't talk about anything; there's not really much more to talk about. She has moments when she can answer questions, but a lot of the time she pauses while her poor brain tries to comprehend, and sometimes what comes out of her month isn't even understandable.
When grandpa asked if I would stay for lunch, beaming in anticipation, I could read in his eyes that it would be so nice to have a welcome distraction for a few more moments. I told him I would have to see what was on the menu (I was worried it was going to be liver or cabbage), but to my surprise it was soup, ravioli and salad, and looked absolutely delicious. So he walked down to the office to buy me a ticket for lunch, and seemed so happy to have the company.
Lunch was very nice, sitting with a group of grandmas and grandpas, all very polite, some being spoon fed, and one who was having her 86th birthday (we had chocolate cake!). The nurses were fabulous, helping out wherever needed, making me want to change my career in midlife, wanting to make a different to people who had worked hard all of their lives and deserved to be treated with dignity and respect.
And as I sat with my grandparents, ages 91 and 89, I realized that everything else in the world could wait, and I told them I would be back to visit on Sunday.
They were thrilled.
And so I sat, open box of Timbits beside her chair, and I watched as she dozed, coming in and out of dreams, and mentioning her sister Joan like she was there in the room with us. We didn't talk about anything; there's not really much more to talk about. She has moments when she can answer questions, but a lot of the time she pauses while her poor brain tries to comprehend, and sometimes what comes out of her month isn't even understandable.
When grandpa asked if I would stay for lunch, beaming in anticipation, I could read in his eyes that it would be so nice to have a welcome distraction for a few more moments. I told him I would have to see what was on the menu (I was worried it was going to be liver or cabbage), but to my surprise it was soup, ravioli and salad, and looked absolutely delicious. So he walked down to the office to buy me a ticket for lunch, and seemed so happy to have the company.
Lunch was very nice, sitting with a group of grandmas and grandpas, all very polite, some being spoon fed, and one who was having her 86th birthday (we had chocolate cake!). The nurses were fabulous, helping out wherever needed, making me want to change my career in midlife, wanting to make a different to people who had worked hard all of their lives and deserved to be treated with dignity and respect.
And as I sat with my grandparents, ages 91 and 89, I realized that everything else in the world could wait, and I told them I would be back to visit on Sunday.
They were thrilled.
Thursday, April 11, 2013
House of Comfort, House of Love
My grandparents have officially moved into a Seniors' Lodge this week, and while it is the best place for them to be, I have to admit that I never wanted this day to happen. The memories have been flooding back from my childhood: Kentucky Fried Chicken dinners with the family (back before it was KFC), fall parties, hundreds of Sunday roasts, and a door that was open anytime.
I remember a few times when my life was a little stressful - during exams, during tax season, or just personal things going on, and it was so easy to make the drive out to the little bungelow at the end of the street. Grandma and Grandpa would be there with smiling faces, cookies on the table, crossword puzzle open, and I could just sit and chat, and let whatever troubles I was having melt away.
In recent years, there have been more concerns about my grandparents than anything else - grandma losing her memory, grandpa losing his hearing, and just plain old age taking over. There was lots of discussion that they should move, but grandpa wouldn't budge, even when he ended up in the hospital, and in hindsight I now see that he was right to keep grandma at home, even at the expense of their health.
Since grandma entered the hospital on March 2, the change in environment and lack of familiar surroundings has caused a downward spiral that I would have never anticipated. In one month she has gone from, "Hi Jo" to "Who's there, oh, hi Jo" to even more delayed recognition. My last visit was nice, but also sad, as she was tired and difficult to understand, and I put her to bed as I had back on March 6, thinking of how our roles have reversed since my childhood. The past year may have been hard for us on the outside to deal with, but it allowed my grandparents to enjoy their time together, and kept my grandma in the stable environment that she needed. Now I wonder if she'll ever bounce back.
It's so easy to cry when I think of the memories of that house - the overnight stays (that sometimes turned into three nights), the summer I stayed in the basement when I was working at the University, Christmas, the first time I took Matthew there, all of the weeks I visited when the kids were little, climbing the trees in the backyard, eating fresh rhubarb out of the garden, and the smell of the lilac tree in the summer.
But then I remind my selfish self that no matter how badly I feel, my dad, aunt and uncle would feel even worse seeing their childhood home being emptied, and my grandpa would feel even worse than that. It's a time to come together as a family, not wallow in my own pity party. I have years worth of fabulous memories and I am so thankful for that.
I remember a few times when my life was a little stressful - during exams, during tax season, or just personal things going on, and it was so easy to make the drive out to the little bungelow at the end of the street. Grandma and Grandpa would be there with smiling faces, cookies on the table, crossword puzzle open, and I could just sit and chat, and let whatever troubles I was having melt away.
In recent years, there have been more concerns about my grandparents than anything else - grandma losing her memory, grandpa losing his hearing, and just plain old age taking over. There was lots of discussion that they should move, but grandpa wouldn't budge, even when he ended up in the hospital, and in hindsight I now see that he was right to keep grandma at home, even at the expense of their health.
Since grandma entered the hospital on March 2, the change in environment and lack of familiar surroundings has caused a downward spiral that I would have never anticipated. In one month she has gone from, "Hi Jo" to "Who's there, oh, hi Jo" to even more delayed recognition. My last visit was nice, but also sad, as she was tired and difficult to understand, and I put her to bed as I had back on March 6, thinking of how our roles have reversed since my childhood. The past year may have been hard for us on the outside to deal with, but it allowed my grandparents to enjoy their time together, and kept my grandma in the stable environment that she needed. Now I wonder if she'll ever bounce back.
It's so easy to cry when I think of the memories of that house - the overnight stays (that sometimes turned into three nights), the summer I stayed in the basement when I was working at the University, Christmas, the first time I took Matthew there, all of the weeks I visited when the kids were little, climbing the trees in the backyard, eating fresh rhubarb out of the garden, and the smell of the lilac tree in the summer.
But then I remind my selfish self that no matter how badly I feel, my dad, aunt and uncle would feel even worse seeing their childhood home being emptied, and my grandpa would feel even worse than that. It's a time to come together as a family, not wallow in my own pity party. I have years worth of fabulous memories and I am so thankful for that.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
