I have a tremendous family. I can't (nor do I want) to ever envision a world without any of them. When I talk about my family, I am, more often than not, referring to my immediate family and/or my mom's entire side of the family - all the way out to 3rd and 4th cousins, up to great grandparents, over to great aunts and uncles, etc. My whole childhood was spent wrapped in the arms of these fine people who helped mold me and shape me to who I am today.
But (oh come on, you knew there was a but) there's a part of me that always wanted more (I know, if you know anything about my family, you know how selfish that sounds). My dad's dad was killed in an accident when my dad was only 15 years old. That left my dad and my grandmother to face a lifetime without the man who lit up their world. I can't imagine the crushing blow that made to my dad at such a pivotal age. For reasons far more complicated than I will ever understand, nor ever want to understand, my grandmother and dad lost touch with my grandfather's side of the family not long after. I've heard stories about what a remarkable man my grandfather was and how he would have relished and cherished and adored my sister and I. For as long as I can remember, I hung on every detail of the stories told about this man. I still do. My every wish was that someone I encountered would tell me something else about him so that I could feel close to him. I wish that there was a large, extended and close family, much like my mom's family, that we could turn to for stories and pictures and details so that he would become and stay "real" to me.
Growing up I always prayed that my future children would have all their grandparents so they would never know this desire. When the girls were born, I prayed even harder - even knowing that both Bill and my Mom were sick, I prayed that they would keep them long enough to make a memory or two, or ten thousand with them. God answered my prayers. As you all know I celebrate how lucky I am that both of my children met and spent time with their Pappa and Nana. I count my prayer answered because my daughters were both born and held and loved by all four grandparents. But the loss of Bill felt so heavy because I kept thinking how similar their childhood desires could be to mine and how they wouldn't know, first hand, what an amazing, fun, inspiring man he was and how much he cherished them and would have completely thrived on watching them grow up. I have vowed to do what I can to make sure they know that - at least second hand. It is so incredibly hard though. And there are more days than not where I wish Pappa were still here to throw his arms around them and wrap them in that amazing hug. I hope Roger and I can remind them of the memories of him and share enough about him that they will feel confident in knowing who their Pappa is (like my Dad and Gramma did for me).
With the loss of my mom only a short year later, it felt like a ton of bricks had been dropped on me for the same reasons. For a while, I did ask God the "why" questions we often ask Him. I know the answer and I know that while the cross we bear may seem heavy at first, if I look at the crosses others are carrying, I wouldn't trade mine for the world. My sister and I have had several conversations about these things. In a strange twist of fate, she lost her precious mother-in-law and mom in the span of 2 years - leaving her children without a grandmother. (in the past 4 years, our children have lost 4 grandparents)
As you all know, I'm an optimist and I'm constantly looking for the silver lining in everything. But the silver lining of your children not growing up with their spectacular grandmother or out of this world grandfather is awfully hard to find a silver lining on. Until now. Our crazy, over involved, loving, remarkable family showed me that silver lining. April to June are some months I could seriously cut out of the calendar - I've struggled those months the past two years and don't expect it's going to change any time soon. But this year, my family changed those months for me.
Two years have passed since Mom died. Three and a half since Bill died and three years since Ann (Jenny's mother-in-law) died. The scars of those losses run deeper than either my sister or I could ever have imagined - not just on us, but on our precious children. But my family. They are the ointment to heal those scars. They are, more often than not, JUST what the doctor ordered. They laugh with us (and sometimes at us, but that's what we do), cry with us, remember with us, hug us, hold us up and show our children who their Nana is. The past seven weekends I have been lucky enough to get to spend time with our family at least one day each weekend. My sweet niece got to spend two weeks with her great grandmother and her great aunt (my mom's sister) and those two weeks did more good for that child than either of those women will ever know. She got a "Grandma" fix and relished the time spent with them. Both of those weekends, my daughters and I got to spend a day with Grammy and Aunt Cindy. It does my heart good every single time I'm with them. And not just a little good but like over the moon good. I see things in each of them that are gentle, perfect reminders of my mom and I know that my children and my niece and nephew see those things too. It gives me tangible examples of how much their Nana would have LOVED helping them grow up, get in to trouble, be ornery, have fun and experience love and adoration. My daughters love their great aunts (all three of them) and their great uncle. I am forever thankful for my aunts and my uncle for things I could never express to them without falling apart.
So, with tears streaming down my face, I just want to tell Grammy, Andy, Cindy, Tammy, and Christi that you are invaluable to me. I love you all more today than I ever thought possible.
Tammy, for the countless phone calls at the exact right moment, the weekend respite at your lovely, comfortable, huggable home, the endless hugs, tears and laughter-you give me strength without even trying.
Christi, you probably will never know how much you saved me this Mother's Day with that invitation to watch a play with you and Gracie. You gently and perfectly reminded me to continue to celebrate and embrace Mother's Day because the joy of celebrating it FAR outweighs the pain of thinking, selfishly, about what I lost.
Andy, those hugs of yours, that smile and your very spirit remind me more of Mom than I can tell you-being in a room with you regenerates me and encourages me.
Cindy, knowing when to hug me, tease me, interject a funny face or story have saved me on more than one occasion. Thank you for making your home a place my girls beg to go to every weekend. Oh, and by the way, Jen and I decided you are starting to look a little more like Mom than we'd ever noticed before - so if you catch us staring, that's probably why. ;)
And Grammy. I could write Thank You and I love you on every scare centimeter of every beach in the world and it wouldn't even come close to being adequate. You are the tie that binds. Your influence on me is probably one of the greatest anyone else could have had. But in the last two years, you have been even more. You tell stories about Mom, you show us it's still ok and necessary to remember and cry and laugh and love. You've let me lean on you so much in phone calls, conversations and in person. I can spend an hour with you and feel 100 feet tall and 1000 times closer to the sun (both when I was little and now-you've always made me feel like that). You and Mom are so much alike and spent so much time together, that being with you makes me feel like I'm with her too. A girl couldn't ask for a better grandmother than you.
I love you all.
