Last Day. Brace yourself, it's a long one

There is noise everywhere. I've escaped to the bathroom of our hotel room because I just want some quiet. I need to process.

We're leaving Connecticut tomorrow morning, which means that today was our last visit to Grandma. Getting to spend so much time with her the last two days has been great. I guess the first day we were here must have just been an especially bad day, because she has had no trouble remembering us since then. We've spent a lot of time reminiscing. I've loved being able to hear about her life and all the places she's been. She was very diligent about collecting old family pictures (we have many dated pre-1900), which my dad has been working on scanning into the computer, so he brought his computer and we have spent many hours going through the pictures with her. She has great difficulty seeing the pictures because her eyesight is so bad, but for most of them she was able to recognize at least the people in the pictures, and we would discuss those people, where they were, what was going on in the picture. She really enjoyed that. When you start discussing present happenings or things just start happening in the room,however, she just kind of fades out. The dementia makes it difficult for her to process what's going on around her. A few weeks ago my dad called and she only answered the phone because her roommate told her that it was ringing and she should answer it. She forgets things like that now, but there have been a few good moments over these last few days when her old spirit has shone through. At one point I told her that the footrests have been left off her wheelchair so she could kick people who were in her way, and she said "That's a good idea!". Another time she was telling a story and just sort of drifted off, as if she had been trying to remember some detail but then forgot what story she was telling, and my dad tried to help her back to it, saying, "You were talking about the camp.." and she cut him off, saying with the most gusto I've seen from her this whole visit, "Now wait a minute! Now wait a minute! Let me say something!" and then she drifted off again. She had no idea what she was saying, but she was not about to let herself be interrupted!

We also went to the cemetery today to see my dad's father's grave. The man I knew as grandpa was actually my dad's stepfather. His real dad died in 1975 and my grandma remarried before I was born. It was a little odd, visiting the grave of a man I've never known, but at the same time it was very emotional. I just stood there, meeting Edward Joseph Gordon of the first time, while my dad silently remembered. I saw the sweetest thing I've ever seen my dad do there, and that was watching as he lovingly scraped the bird poop off of his dad's gravestone with a knife. I have never seen my dad display sentiment like that before, and it made me regret the massive distance between us. This trip has both shortened and widened the gap between me and my father, because in reminiscing with Grandma I have heard so many new stories and learned so much about my father and his life that I didn't know before, but at the same time it's revealed to me how much of that gap he creates and will never close, which will be discussed later.
Oddly enough, the defining part of that graveyard visit was my grandpa's middle name, Joseph, because it is also my brothers name. I never knew it before today, but my brother, Joseph Donald Gordon, was named for both my parents' fathers, who died before my mom and dad met. My revelation led to the first real conversation I've had about my parents with either of my parents about my brother, who died when I was 4. I asked my dad where Joey is buried, which apparently he is not. They had Joey cremated but my mother could never bear to actually bury him, so the ashes are most likely somewhere in the attic at my mom's house. I need to discuss this when we get back. I think it's time my brother was buried.
I also asked my dad what happened the night Joey died, and for the first time ever I finally got to hear it. It's sad that I never knew the details of an event that has shaped my life so drastically, but now I do. Fifteen years later, and I don't think it was any easier to hear.

This visit has been the first time I've seen Grandma in about two years, and I'm so happy we made the trip. All the previous times we've been up here I was too young and immature to appreciate the value of her age and to enjoy just hearing about her life. She never was one for games or play, she's much more of an intellectual, so as a child I didn't like her much. I am so grateful that I had this chance to listen to her and not be bored, to appreciate the value of what she has to say. She truly is a remarkable woman, and I'm proud to call her my family.

Of course, not all of this visit has been easy. Yesterday when we got to the hospital she was extremely worn out. Her breathing was short and labored, and she couldn't stay with us mentally long enough to comprehend that we were there. The extreme frailty of her condition became fully evident at that moment, and it was all I could do not to cry. The worst part of that moment was seeing my dad and the extreme pain and helplessness he felt. It has been so difficult to watch his grief over this visit. To say my dad is not one for emotional expression is an understatement. He does not show emotion, does not speak it, but a few times over these days I have seen the extreme pain and grief wash over his face in especial moments of my grandma's weakness. Bearing witness to his grief has been the hardest thing about this trip, because there is nothing I can do to relieve it. Like I said, my father does not show his emotions, and he will accept no comfort, at least not from me, and watching him deal alone with the pain of watching his mother deteriorate has not yet failed to make me cry.

This emotional distance has characterized this trip for me. It has meant that now, sitting alone in the bathroom, is the first time I've been able to cry. Despite everything we are going through, I have had to hold my tears back around my family because I know they are not welcome. It's one thing to have to hold them back around my grandmother, but families are supposed to grieve together, and that I can be surrounded by people and still feel like I'm going through this alone adds a whole new dimension to the tragedy.

My Heart Is Heavy

I'm writing this from a Days Inn in Foxon, Connecticut. Yesterday was the first days of Teameffort staff training, but instead I spent it in the car with my dad and sister on the way up here to see my grandmother. She'll be 92 last month and suffers from alzheimers and dementia, as well as the general frailty that comes with being nearly a century old. She was born in 1919, and even though her short term memory has been steadily worsening over the years her long term memory has always been excellent. She could tell us all sorts of different stories, full of details and descriptions of layouts of all the different houses she's lived in. Of course it was still obvious that she was sick though. Sometimes she would tell us the same story twice, and she always had a hard time remembering how old Julie and I are. But still, it seemed like she would always be there. Then on Sunday my sister informed me that Dad was going to Connecticut to see Grandma, and he was leaving on Wednesday. They said she'd been getting worse faster. It's not certain whether she'll make it through the end of the summer, so we all came up to say goodbye. It's weird. When we saw her today I was shocked by how small she is. You can almost see all the bones in her hand. She didn't recognize us when we first got there. She was in her wheelchair sitting in the door of her room facing out into the hallway, and when we approached she asked if she was in our path. And her long term memory, which has always been so reliable, is so much worse. She'd often space out and lose her train of thought, leaving off in the middle of the story. At one point, while she was trying to remember her younger sister's birthday, she went quiet for a while, then just said,"Oh hell, I can't remember". She just kept losing her train of thought, kept forgetting what she was saying. Then, as we went to leave, she forgot me. I moved to hug her and suddenly she looked very lost and confused, like she was wondering who this strange girl was and why I was touching her. My dad had to introduce us to her again. I really can't describe how painful that was.

I wish none of this has happening. I was supposed to be at staff training today learning first aid and writing skits. I'm upset that I have to miss this opportunity to get to know my staff, but I'm also exceedingly grateful that I work in a place that allows me to be able to be with my family right now.

Life and Love

Tonight I went and saw Letters to Juliet with my friends Randi and Danielle. It was an ok movie. Cute, with lots of funny moments, but a little too cheesy for my taste. Not bad if you're looking for a chick flick, but it was our conversation after the movie that really struck a chord with me. The movie is set in Italy, which started us talking about Italian guys (my friend dated one), then the emotional walls the keep us from starting relationships or continuing in them, which led me to share my story about how my many walls built up and then the extraordinary way that God broke them down. It took from the upstairs movie theater in the Mall or Georgia to standing by my car out in the parking lot for me to tell them simply the barest bones version of my story. It has been a long time since I've talked to anyone about the cumulative story of my life and how each event effected the next and made me who I am today, and it's been even longer since I've told anyone about the crazy events of my life that didn't already know some of it. The point is that all of this got me thinking about how much I have loved and lost in my life and how extraordinary it is that I have experienced so much at such a young age. It is both mind boggling and tragic to think that I have loved more in my life at 19 than some people do in their entire lives, and it amazes me how God has put people in my life and how those relationships have shaped me as a person. My life has been very full of love, but with an almost equal amount of loss and pain. I have suffered much. I have been hurt and put up great stony walls around my heart, but I am so grateful to God that I am now to appreciate the pain of loss as a mark of having had something to loose. I no longer fear getting hurt, what I fear is never getting hurt. I fear missing out on the fullness of life by trading love and all the risks and hurts that come with it for the security of sitting on the sidelines and knowing I'll always be safe. When you run away from pain, you run away from life.

Do not be afraid to approach life with an open heart. The greatest riches come with the greatest risks, and I am happy to say that I regret none of the risks I have taken.

The Living Room

It started with staring at the fireplace. Sitting on the couch with my cup of coffee in the solitude of an empty house, it suddenly dawned on my how central that fireplace is to this room, how so many days and events have passed before it without us even paying attention. That fireplace used to be brown, an ugly, rough, unfinished wood around the stone which my mom worked so hard to sand and paint over. This room is now so beautiful, complete, and well cared for after years of my mom's post-divorce freedom to decorate it's hard to believe how much has happened here. In the place of that picture on the wall there hung for twenty years a very ugly, large, and oddly shaped brown clock, a wedding gift to my parents that I used to imagine was a map of the landscape of the movie Pocahontas. My aunt forced my mom to get rid of it when she came down to help my mom paint and decorate the house, saying it was too hideous to be allowed to stay. Instead of the coffee table we used to have a small, round table that my dad had made, the top of which was very smooth and Julie and I were always getting in trouble for sliding in circles across it. So many people have walked through this room, many of whom I don't remember. This place used to be bustling daily with nurses, cleaning ladies, or just friends come to help their friend with the handicapped son in any way they could. And there, right there, on the floor, is where I rolled around and played with my brother and sister back when I was one of three. There used to be a couch where the tv is there where my mom would sit with Joey while Julie and I played on the floor, her watching and Joey laughing whenever we got in trouble. Just around the corner there is the spot under the kitchen bar where I used to hide when my parents were fighting. I always felt like I was safe there in the corner, with walls on either side of me and the top of the bar close over my head. No one could see me unless they were walking towards me from the back of the house, which didn't happen often. It was a good spot. And there, right in front of me, so close, is where my mom and dad would stand yelling at each other after Julie and I had gone to bed, and just to my left is where I stood in my disney princess nightgown asking them to please keep it down so I could sleep. Fast forward a few years and I'm only a foot away from the spot where my sister stood and yelled those infamous preteen words "I hate you! You're ruining my life!", marking the beginning of years of shouting matches. This room has been the battleground of so many fights. It's hard to see that now, as if all of those old days were painted over with the burgundy paint that now covers one wall. This room here is not a battlefield. This room is beautiful, quiet, too elegant for bombs to explode here. That chair in the middle of the room, with its new upholstery, is now Greg's chair, from which he got up to greet me when I returned the other night. The big squishy green chair in the corner is my mom's chair, where she sits quietly every night, watching tv before she goes to bed. It's too new to have seen most of the fighting. The same with most of this furniture, actually. My dad never let my mom decorate or have nice things, so after he moved out and we had a little extra money my mom did a complete overhaul of the house, replacing everything my dad had picked out with things new and beautiful and painting the walls new colors. And there, in the midst of all the tarp covered furniture and paint cans still stood the fireplace, the silent and steady witness to all our battles and wars and to the new peace that is still settling in.

Home

It's 1:30 am, I just got off the phone after a 2 hour conversation with my friend, and I have to be up at 9 for a 10 am orthodontist appointment, so what am I doing? I'm writing a blog!

I moved back in with my mom on Saturday, and even though my room is very full with many slowly depleting stacks of boxes, it's good to be home. I was surprised by how good it felt to be back to living someplace so familiar, living in a house with my mom and Greg instead of unfamiliar roommates that I barely know. It's so good to be done with that ridiculous overly-polite dance and back with people I actually talk to, who ask where I'm going and care when I'll be home, or even if I'll be home. As much as I loved my apartment, there's nothing like the well-worn and written on walls of the bedroom of my childhood, who have long held the secrets of my tears, anger, 2 am conversations and those many nights as a child when I stayed up well after bedtime with a book and a flashlight. There's something reassuring about being able to look at the walls and read a little reflection of your self off of them, and of knowing that after you're gone that place will remember you and the fact that I was here will only be forgotten after at least two coats of paint. My mom was so mad when I started writing on the walls, but it's a rage that I gladly weathered and would not take back.

My mom and I aren't really close, and I was so excited to get out and get away from my family that I would never have imagined I would so enjoy being back. As much as adventure and new things help us grow, there's something to be said for familiarity, for walking out the door and flipping on the same porch light that I've been flipping on for years, for being able to predict how long a mess will last in the kitchen, and even for the sound of my mom going out in the garage late at night to smoke. It sounds so odd, but I was always able to guess approximately what time it was by my mom's nicotine cravings. It's things like that that make home home, and a year away has given me a new appreciation for that blessed familiarity.

On a less sentimental note, I am so busy!! I leave in two weeks, and while I'm sad that I have to little time left with my friends and that I'm going to miss so much this summer, I'm so excited. I'm really for another excellent Teameffort summer, and all the joys and challenges and sweat that comes with it, but I have to get there first. I have to unpack, sort through all of my stuff and get rid of some of it because I have so much stuff that I don't need, pack for school and for the summer, some shopping I have to do before then, as well as send in all of my school forms and a few other things. Then I found out yesterday that I have to get my wisdom teeth taken out, and since I'm leaving for school immediately after I get back from Puerto Rico if I don't get it done now I'll have to wait until December, and waiting that long would be a really bad idea. Aaahh!! Really I'm not worried about my work getting done, because I know I can get it all done, I'm worried about being so busy with all this work that I don't get to spend much time with my friends before I leave. My friends are amazing and I love them so much I'm trying to soak up as much of them as possible in the next few weeks, and it would break my heart to get less than the little time I already have. My plan is to crack down this week and get all or most of my work done so that I can spend most of next week with my loves. I hope that works.

Friendship

I'm sitting here in my pjs, tired after a busy week and only having returned home 20 minutes ago from a night of yoga and frozen pizza with a few of my friends, and I'm thinking about the value of friendship. While I was driving home tonight I was thinking about how blessed I am to have such great friends when I realized that I have those same thoughts every time I'm with these girls, and that got me thinking about the true significance of friendship. There is nothing like people you can laugh with, cry with, and fart in front of with no fear of being judged. Before God created Eve he said that man is not meant to live alone, and the friends that I've made here have shown me that he was not just talking about romantic relationships and husbands and wives. God made us to be in fellowship with him and with one another, and that fellowship is such a beautiful thing. Human beings are all so unique, and I love watching that reality in the interactions of my friends. Everybody brings something different to the table, but it is all accepted and appreciated without question. I have never seen any judgement among these girls, no unkind words, only overflowing love. This is the way it was meant to be, enjoying each other's company, laughter over frozen pizza in a dirty kitchen and loving one another for the unique people God made us all to be. The simple things like that are so beautiful, and it's when I sit back and just watch during moments like that that I see more of God's wonderful heart for us and the simple yet extravagant beauty he has created for us to live in.