Sunday, December 29, 2013

Love you so

Love you so. They were the words my grandmother ended every phone call, letter and conversation with. Love you so. She wouldn't let an opportunity pass to tell you how much she loved you and cared about you. As I put on my makeup this morning and listen to soft Christian songs, I knew that today was going to be hard and emotionally draining. When I walked downstairs in my grandma's house waiting for a ride, I kept expecting to hear her voice in the other room or tell me how beautiful I looked, but her voice never came. 

I lasted about three minutes into mass before the tears started coming. The opening song was Be Not Afraid; when I opened my mouth to sing a sudden rush of memories of my grandma came flooding into my mind. It hit me like a brick wall. Her voice. Her singing, so quite, yet beautiful. She meant every word she said, even the words in a song. I could hear her complimenting my singing voice and a lovely smile upon her face. Yet there I stood. Frozen. I couldn't utter a word. 

My brother was my rock.  He had his arm around my shoulders for practically the entire ceremony. I watched as my older male cousins brought in grandma's casket, my younger cousin read the first reading, my four youngest cousins brought up the gifts, my older cousin sang the responsorial, and my other cousins read the prayers of the faithful. Everyone wanted to celebrate Gram's life. My mother's lifelong friend, Monsignor Dave, gave a meditation at the end of the ceremony that was so beautiful and personal to our family. 

Then it was my turn. I listened and waited while another one of my cousins read his eulogy. I was fine. When I stood up behind the pulpit and looked out at the crowd that had gathered, I was overcome with emotion. The church was packed! Every pew was full. There must have been 200-250 people there to celebrate Gram's life. It wasn't the nerves, but rather the realization that I wished like anything that Gram could have been sitting in the second row (her usual seat) to hear me speak. I wanted her there to not only hear how I viewed her, but to give me confidence and happiness. I knew that she was there looking down on me, but I wanted her physically there. And I'll never have that again. 

Sitting in her house talking with my aunts, uncles, and cousins, I was happy to be with family and build more memories. Yet when I finally had a moment alone, every emotion that I had suppressed to try to be strong for my mother and to get through my eulogy came bubbling to the surface. I had to escape to my room before I lost it. As I sit in one of the smallest bedrooms in the house (think 8x6ft, if that) and hear all of my family laughing over a story and yelling over a lost game of Euchre, I am finally coming to terms with the fact that this might be one of my last, if not my last, time in 67 Cotton St. I'm not ok with that. I'm not ready. I have spent every Christmas here since I was born and the majority of my summers growing up. This is home. This is Grammy's house. I just can't. I'm not ready to say goodbye.

Thursday, December 26, 2013

Gram's Favorite

Today was weird. It was hard without Gram. She was right here just four days ago. Gram loved Christmas so, so much! We usually went to mass on Christmas Eve so that the little ones could open gifts first thing in the morning. Well, it was just my family in the house, so we went to mass this morning. Throughout the day, everyone trickled in for Christmas brunch. When I say everyone, it could be anywhere from 25 to 45 people in Gram's house at once. It was crowded and loud, but we didn't mind. We all loved it and so did Gram.

She would sit in her favorite chair in the front room of the house for the entire day. Right when people walked in, they would run over and give her a huge hug. There were so many of us that you almost had to get in line to give her your gift. Even though she opened so many gifts throughout the day, she took her time opening and admiring each gift. She was an amazing receiver of gifts, calling everything a treasure and exactly what she needed. More then anything she just loved having us all there. She loved seeing us play cards, which is a daily activity at Gram's, and talking and exchanging gifts. It was exhausting for here, especially these past few years, but the whole day filled her with so much joy.

I kept expecting her to walk out of her room today and wander over to her chair, but then I'd glance at her darkened room and reality would strike, not in a bad way but more as a reminder that things are changing. She had already wrapped all of our gifts, all 10 children and 24 grandchildren, and they were sitting under the tree. So we did open the gifts from her today and had to imagine her smile as we opened them. The older kids have gotten money for the past few years, which is fine. Her handwriting on the card is worth more to me then the money inside. But before I went to bed, my dad told me that there was another gift under the tree with my name on it. I had already gotten my gift, but I went and got the beautifully wrapped gift (Gram always wrapped each gift with an extra treasure, like a glittery flower or an extra-special bow.) . Inside was a handmade earring holder. Gram knew me so well. I wish she would have been here so I could have hugged her, but I know that she was smiling down from heaven when I opened it. She was here the whole day with us; I know she was. And for now, that feeling of her presence is what it getting me through these next few days. As Gram would always say, "Love you so."

Friday, December 6, 2013

Who is your Mandela?

I was so sad to hear about the passing of Nelson Mandela yesterday, yet, when the headline "Mandela dies at age 95," flashed on the television screen, I couldn't help but feel warmth and awe toward the man who had accomplished so much in his lifetime. I flipped back and forth between a few different news stations, and I was enraptured by emotions conveyed in every story about the man. There were stories of leadership, forgiveness, inspiration, understanding, hope, passion. The list could go on and so it did as the stories unfolded on the news casts.

Time and time again, the reporters said that Mandela was a gift to the world, that he touched millions of lives, and inspired so many. These beautiful stories about the teacher brought me to the realization that, while Mandela was a worldly mentor, I have Mandelas in my own life. I look to my parents for understanding, my brother and sister-in-law for inspiration, my friends for understanding, my mentors for leadership, The Lord for passion and forgiveness. Mandela was a visionary and the lessons that he taught each of us will remain alive through the actions of others.

Mandela was a truly remarkable man. He had the support and recognition from the entire world. If anything, this support aided him when he fought for peace and justice. He was loved by all and was told that he was loved. Why is it then that we are so harsh and critical on our loved ones? The very ones that act as a Mandela in our personal lives. As hard as it might be at times, I think it is just as important to give the Mandelas in our lives the love and support that Nelson Mandela received.

His life was summarized by the love and service he gave to the world. He brought peace, hope and joy to the lives of millions. Life could be so much more joyful and beautiful if we gave our personal Mandelas this love and support. It's why I end every conversation on a high note and never pass up an opportunity to say, "I love you," to the ones that mean the most to me. If we can do this, Mandela's life's works will live on and continue to grow, and perhaps this ability to keep on giving and loving is the greatest gift he gave to the world.