Grandma

'Addie is coming'

A note for herself. Shaky writing. Three words that show obvious excitement. A visit from the granddaughter! Finally! Three words that show that she is getting old. That she doesn't trust herself to remember what seems to be an exciting event in her week. A break in routine. 

More visitors. Catching up. Reminiscing. Memories of friends gone. I sit on the bed and observe. She's relaxed. She's totally comfortable with them. She looks small in her big chair. Fragile. She used to be tall, regal, confident. A prayer. For strength for her. Of thankfulness for the home she can live in. 'And bless Addie for visiting her grandma. Amen' 

Oh. I don't deserve that. How many weeks has it been since I last came to see her? I don't dare count. I feel ashamed.

A Handful of Night

Stars that seem to dance 

a moon who illuminates 

the sky 

oh how can

you be fearful of the

night

its wonders that seem

so far away

too distant to

reach

oh to hold a

handful of night. 

By a friend. 

Reminds me of some words penned many years ago by another friend of mine. 

'Tho the night be dark and dreary, darkness cannot hide from Thee..'*

 

 Wise and beautiful words, my friends.

*Can be found in the song 'Saviour, Breathe an Evening Blessing.' Number 70 in the Christian Hymnal

The Blessing of Blessings

She said it best, for all of us. What she posted a few days ago here, I will repost.

 

 

First we scoured Kijiji. 200$ seemed like a lot back then. She was worth every penny.   

She was the darling of the family as a baby. We didn’t have any other babies then. I was the only girl at home. I spent time chilling with her, reading and cuddling while the others were in school.   

We debated her name. We found the perfect name, a nod to our recent past, a way of keeping Africa alive in Canada. Blessings.   

She grew into an obnoxious tween, a little awkward, very bouncy.   

All the people (not actually all.)  made fun of her name. They thought her wrinkles were ugly. They were annoyed because she was so loving.  

She grew up, into the gentlest of dogs. She was intuitively precious with all our babies. We never sawed a bared tooth or heard an impatient growl no matter which baby girl pulled to standing on her fur.   

Not everyone saw her as gentle. Her deep voice and large size intimidated all the delivery drivers and caused even the bravest Jehovah’s  Witness to abandon their witness with a string of expletives.   

She was always there, undemanding, patient, a friend, a companion, an unbiased listening ear, a furry shoulder to cry on. Always there.   

At an old age she was forced to adopt a rambunctious child. The playful child kept her young just a little longer, but she was always the boss. The child is lovely, but she can never be a replacement for Blessings.  

She got old and crippled. She continued to be there, even in pain, for the little boy who names his stuffies after her and the sensitive little girl who benefited from the passive therapy only a animal can give. She was still always there  whenever I came home to visit , staggering as fast as she could to meet me. She kissed my baby the last time we were there and he wiggled with delight. I guess I kind of knew it might be the last time we’d see her.   

“Do dogs go to heaven?” the little one asked. She said it for all of us. Most of us have never had to say goodbye to a pet this loved.   

We’ll miss you, Blessings.

Highlings and Lowlights and Random Information

Ungraded to Comfort+! Twice the legroom of the backseat of a Ford truck! 

The lady beside me plays a game while watching a movie on split screen on her phone. Open the window already!! She does for landing but only glances out the window hurriedly a few times before bending back to frantically tap her screen, effectively blocking my view with her bent head. 

No missed flights.. just a few late and/or delayed ones.. and a few early ones. Window seats 7 out of 8 flights! By choice tho, so not too surprising. 

Leaving my jacket on the very first flight of the trip and have to suffer thru the cold the rest of the week. And being paranoid about losing something else with so much travel. 

Excitement. Suddenly the old man directly in front of me was not responding and his side sitters were pushing the call button and the flight attendants were paging for doctors and the ER doctor used his 'Fisher Price' stethoscope and talked to his wife and got him responding and decided he was just dehydrated not having a heart attack. And they took him to the back of the plane in a wheelchair and started an IV. 

Suddenly Kayla was backing the bright red Honda Civic out of the parking space as fast as she pulled in. The source of the panic lay on the ground beside the immaculate white Ford truck. A golf club. Shattered glass on the ground. A hole thru the front passenger window. Did they see us coming and run? Why leave the golf club? Would our rented Civic meet the same fate? 

Our plane moved just as fast as the sun was rising. The view I saw as we were coming in for landing was the same as when we took off. Only this time, snow covered mountains made it even more spectacular.

Travel

All the time in the world. But no inspiration.

What Is The Hardest Part?

Is it the hour long drive, made even longer by going under speed limit so he has that much less time at that crazy Otherhome? 

 Is it the drop off? If Mama is there, it goes ok; Mama gets hugs and the latest news from Ourhome. If Daddy is there it's usually fine also. But if a different someone is there the faces grow long and tears start to well up in their eyes and it's so so SO hard to leave them in that situation. 

 Is it the drive home? Knowing that any minute now someone will probably start yelling at them, someone will start being neglected because it's hard for one person to give 4 extra needy, high maintenance kids the attention they need RIGHT NOW! 

Or maybe it's the next few quiet days. No screaming distractions, hour long bath/cleanup/eating struggles. Just bliss. Except, how is Kiddo doing? Is She getting enough sleep? Are they getting their homework done? Who's yelling at them today? Who's supposed to be responsible for them but instead they are getting their own food or spending hours at the TV/tablet? 

I got it. It's Friday evening when She and Kiddo arrive back at Ourhome from Otherhome. It starts already at pick-up. Guilty feelings because the 2 that are 'ours' always get to come but the others rarely do. And then on the way home, with one bugging the other or vice versa. The older one gets away with being older, the younger one gets away with being younger. And that irks both of them and they take it out on each other. And then the long evening of trying to get people thru the bath and into bed without too much crying and/or hitting. 

No, maybe the next few days, until She leaves for school. When they seem to be at each other the whole time and nothing ever goes right for either of them and then the rest of us suffer. Or maybe after She goes home and Kiddo doesn't have anyone to play fight with and you have to deal with a needy Kiddo while your mind is also wondering how She is doing back at Otherhome with whoever is stand-in parent for the day and how She's doing at school. 

Ha. Nope. You go it all wrong. The hardest part is actually myself. My agenda. The hardest part is saying 'I'm not going to go be with my friends tonight because Kiddo need me to give him an early bath and spend some quality time before bed.' The hardest part is dropping what you are doing and changing your plans because something (which is absolutely anything at this point) triggered the fight or flight mode and now She is distraught, not comprehending anything said, and is being what we think is completely irrational and believing things that are incredibly farfetched. The hardest part is me.

The Truth, Unreconciled

 A 13 second voice message. In the background, shouting. A 9-year-old in an abnormally thin, quavering voice, pleading. 'Come pick me up.' And then, 'I don't want to be here.' 

Backtrack a few days. The same 9-year-old, bullying her siblings. Getting mad at someone who can't figure out what they did wrong. Using an abnormally harsh voice. The truth is that that is how she has learned from adults at her other home. The truth is that it hurts to talk about it so it builds up inside and comes out in what looks like bullying and anger. The truth is that I can't fix her other home for her. I can only try to make this one a place of happiness. Of safety.

So, next time, I'll take a deep breath. Offer a hug. Remember that voice message and try to give words that break thru, and be an example. And love her.