Grandparents

I have had a lot of grandparents in my life. I have been exceptionally fortunate.

My mom's parents were Myrtle and Henry. They lived in a little town in central Minnesota. We visited as often as we could. My two strongest memories are of popping popcorn with Grandma, the old fashioned way, in a pot, with real kernels and oil! Grandma lifted up the lid to check and some popped right in her face. We laughed and laughed and laughed. I remember running in to the house and sitting next to Grandpa on the huge arms of the brown arm chair. I had to fight with my sisters for one of the arms. He always had juicy fruit gum for us, so we loved that special treat. I was barely four when my mom lost both her parents. Grandma the day before Christmas Eve, and Grandpa on St. Patrick's Day. Even with few memories, the strongest emotions associated with them is how warm and loving they were with us, and how very much they loved us.

My dad's parents were Mildred and LA. They were in their 70s when I was born and had something like 27 other grandchildren. My dad had 13 brothers and sisters so it was a crowded family into which to be born. My grandparents lived close enough, and we visited them on many Sundays. They didn't have a lot of money and on Christmas, we would cherish the dollar bill we got in an envelope with a bow. Because I had a cousin named Amy, my envelope always said, "Bob's Amy." Grandma made homemade donuts and we would enjoy the donuts with unsweetened koolaid. Grandpa didn't talk much as we would sit around an visit. He would just quietly get up, go and get his bag of mints or sometimes Snickers, and come back and shake the bag in our faces to ask if we wanted one. I was as close as I could have been, I guess, to my grandma. They weren't overtly affectionate people but my sisters and I knew that our grandparents were proud of us, that they loved us in the way that they knew how.

I remember later when my grandma was sick, that she was in and out of the hospital, the Granite Manor, the Bellview Nursing Home, but that in her final days she was in the Granite Falls Hospital. I visited her when I knew that her passing was imminent. I was there when the pastor spoke a final prayer, we said prayers together, and I felt a certain quiet gladness that I was there at that time.

Later I was at BB practice and while running warm up laps, I saw my mom and asked how grandma was and she told me that grandma had died during that very day. And then, I went back to BB practice. Really? I went to practice? But, I guess that's what you do when you are a staunch Norwegian and that's how death goes in your family. I am sure that my grandma was proud of me. For, when she had passed, we found a selection of articles from the local newspaper about me that she had cut out and saved.

I still think about my grandma. I think about that white sweater that she wore forever. Even when we bought her a new one from JC Penney, she still wore that OLD one with holes in each elbow. I think about the fact that my aunts called her bird legs and that my husband calls me Birdie. I think about how when my oldest sister laughs or chuckles, it sounds just like my grandma. I wonder how my little bird of a grandma had 13 children....and how they were raised with a stern dad and a mom who must have been extremely worn and tired for much of her life. I think about how my dad looks so much like my grandma and how much my grandma relied on him in her later life...how close they were when it wasn't cool for a son to be close to his mom.

I also think about how shortly after I met my future husband, I lost my last grandparent. My grandpa died at the age of 96 when I was a sophomore in college, literally weeks after I started dating my future husband. That's crazy for me to think about now when I understand that at that time his grandparents were not much older than my parents. So there I was, 20 years old, and missing all 4 of my grandparents.

After my grandpa died, I quite literally adopted the grandparents of my then, boyfriend, now husband. He had two living sets of grandparents. This was quite a novelty to me. I would attend his basketball games and see both sets of his grandparents sitting together watching him play.

We would visit one or the other set on a Sunday, have a great dinner and go back to our dorm rooms or apartments. I loved having grandparents. I loved being fed. I loved being cherished. Even though they weren't MY grandparents, they grandparented ME! I appreciated every minute of that time.

When we got married a few years later, I felt so incredibly blessed to be able to have FOUR grandparents at my wedding, nevermind that they weren't mine, because they WERE! At least I felt that they were. When we told Matt's grandparents that we were getting married, Earl pulled me aside and told me that he was happy that I was going to be a Northrop. Seriously, from a man of few words that was, and still is, incredibly high praise.

Early in our marriage, Earl passed on. I was at work and prior to the age of cell phones, I arrived home to an empty apartment. I called to talk to my father in law, who told me the news. He had already talked to my husband that day, so this was the first I had heard. I sat on our old, gold couch and felt the grief of my own grandpa's passing all over again. Here was a man who had loved me and now he was gone. That night, Matt and I went for a walk and saw the Northern Lights. We were convinced that this was Earl saying "Hey Cowboys! I made it!" At his funeral, we felt remorse for the fact that not everyone had known the side of him that we had. We were grateful for the good parts that we had known and the love he had shown us.

We continued to foster our relationship with Gma Lois and with Gma and Gpa Devitt. We would visit Lois every time we were in Fargo. She would bring us to breakfast or have lunch at her apartment. Lois and I have always had good conversations about books we have read or Bible studies with which our groups are involved. She will often ask me what she has that I might want when she is gone. I try to laugh some of that away, but find it hard to address directly. Last time we visited her apartment, she took us and the kids to the pool in her apartment complex and told us of the 90th birthday party that she was planning for herself. I am grateful that she has been a good grandma for me, my husband, and for my children.

Grandpa and Grandma Devitt will always be my very own grandpa and grandma. A few years ago when Grandpa Devitt started to show signs of dimentia/Alzheimers/Lewey Body Disease not one of us wanted to admit that really this was something that could be happening to OUR family. Grandma and Grandpa and Uncle Randy moved to Omaha to be closer to Matt's mom.

I don't really think any of us realized how how much A. this would affect Matt's parents' lives or B. how much this meant for the end of Grandpa's life. First of all, this became of a full time job for Matt's mom. Not only did it involve caring for Grandpa, but also caring for Grandma who had always cared for Grandpa. It meant finding adequate facilities when it became too much for Grandma and Uncle Randy and Mom.

Really, there's no class or study for this. What do you do when your parents can't care for themselves or each other? but think they can? or want to but can't? What do you do when the facilities you find can't care for your dad the way you want? What if they can't provide your mom or your brother with the support they need? What if you aren't eligible for hard earned veteran's benefits?

Whew, lots of heavy stuff. Now, my husband is WAY better at this stuff than I am. I prefer to put my head in the sand and wait for a solution to appear. He and his mom are very alike in how they care for and interact with others. We would go to the nursing home and I would want to spend 5 minutes and GET OUT. He would spend as much time as he could with not only his grandpa, but everyone else in the facility. I admire that and love that about him. One of my children is like that as well.

Whenever we would visit Grandpa, my second son Benjamin would be the one to stroke Grandpa's hand, sit with him, show him things, or talk to him. It would break my heart every time we left when Grandpa would want to go with us, and wouldn't understand why he would have to stay in that narrow confinement.

The last time we visited him it was at the Veteran's Home in Nebraska, where finally it seemed he was being cared for with respect and dignity. It was on Christmas Eve. We all came together. We had seen him in August and he was okay, not wonderful, but knew mostly who we were, at least he always knew Matt. And even if he didn't know me, he always just called me Squirt. Well, when we saw him in December, there were some dramatic changes. He wasn't verbal with us at all. Matt spent a lot of time with him. He wanted to give his grandpa a beer and when the attendant finally gave us a Busch NA beer (warm), Matty gave it to him. He said, "How's that Gramps?" and Jim said, "Tastes like shit." Totally appropriate! So, Matty brought him a Pabst Blue Ribbon Silo the next day and he drank that down like a thirsty man in a desert.

A short time later, he was gone. We take comfort in the fact that we were able to provide him with some moments of pleasure in his last days. We miss his humor, we miss his realism, but mostly we just miss him. I miss that he called me Squirt. I miss that he thought our kids were ridiculously out of control and told us so. I miss that he said, "Jimmy don't eat no junk." I miss that he said, "Holy Shit, Dolores!" when talking to Grandma.

And, what do I love best about Gma Devitt? It's tough to pick just one. Mostly, I just love how much she loves my husband. I get to hear stories about when he was a naughty little boy who you couldn't help but love. And, when he is with her, he radiates happiness and little boyishness. Grandma has a special way of making Matt feel like he is the favorite. I suspect she must do that in some way for all four of her grandchildren. For Matt, she knows that the way to his heart is through an angel food cake with brown sugar frosting. I will never attempt to make it because I would never get it right and would always have to hear, "It's not as good as my grandma's cake." She also makes an awesome pecan dessert, pheasant under glass (although she told me it was chicken!), pork chops, eggs, sausages, the list goes on and on and on and on. It's not just the food, though. It's the love and hugs and acceptance and pride in our kids that I appreciate the most. And, when she lets it show, she has a wicked sense of humor. I am sure that it's not easy grandparenting a grand-daughter-in-law who is stubborn and speaks her mind. She is beautiful and smart and encouraging, and I am lucky to have her.

The point of all of this grandparent talk is to say that I am grateful. I am grateful that I had four grandparents while I was growing up. I am grateful that I inherited such wonderful grandparents when I married my husband. I am grateful that I still have two grandmas via my husband. I am grateful that my children have SIX grandparents who love them ridiculously, because having people who are irrationally crazy about my kids makes me feel ridiculously loved as well.

Carpe Whatem?

I read a blog post lately about a woman writing from her heart about not being able to carpe diem every moment with her young children. I've been thinking about this very thing for a long time. Ever since I had kids who were 3.5, 1.5 and a newborn. Heck, probably before that, but my brain was too clouded from lack of sleep to form coherent thoughts.

My boys were both born in the summer. A dreamy time to have a newborn. When I was feeling trapped in my house, jiggly, and stir crazy, I could pile the baby in the stroller and walk and walk and walk. I did the same with my second son. Identical scenario with the exception that it was now a double stroller instead of a single. In addition to the whole weather factor was the bonus that my husband is a teacher, so he was home for the first eight weeks or so of my boys' lives.

When my daughter was born, it was January. The coldest one on record in recent history. So, we didn't go anywhere. And for those of you not in the know, teachers work in January so my husband was not available. Oh, wait, I take that back. Lyndee was born on a Tuesday. He got her actual birth day off, plus Wednesday. Then he called in sick the next two days to be able to take me home from the hospital and help us settle in before going back to work on Monday.

So, to escape the house one day and also to attempt to feed my family something more than Cheerios, I took the kids grocery shopping. Gabe had to walk (at 3.5 not an easy task through the whole grocery store), Ben was sitting in the cart, and Lyndee was in the baby bucket in the basket of the cart. We made it two aisles before Lyndee started screaming. And I mean, screaming in that nothing will console this baby, way. But, it had taken me an hour to get everyone bundled and in the car, darned if I wasn't going to FINISH getting what I came for....food!

One woman kept looking at me. And when I say looking at me, what I really mean is that she was pointedly glaring at me. It was as if she was saying, "What are you doing bringing those poor children out today? It is January and cold and it might storm tonight. You should be home carpe dieming this maybe by snuggling or making snowflake cupcakes or celebrating the month of January or something. You should be anywhere but here, disrupting my peaceful shopping experience."

Oh man, I was so postpartum on this day that it was all I could do to keep from bursting into tears right there in the shredded cheese aisle. I hadn't showered in a couple of days. I was feeling pasty and heavy and tired. But, I persevered. I got my shredded cheese and everything else I came for. And, I got something else, too. I gained a little perspective.

As I was getting ready to FINALLY check out, an older woman was in line behind me. She patiently stood and waited and asked my oldest a few questions while I found my coupons, the pacifier, and my checkbook. And when I was done and wheeling away, I looked back and said, "Thanks for your patience. I know we are kind of a circus."

And she said, "Oh honey. I know. I've been there. You are doing a great job. Keep it up. You, too, will make it through." Then, I cried.....and said, "Thank you....so much."

And I thought, "That is what I will do. That is the kind of mentoring mom I will be. Someday I will be in a grocery store and say the very same thing. And maybe I will add that it is hard to cherish every moment. There will be time your kids will be puking, or late with their homework, or crying or fighting nonstop with their siblings over nothing. But, you will persevere and survive. You will get your shredded cheese and go home and take a shower....finally. Then, you can carpe diem or make snowflake cupcakes. Or not. Either way, I have been there. You are doing a great job and you, too, will make it through."