A Meditation

(when Adam's Grammy passed away she left behind copies of this meditation - one for each of her family members. I have it hanging on my wall and read it to Grandpa while he was in hospice. I'm grateful for these words.)

I am standing on the seashore -
A ship spreads her white sails in the
   morning breeze and starts for the
   blue ocean -
She is an object of beauty and I stand
   and watch her until at length she hangs
   like a speck of white cloud just where
   the sea and sky meet to mingle with
   each other.
Then someone at my side says, "There!
she's gone!"

Gone where? Gone from my sight, that's all. -
   She is just as large in mast and hull and
   spar as she was when she left my sight, and
   just as able to bear her load of living
   freight to the place of her destination.

Her diminished size is in me, - not in her.

And just at that moment when someone at
   my side says, "there, she's gone!" there
   are other eyes watching her coming and
   other voices take up the glad shout,
   "There she comes!".

And that is living, not Dying.

author unknown

harder, but better

I told Adam the other day that if I'm completely honest with myself I think it's harder this way. This prolonged goodbye.

It's better, absolutely, but it's harder, too.

We've been up there the last six weekends since Grandpa got sick. Many visits in the hospital and one beautiful day together at his home. We've had time. Time to make sure he knows how much we love him, how much he has impacted our lives, time to pass on messages from friends and family, time to pray together and time to cry. Time to say our goodbyes.

I wouldn't have it any other way.

But it is so hard.

It's heartwrenching to see my Grandpa, my hero, who was always so strong, so vital, so much larger than life, sick and weak - dying. It's hard to face his mortality, and it's impossible to wrap my mind around the impending loss.

It takes all my strength to walk away each Sunday thinking that it is probably the last time, to let go of his warm hand and walk out the door.

If I'm honest - it'd be easier to stay away. I'd rather run away from my emotions and not face them head on. Over and over and over again.

And while I'm being so honest - it'd be nice to have weekends at home again. We are tired. We are selfish. We want to stay home.

But I'm learning the practical application of a lesson whose theory I have long known. This is life - all of it, good and bad, hard and easy. Grandpa has brought more joy, laughter and love into my life than I can express. The very least I can do is to enter into the pain and the sorrow and the hard times with him. I don't only get the fun times. I don't have that right.

And here's the thing. This isn't for him anyway, not really. While I'd do anything in the world for him, he doesn't need us there. He knows we love him and he is certainly not wanting for visitors. We're the ones benefiting the most from these visits. These beautiful, heart-wrenching moments together.

I don't only get the fun times. And, I don't want to.

This is harder, but it is better.

Grandpa

(I tried to write this post about just my grandpa, but Grandma kept sneaking in there. They are a pair, those two.)

If you know me you probably know how much I love my grandparents.

If you know my grandparents you love them, too.

When I was a kid I used to think I was the luckiest person in the world to have Albert and Anna as my grandparents. Now that I'm grown up, I know I am.

For 31 years they have blessed my life in more ways than I could name.They have poured into my life with their presence, their love and their prayers.

And now it's nearing time for my grandpa to go.

I am going to miss him so incredibly much. His presence is so large it is impossible to imagine the world without it.

If you've met Albert, you know him. He is indiscriminate with his blessing, his humour, his joy. People flock to Grandpa's charisma like moths to a flame then draw close for his warmth and light.

While visiting last week a man called to say that he was flying in from Manitoba between his own cancer treatments to visit with Grandpa because he claims that Grandpa and Grandma changed his life. They loved him and supported him, drew him close to Jesus, and he credits them with much. I had never heard this man's name before, but the crazy part is, I have heard this story. Many times.

Because this is what they spent their lives doing, blessing others through hospitality, friendship, grace, love, laughter, acceptance and their time. It's not a handful of people whom they loved and served, it's not just those of use who are lucky enough to be family. It's people all throughout the Canadian Covenant and its churches. It's neighbours. And friends. And friends of friends. And some friends kids - and their friends. And strangers, really.

And we are all so lucky.

Because like I said, if you met Albert, you know him. And if you know him, you love him.

I sure do.

(If you want to send a message to grandpa you can do so at www.posthope.com/albert)

(I'd be lying if I said this will be my only post on Grandpa. I haven't even scratched the surface)

self-care

The last two weeks have been, well, terrible.

She'd been sick with a cold(s) since Christmas, but that seemed normal. Then a stomach flu, which I got the next day, then the day after a double ear infection diagnosis. Ugh, what a week, right? Two or three days with slight improvement then back at the doctor with a fever of 105.4. A virus probably. Then back at the doctor, and again, and again. An allergy to amoxicillin, a head to toe case of hives that will last for a week or more, a blood test and a catheter. Back at the doctor. 5 times in 9 days. Still getting over this weird virus, and tugging at her ear again this morning.

I had a two part root canal in there too.

I mean, oy vey.

I'm not going to lie, it's been a rough go, and I am at the end of my rope. Tears come easily and my patience is worn quite thin. I'd be happy cuddling her and holding her to the end of time, but laying on the couch and watching Dora is getting a little old. And I miss my daughter. I miss my mobile daughter. I miss her laughter and smile. I miss her funny, active, busy self. I've had a miserable, rashy, whiny lump of a mess who won't get off my lap but won't be kissed or touched. I want her healthy, I want to know that she's OK. I want her back. I want me back.

She's napping today, one of the first real naps in weeks. And instead of watching the last Downton Abbey, I'm in my bedroom, burning a candle, listening to Joni Mitchell, writing thank yous and catching up on some things.

I can feel myself creeping back.

I guess this is what they call self-care.

resolving, again.

Last year I made some not 'new year resolution' resolutions. I wanted to be more intentional with my life and make more room for the good and less room for the bad.

So how did I do?

more reading - B. I certainly read more, but still not nearly enough.
more writing - I get a D. I blogged less. oops.
more exercise - B. I did exercise more. And loved it.
reinvestment in lapsed friendships - eh, C+? Taking it one by one I guess.
less McDonalds - proud to give myself a B here.
baby free time - ehhhh, a D+...
something new - OK, I did join MOPS, and take classes with Anna. That's a start, right?
more DIY - A+ We built Anna a play kitchen, I painted an ottoman and made her a doll house. Not bad.
less selling myself short - sure.
less worrying, more hoping, more enjoying, more grace, more peace - I think I'll give myself an A for effort.

Circumstances were undoubtedly better this year, but I've dealt with them better too.

Last year I needed to work on some basic emotional care-taking and attend to some insidious thought patterns. While this work needs to continue, I also need to build on it. Take next steps. The list doesn't look that different from last year, but the emphasis has shifted. I've been able to put more shape to my hopes and dreams and now have to muster the courage to realize them.

drum roll please...

1. more writing. The thing is, I write all the time. In my head that is. In the shower, lying in bed, I'm always writing. I compose blog posts and chapters to books, and I fail to write them down because as much as writing has always been a part of my life, I don't identify as 'a writer' and am scared to admit that I am one, scared of the expectations that come with that. But writing makes me happy so for my own sake, I need to carve out the time to do just this, just for myself. I have some plans.
2. more reading - I am always happier when I'm reading more.
3. more exercise - renew gym membership. simple.
4. reinvest in lapsed friendships - my work here is not done.
5. eat better/easier - a little planning goes a long way.
6. baby free time - my plans here dovetail with item #1 and include hiring a Mother's Helper, or equivalent.
7. something new - I have a few things in the works, plus I AM going to finally start that book club.
8. less selling myself short - refer to #1
9. less excuses. Just do it. All of it. Any of it.
10. and still, less worrying, more hoping, more enjoying, more grace and more peace.

Mostly more enjoying. I am blessed with a fantastic life. I plan on soaking up every single glorious minute of it, and forgiving myself when I don't.

This house that is my home

It's been over 13 years since I last lived at home, in this house.

I don't feel like I live here anymore, exactly. But then I hear the linen closet door creak the same creak it always has and suddenly I'm 12 again. A sudden glimpse of something in my childhood room or the smell when I walk inside the door brings me right back again. I know exactly what to expect when I sit on a certain chair or walk into a room. That intimate familiarity with a house, a connection so comforting, so grounding.

I feel it when I find the fresh flowers waiting in my room every time I come home. When dad changes after work and mom irons the sheets. It's knowing that the tylenol is in the 'waffle iron cupboard' and instinctively stepping over where the cracks on the driveway used to be. It's expecting to find Carmella - our long gone cat - to be around the corner, or hiding under my bed. It's still being scared of the basement after dark, and wondering why a piece of furniture isn't where it was 15 years ago.

It's the contentment that descends with my plane and the peace that settles deep in my bones as I walk up the front steps. This house contains my history, it's the place in which I became me. I belong to that house, and it belongs to me.

I can remember pretty much all of the so-called mundane details of my childhood, an 8 track movie played on demand. But when I'm at home there is a soundtrack. When I'm home my memories are in HD.

Now Anna is at home with me and the house becomes my past, but our present. I watch her play with my old toys, dressing her doll in my doll clothes. She plays on new playground equipment but in the same park. I  teach her to play pinball and grandpa shows her air hockey. She runs through the sprinkler in the summer and sleds on the same hill in the winter. I watch her treading a path up and down the stairs to the family room that I have walked thousands of times, grateful for this simple gift, this continuity. I witness her making her own memories, memories reflecting mine, but shiny and new.

I used to tell my parents that I wanted to buy this house from them when I grew up. Circumstances have changed but the sentiment remains. It's a reflection of how happy I have been here, how happy they have made me. In this house that is my home.

Merry Christmas (card) 2012

Merry Christmas & Happy Holidays!

After a good six months of some formal Chief duties, a little research and plenty of moonlighting, Adam will be acting Chief Resident at the Seattle Veteran's hospital in January. We're hoping that the new year will also bring him an official job offer here in Seattle come July. Seattle has become our home in the last year and a half and you'd have to drag s kicking and screaming out of the Pacific Northwest. We are grateful every day for this beautiful city and the life we are building here - our church, our family, our friends. Sheri dreams about what is next while enjoying this gift of time at home with Anna who in all her two-ness keeps us busy, and guessing. She is sweet, affectionate, hilarious, defiant and completely crazy. We can only marvel in wonder at her.

Thanks for all your love, prayers and support. We are truly grateful for you.

Praying that peace, goodwill, with all abide this Holy Christmastide,

Adam, Sheri & Anna Johnson