Double Whammy: Losing Two Grandparents In Two Months

Pretty sure I've spent more time in Michigan in the last six months than the previous three years combined. Life is full of surprises, but this is one I could have done without.

Two months ago, I was sitting in this same exact seat writing about my grandmother (on my dad's side). This time, we buried my grandfather (on my mom's side) and didn't see it coming. He'd give me a spock bite and a slap upside the back of my head if I said much more than that on the internet, so I'll just say it was a really fast decline. Once again, I had a flight home booked to see a sick grandpa, but came just days away from seeing him again.

I went for a walk around the farm, thinking of all the moments I shared with him on that land. It's hard not to smile walking around that place. Every detail reminds me of my childhood, even more so because grandma insisted I wear his boots on the walk. At some point of their toddler-hood, every grandchild was placed in his boots and photographed while they clomped around on the dusty tile floor.

The fields have laid fallow for several years as grandpa aged and couldn't get around as well, but he taught me how to grow food there. I remembered all the times he'd hold me up in the branches of the mulberry trees so I could keep eating after I stripped the lower ones of all ripe fruit. I thought about the sledding we did into one particular valley. I'm not sure if the memory of grandpa losing his glasses in the snow is actually in my brain from that day, or from seeing the home videos. 

Grandma told me not to go all the way down to the river where he taught me to fish, since water levels have been high recently, but I walked along the ridge and saw it at a distance.  There are paths where I ran the horses and where grandpa and I hunted for mushrooms, even though I would never eat those disgusting things like everyone else. 

I laughed at the sheer number of rusted, old vehicles and machinery between the trees. I mean, he even still has his beat up red, Ford pick-up truck that we would co-drive around the farm, which he still drove. There is a picture of me as a toddler with my hands on the wheel of that thing. Now, it has holes in the floorboards and an empty pack of cigarettes in the seat that he'll never smoke. It's those little details that were like a punch in the gut. Things like opening his car door and being hit with the smell of his Marlboros.

Even more difficult is something I didn't have to experience with the loss of my other two grandparents: watching my grandma go through losing her husband. She's so lost and there is nothing we can do about it. We all thought she'd go first, so she was not prepared to be without him. This fall would have marked their 60th anniversary, so I can't even imagine the difficulty of this transition. She breaks down crying every couple hours. Seeing her sit in front of the casket and receiving his flag after the American Legion played 'Taps'... good Lord, I was not prepared to witness that. Over the past couple days, she's told me so many stories as we searched for one form in the file of his 25 year military career. (Side note: Grandpa was a stud in the Navy, both in looks and his top notch performance reviews. Haha!) 

Honestly, when my sister called to tell me he was gone, I thought it was a prank and he was finally getting me back for a sneak visit from six years ago. He promised he would get me back, and so help him if I ever tried that shenanigan again. He was so stern, but had massive soft spots for his grandkids. He expected big things out of us and was always there to help or teach us. From planting and fishing as a small child, to knitting as a kid, to driving (and using a gallon of milk to teach me not to slam on the brakes...), he was involved in so many aspects of who I am. I mean, he even encouraged my love of baking by paying me to whip up dozens of pies at a time, which my grandparents froze and ate throughout the year.

Grandpa checked in on my homeschooling frequently to make sure we were meeting his high standards. Grandpa and I spent a lot of time reading with me and stirring up the curiosity in me that turned me into a journalist. I'll never forget complaining to my mom about struggling with one of the literature selections. It was so boring, I kept falling asleep. Grandpa happened to be in town, so he said if he could do it, I had to suck it up and do it too. I've never been so happy to see him sleep! 

At the service, I met a woman my grandpa became close friends with over the last couple years. His latest project was beekeeping, and she helped him with it. When my mom introduced me, the woman gushed that she heard so much about me and that he was so proud of me. Yeah, I lost it. Hearing that someone with such high standards was proud of you, to the point of telling a stranger about you? That carries some pretty heavy weight.

Seriously, people. Don't take your grandparents for granted.

Don't mind me if you catch me crying over a Pepsi, Snickers or horseradish while listening to "meegoes." But Lord help us all the first time someone dares to call me "'Squirt", "Kiddo", or "Knucklehead" after this. Guaranteed, it's going to result in tears.

Note: I might swap some photos for childhood snapshots... if I track down those old albums..

Monte Sr.
11/23/37 - 4/13/18

     

Remembering Grandma Eunice

It's been a little over two years, but here I am again: sitting in what was my grandparents' home, knowing one is no longer alive. This time, it's my dad's mother, Eunice, but a different situation.

She had been slowly slipping away for several years. Dementia and Alzheimer's disease are jerks like that. It's been at least six years since I had a real conversation with her. Even that visit to Michigan was pretty rough. After answering the same question about 20 times, I started having fun with it. I may have told her I lived on the moon and on the ocean floor, knowing she wouldn't remember the answer in 15 minutes.

Grandpa laughed, but we all knew how hard it was on him to see his wife deteriorating like that. At one point, I was sitting at the table with both of them and she shared something nonsensical. Grandpa sighed, shook his head, and softly said, "Such a shame to lose such a beautiful mind." The sadness in his voice in that moment was something I don't know that I'll ever forget.

The last time I saw her at all was three years ago. At the time, the doctors didn't think Grandpa was going to make it, so the nursing home brought her back to the house. By that point, she wasn't able to talk much. She mostly sat in silence, and frequently confused her yes and no answers. It was hard to see.

However, I did get to see Grandma and Grandpa hold hands and stare at each other. They were both struggling with their health, but their love was stronger. 

When I went into that trip, I knew going in that it would most likely be the last time I saw Grandpa alive, and it was. Part of me also knew it would be the last time I saw Grandma, if only to preserve the memory of who she was, not the disease that dragged her away.

Was it selfish of me? Probably. 

But let me tell you about the woman I remember, because a good chunk of her personality is reflected in who I am now. 

I grew up hearing that I was just like Eunice. The unfortunate thing is, I thought it was a bad thing for many years. That phrase generally came after I had been sassy, bossy, or stubborn. (You know, those traits parents don't want their child to develop until after they've moved out, but are really inevitable when your firstborn is a redhead.) It wasn't until I heard Grandpa sigh about what was slipping away that I realized, he meant it as a good thing.

Grandma also frequently told me I was just like her. I really wish I paid more attention to the stories of her younger years which she shared when I exhibited something she fully understood. Unfortunately, those things fell on deaf young ears. 

Before I left for college, she gave me a little decorative pillow that I still have today. The gold embroidery on the cream cover said, "I'm not bossy. I just have better ideas." A smile stretched across her face when she gave it to me, saying it described her too, but I needed it to warn my roommates of what they were dealing with. 

It really hit me in her final months just how tough she was. She fought her way out of the hospital after a seizure and a serious heart attack. When my mom told me that they didn't think she'd make it through the night, I didn't think it was real because I'd heard that so many times before. She amazed the doctors with her strength and how long she was able to fight the odds. 

Being compared to someone like that? Well, that's pretty high praise. 

In a world where women are constantly told who they are supposed to be, she didn't care about stifling her strength to meet other people's ideals. She was fierce and fabulous, and told me it was ok to be so too. There's no doubt Eunice was a handful, but people loved her for it and in spite of it. 

I never doubted Grandma's love for me. She proudly and repeatedly told me that I got my red hair from her mother. We spent countless hours doodling on and cutting up piles of poster board. She was far more fashionable than me, so there were the shopping trips where she spoiled me rotten in an effort to fix that flaw. I'll never forget the day she bought what I called my "Rockstar INXS" outfit: a one-shouldered black shirt with a giant silver clasp, and jeans with hot pink stitching and studs lining the legs. (Don't judge. I was obsessed with the show and she just wanted me to be happy.) She made sure my dorm room towels matched my bedding. She sent me $5 every week during college to make sure I ate on Sunday nights when the dining center was closed. She tried to teach me to play piano, even learning a ZOEgirl song she'd never heard because it was the one I picked.

Now, she gets to sing all those hymns straight to Jesus. If there was anything she loved more than her family, it was God.

I'm glad she's free from fighting just to stay with those she loved so dearly. Eunice Marie was a spunky, unique woman, and she will be greatly missed.

Blindsided (AKA: The Devil Is A Jerkfaced Toolbag Who Needs To Go Away)

To say last week was rough is the understatement of the century. There were a ton of small things that left me frustrated, but the two things left me barely hanging on. Considering what was happening at the church over the weekend, there is only one reason for it. The devil is trying to distract me so I'll lose my footing.

The first blindside attack happened on Thursday. I had just told someone in class that I was going to skip my (free) Cirque De Soleil tickets to go to the Dustin Smith concert. When I walked out of class, I heard a very familiar voice, squealing what at first sounded like my name (and later realized it was someone else's name.) Right out side of the school stood my ex boyfriend/best friend.... the one I haven't talked to in two months, and since letting go, my life started falling into place.

Seeing his face was like a punch in the gut.

I'm not going to lie and say I kept my cool. I most certainly did not.

With nowhere to go, I ended up all but running to my car. I sat there for about 10 minutes, unable to breathe and trying not to puke. I was mad no one warned me. I was mad he was back in town at all. I was freaking out that I wasn't ready to be anywhere near him, considering the pattern of the past year. I am finally in a good place, and boom, I'm struggling to stay on my feet again.

I texted my battle buddies who know the situation, and thank God for those women! They all basically said the same thing. I'm on the right path, so distractions, destruction and tests are going to pop up. Jacque and I have had several conversations about how we were both on a loop where we'd get close to where we are supposed to be, but we'd screw up and have to take another lap, but lately, we've been taking the exits to keep moving forward. This was one of the forks in the road where I could jump back on the crazy loop or take the exit toward the good life. It's something Heather reminded me of as well, saying "don't fall into old traps." That reminded me of Patty praying for me the week before, specifically breaking old patterns. Rhonda called me and reminded me that this is my home and domain, and as such, I have the authority in this atmosphere. Right then, I decided that his presence was not going to get in my way.

Was it easy? Absolutely not. I both wanted to do something hurtful and yet make sure he's ok. It's a complicated feeling, but I now have the strength to stay away, knowing he's not part of my journey now. I took the exit instead of staying on the destructive loop. I questioned everything and had to push past some major bitterness and walls. (More on that momentarily.) Throughout the Thursday concert and Friday sessions of the conference, I constantly turned it over to God and kept reminding myself of the joy in my life right now and that he was not going to steal it.

But then came the major blindside.

In the middle of night service, they announced that my dear friend Jill had passed away.

I was running camera toward the front of the church, so I tried to keep it together, but failed. Dozens of people stared at me while tears streamed down my face until someone came to take over the camera. I joined a group of women in the foyer, holding each other and crying. Jill meant so much to us. I cried all night at work. I still cry about it. It still doesn't seem real that Jill is gone.

I met Jill at the beginning of my first actual service at World Revival Church. She was sitting in front of me, turned around and said, "You're new!" She immediately added me on facebook and told me that she felt like I belonged here. She had no idea that I had applied for jobs in other states that very morning.

Those first few weeks and months, Jill sent me updates on when services were, offering rides and saving seats whenever I could go. She introduced me to people who are now very dear friends and made sure I felt welcome and connected.

Jill was an amazing source of encouragement through all the ups and downs over the past (almost) two years. She supported my journey through ministry school. She pushed me write more whenever there was a gap in blog posts and reminded ever so often that I should start on that book. She was there for me the day of the crazy fight to make sure I was ok on all levels. I told her I felt like I needed to get a passport and she nagged me about taking steps toward it for a year. I never told her I had finally filed for it, and it arrived the same day she left the earth.

After leaving the church Friday night, I heard a song on the radio I have only ever heard on the pre/post service playlist called "Wake" by Hillsong: Young & Free. Whenever it came on at church and I was around Jill, I'd always do some crazy weird dance and she would say something along the lines of, "you know I love you since I'm still standing here while you do that." I broke down in tears hearing it on the radio, knowing I'll never be able to dance with her again and decided to play it on my show in her memory. Then, Saturday night, we had an amazing worship service. [Minor story detour: There were about three people between me and my ex. During "Spirit Break Out" I really felt like God was saying to let the bitterness go. I was still pretty upset that he was there, and had to remind myself that I control the atmosphere. We've been pushing for unity of faith and spirit, so his being there couldn't get in the way of the goal. I fought my way through it, and prayed for him. He was here for the conference for a reason, and hopefully that means he is getting help and healing too. I can't hold on to a grudge and be healed, and neither can he. Kingdom has to come first, and there was such a weight lifted during that song.] The worship set ended with "Wake." I'd never heard it live in church before either, so it hit me right in the feels. I grabbed another friend of Jill's who was nearby and said that she was with us in spirit. Instead of just crazy dancing with Jill, I let go and went full blown worship rage dance. There was so much healing in that moment, jumping around to a song that I connect with Jill, surrounded by a dancing group who also loved her and were grieving her loss,

There is a line in that song that really hit me during that moment of moshing. The song says "You're in my heart forever," which is true of this situation and reminded me of conversations with several other people. In sharing about how we met Jill and who she was to us, a couple strong women in my life said that we need to step up and fill her role. Jill saw people, not just in the physical, but she saw potential. Once she noticed the future in someone, she didn't let go. She loved people and went out of her way to care for them. She had a true servant's heart. Now we all need to step up and fill the void she left.

Honestly, I'm still struggling with how little time I spent with her over the past few months. My withdrawal from the world kept me isolated from her, followed by diving back in head first and having very little free time kept us apart lately. She had facebook messaged the group that morning, but I was at work and never responded. That haunts me. Several people have individually told me not to let that voice of guilt take root. She loved me and knew that this season of being on the right path again involves a heavy load. Our last conversation was Easter Sunday after I fell asleep a couple times in service and decided to go home. She was on camera, so we had a quick hug and she told me to get some rest and we'd see each other later. I just never made that happen.

I have so many memories with Jill... from her surprise birthday party, to helping me move in a heat advisory, to Catch Phrase on Christmas, to being on media, to just chatting at a restaurant. She didn't just tolerate my weirdness, she enjoyed it. Even though she loved Ohio State and the Cardinals, while I'm a Michigan and Tigers girl (which we debated frequently), we could look past our differences and still get along (yes, that sounds crazy, but the UM/OSU rivalry runs deep, y'all.) If I had a bad day, she would sneak a pack of Oreos into my car/ my saved seat at church/ leave them outside my apartment, even though she often lectured me about my ridiculously unhealthy sugar addiction.

I still keep waiting for her to sneak up on me at church and smack or kick me in the butt. I keep waiting to hear a story that starts and ends with "God is so cool." I miss my friend dearly, but I know she is in a better place. Jill brought us together in the first place, and the group hadn't been together as much as in the past, but she is bringing us all together again. We will get through this together, no matter what distractions the devil throws at us. The last thing she would want for her friends is for them to be distracted by an attack from the devil, especially one involving her.

We love you, Jill.