Nani

I didn't think I'd have to write this anytime soon. She was one of those people you thought would always be there. As a child she always wanted to see me, always wanted to be with me. That's how she was with all of her grandkids. You would think she lived for us. I was sure she lived for just me. Everything she talked about revolved around us. Everything she did revolved around us. When we moved from California to Texas, she followed. She and Papa lived with us for about 6 months until they found a job and a house. Those were such sweet memories. I remember falling asleep listening to her voice in the other room. I remember thinking that every day was a holiday because Nani was in the room right next to mine. I miss those days of complete security.

When we moved from Texas to Michigan, I knew they would follow. That wasn't a question in my mind. And they did.

We would visit them once a week for all day and they would come see us on their day off every week. They would sneak us treats, let us watch cartoons, and they would tell us wonderful stories of the old days. Nani cooked some elaborate pasta dish every visit. Oftentimes they would have Turner Classic Movies playing in the background, or an old Dean Martin record on. The 1950's era was the most perfect decade to me and I loved being transported back to Nani's days of dancing and singing where all the women always wore make-up, had their hair perfectly coiffed, and never left the house without a proper hat, handbag, jacket, and gloves.

As a pre-teen Nani would sit with me on the couch and we would sing all of the Andrew Lloyd Weber songs. Phantom of the Opera was her favorite, because Papa's favorite love song that he would sing to Nani was All I Ask of You. We would dream about seeing it live and then for my 12th birthday Nani surprised me with tickets to see the Phantom live in Houston. She took me to Neiman Marcus and bought me a beautiful black velvet choker with an amethyst and a very sophisticated outfit that made me look much older than the 12 that I was. She and Papa then took me to a fancy Italian restaurant and they insisted that the young, very cute waiter flirted with me. They were sure that my new outfit made me look 18.

Nani had two knee surgeries and I lived with her for a couple of months during that time to take care of the house, cook, and help care for her as she recovered. I was about 15 at the time. She shared so many stories. I would give her pedicures and she would share all of her regrets and she would cry. I would assure her that she was wonderful and had nothing to regret. I would massage her back and head and sing to her until she fell asleep.

When I got my driver's license, Nani's house was the first place I drove to. I came as often as I could until I moved back to Texas when I was 19.

Living apart was very hard for me - Nani was always apart of my home life all growing up. Moving away I didn't just leave my parents and siblings, I left Nani and Papa, too. I called Nani every Sunday. Papa was there, but it was always Nani who took the phone call.

She was always so proud of me. Loved hearing about my little romances and drama with friends. Loved filling me in on the family gossip that I hadn't heard yet. And when I found Chris, she wanted to know all of the details on how we met and how we were getting along.

My first meals that I cooked for my husband were Nani's recipes and I identified as Italian to every person I met because of her.

To her, life was all about romance. She lived for it. Papa was her one and only and she adored him, but there was another kind of romance that she lived for. Her walk with Christ was as pure and simple and beautiful as her marriage was. But she was also a nurturer and grandparenting was what she was born for. She held me so many times while I cried about something or other. Feeding people was her pride and joy and she was always concerned about everyone else's comfort - especially her grandbabies'.

It was my honor to be right by her side the way she has been by mine my whole life when she met Jesus. I was holding her hand, stroking her back, adjusting her covers, and assuring her everything would be ok, just like she had done for me for so many years. I held her face and told her that I loved her. She probably didn't hear me or know I was there, but I was. I wanted to have her at least one more day. But she was so ready to be free from pain and be with her Savior and her husband.

I can't say I've let her go, though. She's still with me in so many ways. Every Sunday I imagine calling her again and imagine what she would have said about how beautiful and wonderful her funeral was. I imagine her raving about the songs that we sang for her, her beautiful pink casket, the big Italian feast that we cooked for her after the funeral, and I imagine her telling me how worried she is about my Dad (her son), my mom, and her daughter, Aunt Debbie (or Deborah as Nani would call her). I imagine her worried about the weather, asking me if our house is done, and wanting me to give her love to all of my kids. I would have told her how I made her fettuccine alfredo the other day just the way she taught me. I would have told her how I just read a book about an Italian artist. I would have told her that my baby is no longer a baby and how hard that is for me. I would have told her about the romantic things Chris has done lately (she would have loved that part the best). I would have told her how much I missed her and that I would see her in a few weeks.

But tomorrow is Sunday and I can't call her and tell her all of those things. I won't see her in a few weeks, hear her voice, brush her hair, or tell her that I'm worried about her. She won't be able to tell me what to do about my upset stomach from crying too much. She won't be able to tell me how to get through weekend mornings when I feel like I can't get out of bed to face a world without Nani. She won't be able to tell me what to do about my headaches from not getting enough sleep due to my broken heart. And that hurts so so very much.

She was so much more to me than what you might see in our pictures. I never saw the gray hair, the wrinkles, or the cripple. I never saw the eyes tired from aging. I never saw the wheelchair or the hospital gowns. I just saw a glamorous, beautiful woman from the 1950's with shiny black hair, bright red lips, dark expressive eyes, strong Italian features, rosy cheeks on an olive complexion with statement jewelry to set it all off. That was my Nani.

I miss you (mi mancherai). 3/25/34~5/31/19

Charity Rae

Nine days before my Grandpa passed and the day before CJ's Birthday, Charity crossed her electric fence and ran head on in front of a passing truck in the street. She was killed instantly.

She was pretty spooked when the combines came to harvest the grain that day in the surrounding property of our house and we think that is what caused her to cross the fence.

Charity was our first dog and we definitely struggled with her hyper puppy stages. OK, I struggled with it the most! But the last few weeks of her life she had really calmed down and we had started to bring her in at night and at meal times so she would feel more a part of the family. Even my non-pet-lovers-heart had grown attached to her.

Losing Charity hit us all hard since she was so young and it was so unexpected. We will always remember our first dog at the farmhouse!

R.I.P.

March 10, 2017--November 1, 2017

Grandpa's Gone

My Grandpa passed away a couple of weeks before Thanksgiving. We knew it was coming. We had been prepared since the spring. But as many of you know who have experienced loss, being prepared doesn't really make it any easier. I've discovered just how selfish I am now that I have lost two special loved ones. Instead of focusing on the deceased's happiness, I focus too much on the gaping hole in my life that they've left behind. 

The final curtain of life leaves everyone left behind wishing for an encore, and with Grandpa it was no different. I wish I had visited more. I wish I had asked for one more story. I wish I had sung one last song with him. The Grandpa who inspired and challenged me in so many ways is now gone. He was the guiding force behind so much of what shaped our family. He passed on the stories, the debates, the musical talent, the desire to win, and the sarcasm and sharp wit that we all boast of today. One of the most stubborn people I've ever known, he never missed a chance to argue his point, but also always listened to the opposing side, encouraging them to continue the debate. Always the encourager, he respected those with drive and never doubted his children's ability to succeed. 

My early memories of him involved a lot of teasing that would make me laugh, a lot of pranking or provoking that would normally get me in trouble with Mom (but Grandpa would get me out of), and a lot of singing. As I got older, the teasing turned in to more serious talks. Grandpa spent hours telling stories of his Army adventures in Europe, his theological beliefs on Christianity, his perspective on American history, and his successes in the music world. When he wasn't engaging in stimulating conversation, he was outside playing football (even in his 70's) or doing some heavy lifting as if it was nothing. Grandpa was 5'2", but he was every bit of six feet tall in my eyes.

I got to visit him in May to say goodbye. He was already mostly gone. I knew he wouldn't be here much longer. Even though he was in a lot of pain and barely there, he made a point to hold my hand, hug me, kiss me on the cheek, and tell me he loved me.

There is nothing like a Grandpa's love and I miss him so much. 

Five other siblings and myself drove out to Idaho for the funeral (the other siblings flew). Driving 30 hours without stopping except for gas was an experience. We saw Mount Rushmore, which was cathartic. I could hear Grandpa's philosophies and discussion of American history booming in my head as I marveled at the monument and the states we drove through that I had never seen before. 

We were greeted by Mom and Grandma when we made it to Idaho and Mom was beaming like I've never seen her before. She told us how Grandpa's passing was as beautiful as it could be. He was surrounded by all of his children and his wife. Grandma was telling him how much she loved him, and he was telling everyone how much he loved them. There were prayers, there was singing, there was the promise of heaven, and Grandpa made it known that he had received God's love and was excited to see Him soon. My Mom loved her Dad so unselfishly, that she was focusing on her happiness for her dad to be rid of earth and walking with Jesus in heaven. Her enthusiasm was catching and we all relished being with the family in honor of Grandpa's passing. Happy tears, laughter, love, and joy filled Grandma's house as we reminisced about Grandpa's life.

I have always been more selfish than my Mom, but seeing her unselfish love for her Dad pricked my heart and convicted me. The tears flowed and my heart softened towards letting loved ones go. My Grandpa worked hard and loved hard here on earth. He would be so happy for us that we all have each other still. That we loved him so much. And that we were all there to celebrate his life. But Grandpa is truly so much happier to be over with the pain and stresses of this world. I realized then that I really am happy for him, even though I miss him so much.

Grandpa's viewing and memorial service was beautiful. As taps were played when he was laid in to the ground, I couldn't help but think about all the times that Grandpa had proudly played his trumpet. Music was perhaps Grandpa's number one love on earth outside of his wife and children, and he would have been proud to hear those brass notes played as he was laid to rest.

This Thanksgiving I focused on one of the gifts I am most grateful for. The gift of having a grandfather. I am so thankful that I got to experience the joy of loving and being loved by my grandfather for the past 35 years. I am also grateful that I know that my grandpa is happy in heaven now. My children are blessed with the best grandpas around, and now I get to sit back and watch them interact with their grandpas the same way I got to with mine. When I look at it like that, my selfishness dissipates. There really is no gaping hole. The next generation of grandpas are still here and loving and being loved just as fiercely as the generation before. . . and for that, I only cry tears of joy.