June 9, 2015
I'm back. From when, is definitely the question. Been struggling lately. Not exactly writer's block. I can always find something to write about. The world is JUST interesting enough to find things to write about. My block has been more enthusiasm or passion-based. Don't get me wrong, I love writing. I have "Write a book." on my bucket list. I used to find nearly any procrastination excuse to do my real/day job stuff and write instead. But lately? Meh. The words "What's the point?" flow through my brain lately. Or "Another day." See it hasn't been a question of IF I would write again, the question has been WHEN it would happen. So here I am more than a year later with no blog posts. Starting it up again. Much has happened in the past year but I need not take a trip too far down memory lane. Certain "whens" are long gone and it is best served to leave them in the past.
The thing that seems to have driven me over the edge to take the writing plunge again? A 25-year high school reunion questionnaire. No, I will not post my answers, although they are most definitely the wittiest and sarcastically funniest answers possible. I am sure the organizer is crying from laughter. Meh. Probably not. But I'm here. And it brought me to the when. You know, the "when". The when is that pivotal moment in time when a person was changed or altered, hopefully but not always, in a good and inspiring way. That juncture that brings a person to a new light or path.
The thing that really seems to have driven me over the edge to take the writing plunge again? The death of my grandmother, Caryl Joanne Bridgford. A.k.a. Granny. She passed away March 12th. Even though she was 84, her passage to the life-after was fast-tracked. She started feeling under the weather in February. Mostly flu-like symptoms and tiredness. After treating what she assumed was the flu for a few weeks and becoming more and more tired and weak, her "run its course" strategy was becoming a little alarming to the family. We (my mom, aunts & I) had to force her to go back to the urgent care on February 26th. I made her go but, of course, she negotiated coffee first. A quick couple of blood tests sent her to a vacation at the hospital (again against her wishes), but she went probably because she was so weak her efforts to fight me were futile. Just three days later, the diagnosis was small cell cancer that had metastasized to the bone marrow. Cancer, stage 4, terminal. Those four words are dirty, horrific words. To hear them used to describe a loved ones' prognosis, is nauseating and surreal. I cannot imagine being the one to hear them directly. But my Granny took the news with grace and dignity.
We had 15 days. And in a way I cherish those days. She had all her faculties. She knew everything that was going on and she knew what the outcome would be. We talked about everything. We made arrangements. We shared. But we (the family) all just grappled with the when. We prayed to stop it. Little did we know that the when was the whole point entirely.
We took turns spending the night with her. During my first night with her, Gran was peaceful & quiet, I was restless, not used to the sounds around me. While my conversation with her will remain one between the two of us, I can tell you that I told her the things that I needed to. She was a most important person in my life and I was unusually close to her. Our coffee mornings and our Sunday church mornings are some of my greatest whens. (And though I have only stepped foot once in our church since her passing, I know that going back to church will be only a matter of when.)
My second night, the night of the 13th day, was an epiphany. I woke startled to a sound. Gran was saying "Mel" softly. She never called me Mel, only Melissa. She was whispering, barely moving her mouth so I flew to her side, with my face in her face. She said "I'm not sure which way is the right way to go." I asked "What are your options?" She didn't answer. I stood with my face close to hers for what seemed like hours. Begging in my mind to answer me, to describe what she saw. Chanting in my mind, over and over to tell me. I finally said "Just go where your heart tells you." I figured that would be something like she would tell me. She just slept.
Years ago, Gran had told me that IF she got cancer she would NEVER do chemo or radiation. This was after one of the many church services that we attended together and I have already long forgotten the message. But I will never forget that conversation. I told her I didn't like talking about the "ifs" when it came to cancer. It scared me. And I told her the word "never" shouldn't be used when talking about any ifs. We just can’t know how things will need to be handled. She said "Oh hogwash. Chemo is just as bad as cancer. I wouldn't want it. There aren't any ifs. WHEN it's your time, it's your time. No amount of chemo will change that." I gently argued for a few minutes saying how would we know it was our time and maybe it would be God's plan to fight? She wouldn't hear anything of it. She told me when I was 80 plus years old, I would understand.
She was one of those types of people that are real. You know the kind. The kind that's broken, and completely impossible to change but you love them anyway because they are broken and impossible to change. They are real. They put on no airs. They are what they are. They make no apologies for being human. The two sayings my Granny favored were "You can only do what you can do." and "It is what it is." These described her perfectly and how she approached all things in life. She was real.
I think I am like that, too. I am not perfect, never have claimed to be. I don't say all the right things, or act the right way. I let my emotions get the better of me most of the time. I fly off the handle. I overextend myself. I'm super forgetful. I am tired every waking minute of every single day. I am over-weight. I fail. A lot. I live only a half-step away from right in the middle of complete and utter chaos.
But I put my heart out there, right on my sleeve. I help pretty much any time anyone asks. I try really, really hard every day. I pray to God every single day. I say what I mean and I mean what I say. I tuck my kids into bed every night (when they are sleeping at home, that is, and I text them when they are not). I say I love you to my husband several times a day and I mean it. I am thankful. I love. I survive. I ask forgiveness. And I keep on going.
Gran told me when I am 80 plus years old, I would understand. It didn't take me that long. I understood on March 12th. I had to leave to pick up my daughter from school. It was the when. At 3:03pm I whispered to Gran "It's time for me to go. And it's time for you, too. It's going to be ok, we will take care of each other. I love you and I'll see you soon." Then I left the room filled with family and I walked away. I didn't even make it to the school. My mom texted me at 3:15pm that she was gone. I don't know if God whispered it to me or if Gran did but somehow I just knew that was the when.
Since my Gran's passing I look at things a little differently. The absence of a person can do that to you. Things are clearer to me in a way. More real. The sun seems brighter when it is out. The rainy days are gloomier. My mom's voice, kinder and more comforting. My husband's love, more encompassing. My son's laugh, more contagious. My daughter's hugs, cuddlier. I relish. I absorb. I drink it all up. I soak it all in. I cherish.
Life is so short. Gran had 84 years on this Earth and she said it went by really fast. I believe her. I am only on year 43 - I know that I blinked and 14 years went by, right in an instant. It's absolutely crazy how time can pass us by. We need to cherish the time, the when, we have here. The time, the when, is now.
I haven’t written my book yet. But it never has been a question of if. And this post may just be the when.
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