Archive for the ‘The Family’ Category

On Friday afternoon I got in my car and drove 120 miles north to one of my favorite places in the world, Ventura, California.

Ventura is the city where we vacationed every summer of my childhood. We stayed in my great-aunt’s beach house every year until I was in college. We packed aunts, uncles, cousins, grandparents and sometimes friends into that house, sometimes sleeping 4 or 5 to a room if necessary.

In the early mornings we walked on the beach and then to the local donut store through the secret hole in the wall near the liquor store. We stayed up late playing blitz, sometimes for quarters and sometimes for the candies my grandma bought at the grocery store next to the donut shop. Each day we walked down the street to the sandy stairs and up to the beach to build sand castles, to boogey board.

Because we were staying in my great aunt’s house for a really discounted price (they rented it out to people in the summer), we were told we had to conserve resources. So this meant when we crawled back from the beach after a long day of boogey boarding, we had to shower both with another cousin (of the same gender and general age) AND in the outdoor (though fenced off) shower. That shower presented both the greatest challenge and the greatest humor each summer.

When my older sister and cousin were showering, another cousin and I would turn on all the hot water in the house, so they only had cold (yea, not so good with the conservation). In turn, during our shower they would throw buckets of ice water over the fence on us. There was one time that someone, I’m honestly not sure who, threw a bucket of cold water on my sister and cousin and as retaliation my cousin came running out, completely naked, with the hose. And in the process soaked my grandma completely and put out her cigarette. I will never, ever forget the look on my grandma’s face as she sat there, dripping wet, while the rest of us watched behind the sliding glass door.

In the years since those days, my great-aunt and great-uncle have remodeled the house and now live in it full time, so we no longer stay there as a family, but we do visit whenever we’re in town. On Saturday we stopped by for a spaghetti dinner and for reminiscing.

It was the first time I’d really been in the house in years and I couldn’t believe how much it reminded me of my childhood. I remembered the showers, the bunk beds, all those years of sharing rooms, of bringing tape decks and blasting “Manic Monday” and dancing along. There are so many memories wrapped up in that house, in that city. It makes me feel both at home and melancholy for the experiences of my childhood. For my grandma, who isn’t here anymore.

This year it was just a small group of us and I realized, sadly, that the cousins who came along (ages 9, 7 and 2) never met or knew their grandma and sadly, their other grandma has a fairly rapid course of Alzheimer’s. They are living a completely different childhood than I did, with my mom filling much of the grandma void, and with a different grandpa than I knew. A slower one, but a more present one. One who comes to their home once a week and makes pancakes. One who babysits during nap time and whose name (Papa) the kids mastered before almost any other.

Just being there, seeing that beach through the eyes of these kids takes me back to when I was their age. When we had a week of care free time to be kids. To be a family. And though it’s not the same, I’m glad that they can have a taste of the summers in Ventura that I got to experience.

On Saturday my 7 year old cousin Mary looked at me and said, “Katie, how did they put all my favorite places in the world in Ventura?” And I just looked at her and smiled. Because I don’t know.

But somehow they put all my favorite places there too.

I was reminiscing with my family today about the months that I lived in Greece in college. I was lucky enough that I had family come and visit while I was there. Not only did it alleviate the homesickness that I occasionally battled, but it also gave me a chance to show my family around my new, though temporary, home.

My dad and step-grandpa came to visit in the middle of my time there and we planned an adventure. I knew seeing Greece with my dad was going to be different than seeing it with the other family who I had enjoyed visits with. You see, my dad shares the same totally nerdy love of history that I do. He is fascinated by the same kinds of things I am, we share a common political mind and I knew he would enjoy the ruins at least as much as I had. I knew he would just get it.

I didn’t have classes on Fridays while I was in Greece, so early Friday morning he and my step-grandpa rented a car and picked me up. On the way to my apartment he turned the wrong way down a one way street, which if you’ve ever driven in Athens morning traffic you know was not an idea situation. But he made it, in relatively close to one piece, and we were soon on our way.

We stopped at Thessaloniki and talked about the biblical history and looked at the platform where Paul spoke to the Thessalonians. We drove south through the Peloponnese peninsula and stopped in Sparta and other historical sites. We spent the first night in a hotel where I had a cot that periodically just broke apart for no good reason, landing me ass first on the floor.

The next morning we set out again, trying to find Mycenae and later Olympia. Only, Greece is not really all that well mapped or signed. And we got totally lost. This was 7 years ago, long before GPS units and smart phones were around, so we had our maps and a lot of empty space out in front of us trying to figure out where to turn. We decided to continue driving, that was, until we reach a ledge where the road kind of cut out.

I don’t remember exactly what happened that convinced us to, but before I knew it, we plowed over the ledge through what I think was a dried out river ravine and continued in the general direction we thought we wanted to go. And hours later, we found our destination. Together we walked through the Lion’s Gate, through burial caves and temple ruins.

In a way, seeing things through his eyes was almost better than seeing them through my own the first time. Telling him all the things I had learned about the historical sites, showing him ruins of temples, the first Olympic stadium and so many other things made the experience greater for me. We stayed in small hotel rooms and spent hours in the car, which most 20 year old girls probably don’t love. But these are memories I will absolutely never forget. Traveling those roads with my dad, ravines and all, were moments that I would never give back, never do over again, even if it meant not nearly risking our lives in a crazy ravine jump.

In so many ways I am a hybrid of my parents. From my father, I get my curly dark brown hair, my nose, my belly button, my torso, my long toes and my temperment. I can be quiet and calm, I can be laid back and easy going, I don’t mind doing things for others. But I am passionate about some things and I do not back down from those causes. I am as fiercely non-violent though it seems like an oxymoron, I hate war with all the deepest parts of my soul, I seek peace and love before all else.

My dad is a strong compass for me, pointing toward something calm, something strong. He is a place I can go when I need to vent, when I need help. He’s never one to judge and there is never any question about whether he has my best interests in mind. When planning our wedding he was always one of the first people I called after making decisions because I knew that he wouldn’t grill us about cost or location or religion, he wouldn’t bring up all the things that could go wrong, he would just tell us how excited he was for us and he would really mean it, without reservation.

I think that relationships with parents are as unique as each child themselves. I don’t value my relationship with my dad over that with my mom, nor vice versa. But I find that each is such a profound part of who I am, of what makes me me, keeps me grounded and helps explain how I became the person that I am, that I know that I could not have come to the point I have without them.

Today I celebrate my dad, for his support and unwavering excitement in all the realms of my life. I celebrate him for how he has shaped me into a passionate but calm person, how he has shown me that I can fight with conscientious thoughts not fists. I celebrate how he has instilled in me a passion for history, for politics, for knowledge. I hope that when I am a parent I can provide the same guidance he has given me, the same unwavering love and support through good and bad times, the same nerdy love for government and history. I hope that he knows that I have lived so much of my life wanting to make him proud of me, that there are few trophies, few achievements that could top his approval.

Happy Father’s Day Dad. I hope this is more creative than the Kindle card I settled on. You are impossible to shop for. But I love you tremendously anyway.

Memorial Day is a day we set aside to show gratitude for and remember those who lost their lives while protecting our country. I come from a family where many of my grandparents and great-uncles were in the military, though we were lucky in that most returned home safely.

Each year on Memorial Day, my grandmother used to take me and my sister to the large cemetery in town. We would stop on the way and buy flowers and then we would walk solemnly to her brother’s grave sites and place flowers and say a few words for them. She would tell us stories about them, about the things they did and how they lived and died. She cried some years, other years she was stoic, but her sadness often shone through.

These outings almost never went as planned. My grandma could never find the florist on the first or second try and then usually once we found the florist, finding her brother’s graves was always another journey. But my Grandma was focused, she would honor her brothers for their sacrifices, she would not let us forget about those who came before us.

It’s been 9 years since my Grandma died and probably 15 years since I last went to that cemetery with her to visit her brothers. She now rests in a nearby plot of earth and I’m somewhat comforted that she is near her brothers who she loved so dearly. But I find that on Memorial Day, my mind goes to her. To all the years that she taught us how important this day is, how to honor her brothers and the others who gave their lives for our freedom.

Today we remember those who fought for us, those who lost their lives so that we could have ours. We remember them, we remember their families and we honor their legacies.

And today like many others days, I remember her. I remember my Grandma for teaching me about Memorial Day, for reminding me to thank our servicemen and women. I remember her for all the ways she honored her brothers and the way she reminded us to be thankful for sacrifices that were made long before we were even born. I remember her for her bravery, for growing up without her brothers and for her sense of duty to them.

And I miss her, deeply, as I know others are missing their family members today. And just as she would want, I am grateful for the sacrifices made by families all over this country to give me the freedoms that I so often take for granted.

May they rest in peace, may they have sisters who tell their stories to new generations so that their memories, their bravery and their lives will never be forgotten.

I’m not spending today with my mom, primarily because I still have an exam to prepare for tomorrow, but also because of distances and because I’m going to drive to see her next weekend. She called me a week ago and requested that we not buy her a Mother’s Day gift this year because we just had her birthday and Easter, and I’m willing to respect that wish (see also: not wealthy). I don’t have the time to write everything I want to, but I thought I could take a moment away from studying to share one thing.

I was trying to think about the coolest thing my mom ever did and I was struggling. Not because there was a lack of cool things, or trips or experiences, but because the coolest thing my mom ever did didn’t fall into any of those categories.

The coolest thing my mom ever did, was give me a sister (well, technically, she gave my sister a sister, but whatever). Having a sister has given me someone I could look up to, someone I could fight with and play with, a partner in crime.

For years my mom not so secretly hoped that one day we would be friends, that we would learn to communicate and stop fighting. And I think that one of the best gifts I can give back to my mom on this Mother’s Day is the knowledge that my sister is truly one of my closest companions. I talk to her several days a week, if not every day. We laugh, we support one another, occasionally we argue, but we are friends, sisters, and we love each other. My sister knows my secrets, my fears, my joys and my struggles.

So I just wanted to say thank you to my mom, not just for my life and all the joys and memories, but for giving me someone else to share those joys with, to make believe with and to grow up with.

I think I speak for both of us when I say Happy Mother’s Day, mom. We love you more.

A few weeks ago, when I was putting on makeup, I stepped back from the mirror and realized for the first time, that I am starting to look a lot like my mom. I’ve always been a nice mash up of my mom and dad, and people have always kind of split between saying I looked just like one or the other, but I think as I’m aging, I’m becoming more and more like my mom.

I know for some people that’s a scary thought, but not for me. My mom is the kind of person I strive to be. It’s hard for me to explain it because my mom is complex, our history is complicated.

I was a difficult kid. I got in trouble a lot at home and I had a lot of trouble with boundaries. I was stubborn (clearly I grew out of that) and once I was upset, I was hard to calm. I think I probably spent years of my life in trouble and the worst part was that I always deserved it. Once when I was 5, my mom took us to the store to buy my sister a swimsuit. My birthday had just passed and gotten several bathing suits already, so the shopping wasn’t for me. And as the story goes, I got so upset that she wouldn’t buy me a suit that I threw a fit in the store and in my 5 year old rage, scratched her arm pretty significantly. When I finally calmed down, my mom showed me what I had done and I broke down in tears with remorse.

I have hurt my mother many other times over our 27 years together. Most of them were not physically, but there are days when I think about the things I’d do over, the things I’d do better. I know that I was a difficult child, that I stood at the entry to my bedroom and shouted that I hated her more times than I could probably count. I know I told her she was the worst mom, that she was the meanest. I searched and found the most hurtful words I could find and hurled them at her. I wore her patience, I exhausted her calm. I blamed her for things she didn’t do.

The last time I really remember hurting my mom was when I was 21. I was studying abroad in Greece and I had been sending back funny emails to friends and family. In my last email there, I gave my top 10 things I loved about Greece, and one of them was that I got time to explore my life away from my family. It was callous and meant to be funny, but I found out through other family members that it had really hurt my mom’s feelings and I was heartbroken.

I try not to live in regrets, but one of the things I think about and wish I could undo the most are all the times, the years, that I took my mom for granted. My mom has rushed to my aid hundreds of times, often without being asked. She’s driven thousands of miles just to be there with me, to hold my hand, to give me a hug. She’s bent over backwards, she’s shelled out thousands of dollars, all for me. And I sometimes wonder how I will ever repay her for all she’s done.

I don’t know how to repay someone for being your best friend. For being the voice of reason in a crisis. For being willing to talk 24 hours a day, 7 days a week about anything. For sending me anxiety pills in the mail because I ran out and my insurance wouldn’t cover a refill yet. For sending me cards to let me know she’s thinking about me. For sending me text messages that say that she loves me.

How do you repay someone for being exactly what you’ve needed at every phase of your life?

Tomorrow is my mom’s birthday. Her 55th, which she probably didn’t want me to tell you, but I’ve never been a very good listener. I have always struggled to get her gifts at her birthday. I never feel like I can give her enough. I never feel like what I get her is special enough or meaningful enough. I have never been able to find a gift to show her how very much she means to me, how incredibly glad I am that she was born, that she is my mother.

I’ve never been able to find a way to show her how grateful I am, every single day, to have her in my life. Hallmark just doesn’t make a card for that.

I don’t know that I will ever repay my mother, or make up for the things I would undo from our history, but I hope that she knows how much I love her, how grateful I am for all she has done for me, for all she has given up for me. I can’t wait to be a mother so that I can watch her with her grandchildren, so I can teach my daughters the things she taught me.

When I look in the mirror and see her, I’m comforted. Growing into my mother doesn’t scare me, it’s not something I’ll ever complain about.

Because there is no one on this earth I’d rather be like than my mom.

Happy birthday Mom. Even though it will never be enough, know that I love you with all my heart and that even if I didn’t say it enough as a kid, or even now as an adult, I am so thankful to have you in my life. I could not ask for a better role model, a better friend, a better mom than you.

I opened a program on my computer this morning and discovered that my mother unfollowed me on twitter today. First, I cried quietly to myself and then I did the only logical thing you can do in such a situation, I texted her.

My mother is kind of hilarious, by the way.

But she got me thinking, twitter is kind of confusing and perhaps she’s not the only mom who wants to follow her kids (without stifling them, clearly) and maybe a mom’s introduction to twitter is needed. And since we’ve already covered all the annoying crap that you need to stop doing on twitter, I figured a quick introduction to how twitter works might be in order. If the print on the pictures is too small, you can click on them and make them bigger so you can read the print. All orange arrows and blue/purple print are my additions.

If you go to twitter.com, this is what you’ll see:

If you have a twitter account already, sign in. If not, create an account, you’ll just need an email address. Once logged in, you might see this. This is old twitter:

I liked old twitter. You might also see this, this is new twitter and will be the focus of our lessons:

So, let’s split this into 2 parts, first, the timeline on the left:

And then the sidebar on the right:

Now, let’s say you know that there’s someone you’re not following them and you might want to consider following them. This is what their page will look like (for the record, I wasn’t planning on following her, she was just the only person I could think of that I KNEW I wasn’t following):

Again, let’s break it into two parts, first, her timeline on the left:

And her sidebar on the right:

Now, let’s say you want to send a tweet. Go back to the main page (can do that by clicking on the big word twitter on the top left of your screen) and click on the box at the top that says “What’s Happening?”

More info on the tweets:

One final concept- direct messages. If you want to send a message in private, click on the Messages link on the middle of the top toolbar on the main page:

Pick who you want to send it to and type up a message (this is small print, might want to click on it to open it up in a new window and blow up the picture):

And if they reply, you’ll get an email letting you know!

There’s definitely more, but these are the basics and these are enough for today. Especially since all you really needed to know is that you should never unfollow YOUR OWN DAUGHTER.

At 11 this morning, I got a text from my dad. It said that my grandma had been taken to the hospital in an ambulance because she was dizzy and her blood pressure was “crazy.” I still haven’t quite established what constitutes crazy in terms of blood pressure, but I understood that it wasn’t good.

I was finally able to speak to him when I left my clinical at 4:30 this afternoon. They had run a battery of tests because the most pressing concern was that she was having a stroke. To say that we were worried was an understatement.

My grandma is in pretty good health and it was the first time I’ve really been faced with a reality that I have long been ignoring. I still have two living grandparents and they are aging. And while it’s easier for me to walk around with my head in the sand pretending this isn’t happening, the reality is that it is.

When my father spoke with my sister a few hours ago, he broke down and cried. My father is having to face an even scarier reality. He has already lost his father and even though I would be nothing short of heartbroken to lose my grandma, my pain would pale in comparison to his, and I’m not sure I can stand to watch him go through that again. Our family was present when my grandpa died and I have never felt as broken as I did watching my father grieve his father right before me.

I’ve been in such a rush to become and adult, that I’ve forgotten that growing up isn’t always filled with joy and laughter, sometimes it’s filled with the difficult stuff too. And I’m suddenly realizing that maybe it’s time for me to slow down and enjoy what I have now. It’s time for me to realize just how lucky I am to have large, loving family in good health. Most people do not have that luxury and I know that I need to stop taking it for granted.

My grandma is home now, though they’re unsure of exactly what transpired today. A scan of her brain (not sure if MRI or CT) showed no stroke, but it did show significant calcification of her carotid arteries and that sends up about a million red flags and is definitely not something we’re going to take lightly. She is having an ultrasound done soon to see the extent of it. The whole situation is made a little scarier because my other grandma had a similar scare less than a year before she died. It’s getting harder and harder to pretend like everything is okay.

But it is.

And though this afternoon was absolutely terrifying, it was also a good reminder that I need to do a better job of telling my family how much I love them. I know they know it, but I want to make sure that there’s never a doubt, just in case someday I have to pull my head out of the sand and face a reality I never want to see.

I made it through the entire day today without realizing. I mean, I wrote the date on a piece of paper, I even moved my watch date forward, but it still didn’t register. Which is really odd since changing the date on my watch will always make me think of my grandfather, sitting in his chair in his living room, saying some curse word at his watch when he was trying to change the date to March 1st as we sat around him, reeling.

Today is March 1st.

And while that may not be especially significant to most of you, it’s a day that my family knows well. Nine years ago today, my grandma died.

I truly can’t believe it’s been 9 years, and I know I say that each year, but it continues to amaze me. It feels like just yesterday but also a little like a lifetime ago. Maybe it was just me, but this Christmas was one of the hardest without her, and the past 8 have been anything but easy. I feel like our family is changing somehow and all I want to do is go back in time, spend a Christmas with her and savor it.

I want one more day, one more conversation, one more game of dwindle, even though I hate that game. I want just one more moment with her or one more chance to tell her how much I love her and how much she has meant to me. And it still brings me to tears that I can’t have that. That I can’t have any more of her.

The fact I’ve now lived a third of my life without my grandma mystifies me. And I don’t know how I’m going to go about having kids without her in my life.

My grandma was above all else, a mother. She raised 5 kids, and every single one of them graduated from college, every single one of them made something of themselves and I think that says a lot about her. She worked as a labor and delivery nurse until she was around 70 years old. She spent her last 5 years on this earth giving food to those who needed it. She had compassion that I can barely begin to grasp and she cared so much for others that it was captivating to watch her.

She wanted the best for everyone. She wanted us to be happy and safe all the time. She bought little trinket gifts everywhere she went, she organized, hosted and cooked family dinners more times than I can begin to count. It’s not to say that she never took any time for herself, but her family, her friends, others around her were so incredibly important to her. She loved fiercely and she made sure we always knew how loved we were.

I think the greatest testament that I can say to her is that each year when March 1st comes and goes, I feel devastated all over again because this world is missing one of the best people it ever had. The world is better for her having been in it and it’s quieter for her absence now. And it will never be the same again.

Each year I try to take some time and glean something from the 365 days that I’ve survived without this woman in my life and even 9 years later, there are still things I’m learning from her. There are things deep in my memory and it makes me sad how fuzzy some of the memories have become. How I can’t remember the sound of her voice anymore or how soft her skin was. I hate that I can barely remember the way she used to do the voices in her favorite book or the song she sang every time we got on the swing in her backyard.

Each year a little more of her is gone and I feel like the only thing I can do is try, each year, to be a little more like her because the world needs more of what she was. I feel that the least I can do is learn a lesson from her life and pass it on to my cousins, the ones who never met her and my children who will never know the amazing woman who took care of an amazing family. I was so blessed to have her in my life and I never want to forget the life, the happiness, the memories that she gave me.

I really wasn’t sure what my lesson was going to be this year, and to be honest, I’ve been having trouble facing another year, another milestone. But I think the only way I can honor her this year is by doing the things she would be doing if she was still here. I want to help others. I want to give to those who need care right now, to those who need someone to be a mother to them, like she was a mother to so many. My funds and time are limited, but my ability to help is not.

Tonight, on the 9th anniversary of her death, I’m making a donation to Friends of Maddie. My grandma helped deliver hundreds of babies in her life and I know that if she was here, she’d love the heart of this organization and the care, love and support they provides families who desperately need it.

My grandma was a caregiver. She gave everything she had to anyone who needed it. And while it might take me a lifetime to live up to the legacy of love she has left behind, I’m taking a first step, of many, tonight. If I can make a fraction of the impact she made on peoples’ lives, if I can give to others a fraction of what she gave, then maybe I’ll feel like the world isn’t missing her as badly. Maybe I’ll feel like someday, we’ll really be okay without her.

But until then, I’ll try to live each day to make her proud, to give to others whenever I can and to share her heart with the world. Because we desperately need more people like my grandma in this world.

As if looking just like my parents wasn’t proof enough, I now have empirical evidence that I am not adopted.

All you need to know for this to make sense is that:
a) About 2 years ago I broke my middle finger playing wii ping pong by trying to smash a forehand and hitting my husband’s computer really, really, really hard instead.
b) Sugar is a dog.

It’s clear I come by my lack of coordination honestly.

I’m doing things differently this year.

Last Christmas I got caught up in things that didn’t matter. I was devastated by news that my neurologist had given me false lab values that changed the diagnosis and prognosis of my headaches. I cried in my living room upon realizing the mistake because it seemed like such a big deal at the time.

A few hours later I let a family member make me cry after he yelled in my face and told me that he was tired of my shit, in almost those exact words. I left my family Christmas celebration early, in tears, because I just didn’t feel like celebrating.

This year will be different.

I am not celebrating Christmas for a religious reason. I know it crushes my mom to read that, but it’s true. And honestly, looking back, I never celebrated it as the birth of Jesus. It was always about family and about giving gifts to others.

And that’s where my focus is.

This year all I want for Christmas is time with my family. Time with those who I love, who love me back. I will not let extraneous things or unkind people ruin the day. I’m going to ignore the bad, cherish the good and enjoy my time at home with my family.

I have so thoroughly enjoyed the past few weeks for the opportunities I’ve had to help others, to give what we have to people who never asked anything of us. Who needed things more than we did. And that’s the spirit I’m entering into this Christmas with. I am grateful for the gifts I have in my life, for the people, for the love that I experience each day. I am grateful that I can help others and know that there are many who can’t this year.

I’m not going to let doctors or uncles or headaches or arguments ruin my Christmas, ruin the joy I’ve felt these past few weeks. Because it’s not about that for me. It’s about love. It’s about giving. It’s about being with all the blessings in my life, and for once, just focusing on the good.

I hope that all of you who are celebrating have a wonderful Christmas. And that those who are not have a nice relaxing weekend.