a strength within

I start so many posts in my head, never able to get them down. When I do find the time, I stare at the blank screen unable to recall what I earlier felt. So much has been happening these past few weeks, in my little family, my immediate family and extended. It's almost overwhelming to try to wrap my head around it all. I may admittedly be avoiding thinking about some things because I'm just not sure I want to explore those feelings. On our drive home last night I mentioned to my husband that I felt selfish in not facing them. Selfish because I don't want to see what is right in front of me, because I am afraid. Because I want to keep a different picture in my head.

I didn't see this post going this way, but that is not unusual when I write. I have never really had to deal with death; poor health. No one I have been really close to has passed and I am so grateful for that, but death and loss…it's inevitable. When a loved ones health is declining, it's hard to face. I may not be facing it at all. It's been weeks now, of hospitals, convalescents rehabilitation, and now in home help.  I've made only two phone calls. And there has been only 45 minutes keeping me from seeing her face to face. I know I should make the drive. Make the time. I am scared to see her. To see the physical changes. I am racked with guilt because I know I am just making excuses. I know I need to see her, to be in her presence. I need to take the kids to her. Let her gaze upon her great grandchildren that are changing and growing so quickly. If I wait to long I may possibly never forgive myself.

I keep avoiding picturing her how my parents are describing her. They are preparing me, easing the shock of how her health has taken it's toll on her appearance. When I think of her, I picture our camping trips from when we were kids. A week or two spent in their little camper, tents as we got older. Sponge baths or a quick dip in the ice cold mountain creeks. Hiking trips to lakes, fishing, picnics on warm grassy knolls. Dinners on picnic benches. Evenings spent under the stars, warmed by the fire. Childhood summers were defined by camping trips with our grandparents. It's all I can think about.

She is not defined by her physical appearance, my Gram. She is so much more. She has a servants heart. Always, always putting everyone else first. Her family is her priority. She is rocking in a chair, reading me Yertle the Turtle. She is sticky buns on Christmas morning, and pizza and movies on New Years Eve. She is endless summers of BBQ's and family gatherings. She is warmth and caring. Always interested in my life, and then my new little family. She is strength. Strength that I don't even think I truly understand. A strength that has made her a fighter against her health over these many years. She is not defined by her appearance and I have to remember that.

She is a woman that I am not sure I even truly know. Not as an adult. When I think of her, I think of me as a child looking at her Gram. Not as an adult, woman to woman. I do not think I have given myself or her the chance to get to know each other that way. She has stories I have never even heard. Stories, that as I've gotten older and started a family of my own, I've found myself wanting to know. Curious what she was like as a teen, a newlywed, and then a new mother. What she had though, what she had felt. Was it what she always wanted? Was there another dream she had had for herself? Why haven't I ever asked? I feel I only know a version of her, but I want more. I want to be able to tell my kids more.

I never think of my kids not knowing her and having her around. I know that is naive. I know traditions will change and shift, they will have a different memory of her than I. Much more likely it will be memories I create for them. That responsibility, it is wonderful and daunting. I just want more. And that means I have to stop being selfish, stop making excuses. Whatever tolls the last weeks have taken, I have to look past them. She has shown strength over and over again, so must I.