We Can't Rush Through It

 Last week I shared a picture of an Oh Henry chocolate bar on Instagram and Facebook. Someone just scrolling past may have wondered why I put a picture of a chocolate bar there.

In the words with the picture I shared the reason why. I hadn't eaten an Oh Henry bar in years, but I was looking for some chocolate and had picked one up. As I sat in my car waiting for my niece to be done so I could take her home, I ate it. The simple act of eating a chocolate bar brought back a flood of memories.

When I would golf with my Grandma, we would stop at the snack shop after the first nine holes to replenish our snacks and drinks for the second nine. Grandma always wanted the snacks to be something that provide the fuel needed. Oh Henry bars were full of peanut so it was almost always an easy sell to get one. In the heat of summer, we ate it quickly after we bought it.

So, on that day last week, as I ate an Oh Henry bar that would have melted if I didn't eat it quickly, memories of the many hours of time I spent on the golf course with my Grandma came flooding back. Those hours were times of security and peace in the midst of a world that felt anything but that.

It's been almost two years since my Grandma passed away, and many more since she was able to be the person I talked to about stuff, but in that moment last week I missed her a lot.

I missed her presence.

I missed her hugs.

I missed her smile.

I missed her laugh.

I missed the way she listened so intently when you talked to her.

I missed the wisdom she freely shared.

I missed being able to phone her and get her advice on how to lead something in a Bible study.

I missed her prayers.

The pain and sorrow of the loss is still there. It feels different than it did two years ago, but it's still there. And I'm learning that's okay. I've still lived more of my life with my Grandma in it, than I have without her. There's still a person missing in the place she once filled in my life. And I can acknowledge and feel that loss. In fact, I need to.

The challenge is that we don't like those emotions. When they came up last week, it was tempting to try to push them away. To pretend they weren't there.

We want to rush past or push down sorrow, pain, grief. We want a quick timeline for when they will be done. But, that's a problem. It's a journey that we have to walk through, however long it takes.

So, last week, I acknowledged what I was feeling. I let myself feel the sadness. And I reminded myself that it's a loss because I loved my Grandma. And I remembered how so much of what she taught me through her words and actions still lives on in me today.

It reminds me that I need to be intentional about allowing myself space. And also to allow others space for the journey they're on. We can't rush through these. We can't push them away.

We Can't Do It Alone

 You can do it alone. 

You don't need anyone else. 

You everything you need to do what you want.

We hear things like this all the time. And mostly we believe them.

But, what if I told you these were lies?

The truth is:

We need each other. We can't do it alone.

I've written quite a bit about community and our need for people to walk through the good and the hard of life with. I keep coming back to it because it's so important and it goes against everything society tells us.

I think it's an even more important topic of discussion now. After the last couple of years where we were told to stay apart, we've become even better at trying to do it all on our own. We've drawn lines around ourselves in the things we believe and if someone doesn't completely agree with us, we push them away.

But, we're in a worse place because of it. We're paying a huge price because of it.

God created us to need each other as we walk through life. We don't have what we need for everything all on our own. Sometimes we need someone to be strong for us and carry us through. Sometimes we need to be strong for someone and carry them through. Sometimes no one will be strong and we just to know we have someone else who knows the struggle to stumble through it all with.

I was reminded of how important being together and how healing it is a week and a half ago. We were finally able to gather and have a Celebration of Life for my Grandma, after almost 11 months of waiting. As the family and close friends began to arrive, there were two thoughts in my head. The first was how good it was to see everyone and be together. The second was how something that used to feel so normal now felt strange. After a couple years of not being able to be together, it felt strange.

As we remembered, shared, talked, cried, and laughed together, something that happened that hadn't yet. Although we'd all said our goodbyes to my Grandma in some way over the last 11 months, there was something about saying goodbye together that we needed.

As I looked at the tables full of family, I knew this was a group that has laughed and enjoyed time together. But, also strongly disagreed and fought with each other over the years. That's what community is though, and you choose to stay together anyways. You love each other and show up for each other. You fight and you disagree with each other and you still show up for each other and love each other.

This is how we were created to live life. And we need to learn how to do it better again. It will take work. It will take intentionality.

But, we don't have a choice if we're going to live the lives God created us to live.

Memories of my Grandma

 Today - almost 11 months after she passed away - we had the Celebration of Life for my Grandma. It was so good to be together after so long of not being able to do. And I didn't realize how necessary this step was in the journey of saying good-bye.

I was asked to share, alongside a couple of my cousins, memories of Grandma. As I wrote, I figured it would be easier to share the memories now since so much time had passed, but as I started, I realized that the memories still touched me more than I thought they would. 

Here is what I shared, or at least intended to share today - I'm not sure that I actually was able to read everything that was written when I got to that moment.

"There's not a day goes by that I don't see you;

You live on in all the better parts of me."

Those are a couple of lines from the song "Scars in Heaven" by Casting Crowns. I listened to that song a lot in the months after Grandma passed away. And as I sat down to write the memories about Grandma I wanted to share, those words came to mind again. Over the last 11 months, I've had many times when the words of wisdom, encouragement, and love Grandma shared with me over the years have continued to have an influence on my life.

As I talked to my sisters about our memories of Grandma, one of the first things that came up for us was our memories of sick days at Grandma's. If we woke up sick one morning, or got sick at school, we always hoped Mom was busy, because it means we got to go to Grandma's for the day. Even when we were sick, Grandma's house was always more fund than being at home. A sick day at Grandma's usually meant sitting in their ricking chars, eating cookies, and watching TV together.

A lot of our memories of Grandma are around their house on Green Bay. Summers at the beach, holiday family gatherings, and any other reason we found to get together.

Helping make "Grandma buns" - as we called them. Nothing tasted better that Grandma buns with homemade strawberry freezer jam.

Making roll kuchen and eating it watermelon outside. The important question was always the ratio of watermelon slices to roll kuchen we were allowed. It usually felt like too much watermelon, but Grandma would hold firm on the number.

Another memory is singing together with Grandma. More often than not, Grandma would start us off singing The Doxology for grace when we gathered for a holiday meal or special occasions. And Christmas gatherings always included singing some carols while Grandma played the piano.

For me, another memory of Grandma is the many hours spent on the golf course with Grandma, and Grandpa too. Depending on who was picking you up, changed what time you actually had to be ready to go. If Grandma and Grandpa were both coming, they'd be on time for what they told you; if it was just Grandpa, you needed to be ready early; if it was just Grandma, you had an extra 5-10 minutes to get ready. But, my favourite part of that wasn't the golfing; it was the conversations that happened while we golfed. Grandma always shares wisdom and encouragement and pointed me to God in those hours together.

When I went away to Briercrest for school, Grandma made it worthwhile to get a mailbox of my own in town. At least every couple of weeks, sometimes more often, I would find an envelope with Grandma's familiar handwriting on it. It would be filled with stories of what was going on in her life and Grandpa's - a connection to home that I was grateful for. I was really bad at writing back, and even worse at phoning, but the letters from Grandma kept coming as long as I was away.

Grandma always liked to have fun. Even though she always looked put together and proper when we were out, she was always up for having fun. That was something that stayed, even as her mobility was slowly stolen by Parkinson's disease. One of my favourite memories of that includes my niece. Grandma and Grandpa were at my parent's house for a meal. While we were waiting for the food to be ready, Grandma was playing with my niece. They were laughing and enjoying being together, while, much to my Mom's chagrin, they tossed a decorative whicker ball my Mom had in the living room back and forth. Grandma using a paper plate to catch and throw it. 

As I talked to my sisters about our memories of Grandma, the theme that kept coming up in all of them was that she was there. We could count on that. Whether we were sick as kids and Mom was busy, or we had something special happening, or we just needed somewhere to go on a Friday night, Grandma was there and she was always praying for us.

It May be Late, But it's Still Important

 It's been 10 - 1/2 months since my Grandma passed away. As I write this, we're close to having a Celebration of Life for her. The time has come when we can do this finally - after months of not being able to have it.

It started with a conversation about whether we should still do it. Had it been too long? Do we need to? Would people still come? Or had everyone moved past that?

In the end, we decided it was still important and something we should go. After 10 - 1/2 months of saying good-bye, mostly alone or with our closest family members, it's time to gather as those who loved my Grandma - family and friends - to say good-bye together. To remember my Grandma for who she was and how she touched our lives.

While the planning and preparation has brought the sadness and pain over losing her to the surface again, I feel like it's also made me realize how important those things are. God created us to walk through everything in life together and we had missed this part of the journey so far.

It's made me reflect on how many things like this we've missed over the last couple years. And how much we need to make time for them now. Not just the good-byes, the funerals, we've missed. But, also the milestone celebrations, the weddings, the parties. They're important and we need to acknowledge them.

So many things feel incomplete, or missing. All that has gone in our world in the last couple years, has left us with so much missed. And we need to make the space for these things... even if it feels like it's a bit late compared to when we normally would.

As I've been preparing what I will share about my Grandma, about memories of her, I've found it to be another step on the grief journey. A journey I thought would be much shorter than it actually is. And, honestly, I'm looking forward to gathering with family and friends of my grandparents, many I've known for much of my life. A chance to remember someone deeply loved and missed by many.

So, my question to you today . . . what have you missed in the last couple of years that you need to plan for now?

Dear Grandma

 As I walk through a year of firsts without my Grandma around, there are times and things that I reflect on. Tonight as I sit I'm reflecting on Easter and memories around it. Choosing to remember the good.

This post is the form of a letter to my Grandma.

Dear Grandma,

Today was Easter Sunday. I thought of you a lot today. The first Easter Sunday without you . . . except it had already been a few years since you were able to be at church or our family gathering. Not just because of COVID, the last few years, but even before that. Son, in some ways it was the first resurrection Sunday without you, and in other ways it wasn't. But, no matter what, I thought of you a lot today.

As we sang songs pointing to the resurrection and about eternity with Jesus, I pictured you today. Standing in Jesus' presence today. No more body or mind failing you. In the presence of your Savior forevermore. I could almost hear your voice singing praises to God, as I know you always loved to do here. 

In the midst of all the things we do on holidays, you always made sure we were reminded of the real reason why we gathered to celebrate. You always made sure we didn't forget. You pointed us to Jesus. On Easter Sunday, you pointed us to the empty tomb and our risen Savior.

As my Mom & I made the potatoes and got the ham ready, my mind was filled with memories of you in your kitchen. Always busy getting something ready, making sure nothing was missed for dinner. Even in your busy-ness of making sure it was all ready on time, you welcomed us grandkids into your kitchen to help. As we got older, I'm sure we actually helped, but sometimes I wonder if in those early years, we made more work for you by helping. Yet, you didn't turn us away when we wanted to help - you found something we could do.

As we sat at the table to eat together, I missed the large family gatherings at your house. This one was smaller . . . just 7 of us this day. It's been that way for a while. You were unable to come already by the time the thing happened that shrunk our family gatherings so much. I know that family was so important to you. As much as having us all in your house all day wore you out, I also remember the smile on your face when we all squeezed together to fit around the table. 

(And I remember how anyone in your reach had to watch their plate carefully. You never knew when you would decide someone hadn't eaten enough and would add more food to their plate when they weren't looking.)

Even, as I served my food today. I dutifully took at least one scoop of everything on the table. The "no thank you" helping (you always had to take one scoop of every dish on the table, no matter what, even if you didn't like it or didn't think you would) that was the rule at your house while I was growing up, still directs me when I'm serving food. I wasn't a fan of that rule as a kid, but it has served me well as an adult.

As we put the paska (Mennonite Easter bread), on the table after dinner, I noticed that no one had gotten the sprinkles out yet. I had to go and find them before we could eat it. I remembered how you always made sure there was an abundance of them on the paska before you served it. I never understood why, and I really still don't, but paska was always served with icing and sprinkles (yes, on bread . . . a sweet bread, but bread). And I will always eat it that way.

Today, I missed you. I missed your smile, your laugh, your hugs. I missed hearing you sing with joy as you celebrated our risen Savior. 

But, I know you were celebrating in a way I can only imagine right now. A way you weren't able to for so many years at the end. And that brings me joy in the midst of tears because you're not here with us anymore.

Love you always, 

Tamara

Lessons in Looking Back

 I posted the following as my Facebook status last week:

"Sometimes just knowing there's a name for what you're living with is a relief... even if it changes nothing, yet (before you ask, it's nothing serious going on, don't worry)"

While I'm not going to share in this space what exactly this is (at least not yet), there have been things related to it that I've been thinking about in the days since. And I wonder if some of those things are lessons that all of us could learn from.

When we have the perspective of looking back, as I have in this case, it can be easy to see some things as obvious that were missed at the time. We have a choice then, about how we respond. 

We can choose to get mad or frustrated or upset by the realization.

Or, we can acknowledge that our perspective is different now and we're seeing differently because we're not in the middle of it anymore.

Some of my favourite books on my shelf right now are the mismatched set of commentaries, my Grandma gave me when she could no longer read herself. I had no idea the treasure trove of lessons from my Grandma I was receiving alongside them. They just sat on my bookshelf for a while. Until the day I decided to pick one of them up. When I opened it, I discovered it was full of my Grandma's underlines of things that spoke to her and pieces of paper with her responses to what she read there.

One of the things I noticed over and over in what I read both in the commentary and in her notes, was her realization and desire not to live stuck in the past. To her it was very clear in Scripture that Jesus had come and died on a cross and rose again to free us from our past, so we can begin to live the lives God intends for us. 

She would regularly remind me of this in our conversations on the golf course. Every time I would start talking about something in the past, she would ask me the same things:

Are there people in this situation you need to make things right with? Don't wait to do that.

Are there things you need to confess and repent of? Don't wait to do that.

Are there lessons you can learn from this? What are they?

Once you've done these things, does it do you any good to keep living in regret or anger over what has happened? 

Then she would remind me that it was time let it go. That it was time to leave it with God and walk forward into what was coming next.

She would share about how she didn't always do this well. She wasn't telling me to do this because she thought it was easy. She knew it was challenging, but she also knew it was worth it.

I've been thinking a lot about this lesson since I shared the words I did on Facebook last week. In my case, this is something where I could look back and live in regret or anger, but it really does no good at this point. That just keeps me stuck in the past and not getting on with living the life God has for me now.

I think is something that applies to so much of our lives. And I'm grateful for the regular reminders from my Grandma while I was growing up.

"It's a Lot of Rain in One Place"

 "It's a lot of rain in one place"

Those are the words of a character on a show I was watching. They were using them to describe their situation. In that episode, there had been a series of losses to death of people in this character's world in pretty rapid succession. They were wrestling with the weight of it all.

"It's a lot of rain in one place"

I had almost turned off that episode a few times, as it was hitting on my own grief over the many of losses to death - of family members and people at work - that 2021 had brought. I wasn't sure I could handle watching a show about that. But, for whatever reason, I kept watching. When I got to the end, I was glad I had.

"It's a lot of rain in one place"

Those words resonated. They gave me way to describe what a series of losses of any kind coming one after another felt like. It put words, in a simple way, to the journey I've been walking. And then gave some insight into what it takes to get through these times.

"It's a lot of rain in one place"

The impact of each loss is like a rainstorm over you - a downpour. It soaks you and it soaks the ground. Nothing about it is pleasant, but it passes eventually and things dry out again.

But sometimes another downpour comes before things have dried out from the last one. The already soaked ground becomes saturated - muddy and sticky. Your already wet clothing soaks up more water and starts becoming cold and heavy.

As the rainstorms keep coming, everything gets more soaked. The ground is a muddy, sticky mess that sucks you in. Instead of keeping you warm and dry, your soaked clothes stick tightly to you, feeling cold, heavy, and restrictive.

Eventually, you realize your stuck. The ground too muddy and sticky for you to get your feet to move by yourself. Any attempt to do so just sucks you deeper in. Clothes stuck to you with water - feeling heavy and restrictive.

You only have one choice at this point. You have to ask for help. You need some people who aren't stuck in the mud to help pull you out. People standing on solid ground who you grab hold of and who grab hold of you to pull you out.

But that's not the only help you need. Once you're unstuck from the mud, those soaked clothes need to be removed and replaced with dry ones. But when they're clinging to you so tightly, restricting your movement, you can't do it yourself. You have to allow others to help you do this.

"It's a lot of rain in one place"

Asking for help isn't something we're taught to be good at in our society. Being able to do it all by yourself is praised and held up as the goal we should be working towards.

I think there are different types of help we need to ask for and some are easier to ask for than others.

Asking for help to get your feet unstuck? Not easy, but probably something we'll eventually be will to do when we really need help.

But, how many times do we ask for help beyond that? Not very often. 

Once we're unstuck, we go back to trying to do it all on our own again. We've determined we're going to figure out how to remove those soaked clothes ourselves. And sometimes we might succeed, but we're exhausted and defeated by the time we do. Often, we find out we're unable to do it ourselves.

Why do we do this? Why do we fight the help we know deep inside we need?

It's because once we're unstuck, we don't want to let anyone see what comes next. To admit we still need help means letting a least one person into places we usually hide from others. It gets close. It gets personal. It's vulnerable. It's scary.

But, it's necessary. It's how we get those soaked clothes removed and dry ones in place, without exhausting and defeating ourselves in the process. It's how we learn to live with the losses we've experienced.

"It's a lot of rain in one place"

I don't know what your "a lot of rain in one place" has been. But, my guess is that after the last few years in our world, you have that place. That place where you feel stuck in the mud and took heavy and restricted by the weight of your soaked clothes to move. The intensity will be different for all of us. And the help we need to ask for will be different for all of us.

But, if there's something I've learned in the last few months: asking for help is the best thing we can do. It's not a weakness. It's not a sign something is wrong with us. It's the absolute best thing we can. Even if we do it shaking and terrified, it's the way forward in our "a lot of rain in one place."

"It's a lot of rain in one place"

But we don't have to figure it all out alone. We can ask for help.

"It's a lot of rain in one place"

What is your "a lot of rain in one place"?

Who can you ask for the help you need? Family? Friends? Church? A counsellor?

Dealing with Grief & Loss

We don't know how to deal with grief and loss well today. As a matter of fact, we're more likely to pretend it doesn't affect us, then to actually deal with it.

I've been thinking a lot about with loss and grief in our society. And realizing just how poorly we typically deal with it.

This is something that has been front and center in my life since 2021 began. When you lose six family members and 2 coworkers to death in the span of less than a year, you become very aware of how we tend to deal with loss and grief. Really, of how we tend to just put it in a box with limits around it, expecting certain things of people.

And I'm just as guilty as anyone else at this. Or, I was before living through 2021 so far. Walking through such an overwhelming amount of loss all at once - really just going through any amount of loss at all - changes how you view it all. Or, it will change your view if you allow it to.

We expect people to have some bad days immediately following a loss. We see it as normal if there's tears and wrestling for a period of time. But, after a short time frame - which doesn't seem to have a set length - we expect people to just go back to whatever life looked like before the death and be okay.

I experienced this with the loss of my Grandma a few months ago. She was the most significant loss in the midst of all the losses to death of 2021. For the first few days, people weren't surprised that I answered questions of how I was doing by saying I wasn't doing great. But, once I answered someone once with the fact that I was having a good day - at that moment they asked - it was like that was an indication that I was over it and okay now. When I tell people I'm doing okay not great, or that I'm just having a bad day, most of the responses I get are of surprise. It's like because I had a good day, people assume I'm done grieving the loss of people I loved.

Or, we expect that because we knew the loss was coming, or it came in stages, that we should be used to things without that person already. We too easily make the assumption that if someone is still alive, but can't physically be present at an important gathering, that once they've died we'll be used to them not being around so the holiday or gathering wont' feel any different.

But, the truth is, even if that person hasn't been at the table for the holiday meal in years, the first time that holiday comes when they're gone, something is different. Someone is missing and it feels different. Knowing that loved one isn't around anymore is different at the holidays, then knowing you're going to go visit them at the care-home they're in when the meal is over, or while it cooks.

What I've learned in the 10 months of 2021, is we need to give people space to be not okay for as long as they need to be not okay when someone is dealing with loss. Grief is unpredictable and takes time. Even if we go back to most regular activities in a few days or weeks, the loss of that person still hurts. And sometimes we'll be okay and sometimes we won't be - possibly even in the same 15 minutes. 

I get why we do this. Grief is hard. It's uncomfortable and awkward. It's unpredictable and full of ups and downs. We don't always know what to say or do, so we try to just make it "normal" again. I'd prefer to pretend everything was normal again too, but it's not and pretending it is doesn't help.

So, what can we do to handle this better?

Stop expecting people to be okay for good. Let them be not okay and admit it sometimes. Let them be okay and admit that too without changing the expectation. Basically, be patient with each other. Acknowledge the hole that loss leaves. Be willing to sit in the uncomfortableness - even if you have no idea what to say, just being there makes a difference.

I'm most thankful for friends who don't get awkward when they ask how I'm doing and I start crying again. Friends who stay and listen and care.

I'm most thankful for friends whose response to a text that I'm not doing great that day is to pick me up to go for lunch and walk so I don't have to be alone.

I'm most thankful for friends who give a hug as they whisper a prayer on a day that's hard.

I'm most thankful for unexpected invitations for a visit.

I'm most thankful for friends who give hugs that are as long as I need them to be in the moment, without making it feel awkward.

I'm most thankful for friends who keep showing up - even when I'm maybe not the most fun person to be with all the time.

I'm most thankful for a boss and coworkers who make it okay not be okay all the time - even if it comes at inconvenient moments.

Those things, that my friends have done, they are things we do when we're trying to do better at dealing with grief and loss in our society. That's how we do it better.