My husband’s 96-year-old grandmother died this week. She had been relatively healthy and well for most of her years, but 95 ushered in the beginning of a slow yet relentless decline – hearing, vision, cognition, weight and muscle tone, her interests and pleasures, her memories and ability to stay present in interactions – all systems weakening until this once strong woman became a shadow of herself. I didn’t see her at the very end, but I envisioned her as a baby bird, fuzzy haired, toothless, and more bony than a living thing ought to be.
Her funeral will fall right smack dab in the middle of Spring Break – and we will have to postpone or cancel a trip to an indoor water park that we were set to take my son and two of his good friends. Nothing but water, pools, more water, water slides, pools, a hot tub for adults, some treasure hunt activities throughout the Lodge, and, of course, food. But mostly a family getaway time, with buddies for our only child, in a fantasy world. Not that unlike Disneyland – without the lines or rides – just pools for splashing, cavorting and playing. A place so unreal, so impossible to incorporate into everyday life that you happily agree to pay exorbitantly for the opportunity to feel completely removed from your every-day.
I don’t want to miss our Spring Break adventure – I took off of work to be with my son – vacation time is not that abundant. I don’t much want to attend a funeral – who does – but it’s a lifecycle event, as I see it, and if I show up for the happy occasions I’d better show up for the difficult ones. And I have to show my son how to do this, without resentment or bitterness. That life goes on even if certain pleasures get postponed. There’s no joy in a waterpark adventure if we haven’t supported and sustained the essential framework on which we live – our family. Our deepest joys will come from nurturing family and honoring the living as well as the dead. I’ve married into another person’s family and my place is with them, rather than in an 80-degree weather-controlled water playground. I’ll add my farewell and blessings and gratitude for getting to share ever-so-slightly in this woman’s life to the people who knew her so much better than I.
I’ve no doubt we’ll miss the water park, and I hope we can reschedule it rather than miss out completely. Yet part of me knows that it’s not the trips to Disneyland (or Disneyworld or a Disney Cruise) that make for a good life. It’s how we choose our everyday moments in the mundane reality of household chores, laundry, tables to set and clear, homework to be checked. There’s no room service at home, no treasure hunt for hidden gems and mysteries, and I don’t count a bathtub or shower as a water feature, although my son, who sings and dances nightly in the shower, might disagree. We make a good life every day, and if we’re lucky, we occasionally take ourselves and our good life with us on an adventure somewhere else. We don’t have to pay admission fees to enter “The Happiest Place on Earth” – we’re already there.
Spring Break this year now will have us go over the mountains, through the tumbleweeds,and actually over a river to Grandmother’s house at the Redeemer Lutheran Church. Once there, we’ll find loved ones waiting for us, to share the grief and sadness of the loss. We’ll provide whatever comfort we can and shed our own tears. We’ll build memories and talk and play cards and laugh and cry and eat – just like we were going to do at the waterpark (maybe without the tears, true) – a family vacation regardless of the change in destination.
Rest in peace, Grandma G.G.
May your memory be for a blessing.