My Shell

the Prince, Shell, the Princess

It is graduation season all over, and a young lady very important to me is about to graduate from high school. Shell is the oldest child (of four) of my sister and the only girl. It seems almost impossible that it is time for her to start college, as it seems like just last week I was receiving word that she was born. She is a remarkable young lady.

From the time she was born, Shell has been her own person. She is strong-willed, opinionated, and stubborn. Yet Shell is also sensitive, nurturing, and caring. She is an all-around strong young woman, both physically, emotionally, and mentally. Shell has always held true to her principles, even during those tough high school years - if she doesn't agree with an activity, she doesn't particpate. She is quick to temper on behalf of a perceived injustice, and she is the first to offer help if needed.

This isn't to say she is a saint who does no wrong, but Shell is as honest as the day is long. She tries to always do what is right, not what is easy. While Shell can be a bit of a brat, one can't hold that against her - she comes by it honestly. After all, she does share my middle name - she has to have some of my characteristics! But while she might be a brat (you know you are, Shell!), she is quick to realize when she is one and corrects herself. There isn't a kinder, sweeter, intelligent young lady out there in this senior class.

As one could tell, I love my girl. Never more so than when Mark was in the hospital. This child, correction - this young lady insisted on her mom letting her fly out. During her important senior year, my Shell insisted she be there for the only person who could stop her from crying when she was a baby. (When even her mother couldn't comfort her, Shell would coo for her Uncle Mark.) When Shell arrived, she wasn't uncomfortable being in the hospital room. And on his last day on this earth, Shell was there. She wasn't afraid to hold his hand, to rub his arm, to give him a kiss. When Mark was passing, Shell didn't become hysterical with crying - she was calm and loving. When I needed to leave the room for any reason, Shell was right there to sit in my place and hold Mark's hand exactly as I was, so he would always be comforted and loved. And in an act that shows what a strong and kind young woman Shell is, when I had to sign the papers for his passing, Shell stayed with his body, holding his hand, and wasn't frightened. This remarkable young lady wanted to be there for her uncle.

I am so proud of you, Shell. Whether you continue with nursing as your major or choose another, you will be an outstanding success. You couldn't be more loved!

Shell and her Uncle Mark

Emotions After 3 Months & 2 Days

Yesterday, I had a not-so-mature fit while talking to my mother. My mom, the same lady who worked her fingers to the bone taking care of out-of-town guests and family for two weeks. The lady who has come up more in the past three months than she did all of last year. The lady who is working hard on a special gift for my baby, the Princess. The lady who regularly gives up chunks of her time to help me by taking care of the children. I became upset because she hadn't called me on Monday, which was the three-month anniversay of Mark's passing.

While intellectually I know that there are many people who miss Mark and think of him often, sometimes it feels like I am the only person who remembers him, besides the children. Noone really talks about him to me, and I feel like he was such an important person, people should be remembering him. That is not to say people set out to deliberately avoid the topic of his life, but the conversation usually is about how myself and the children are doing. And their caring about us is SO appreciated.

Today, my mom told me how she was constantly thinking of him. That she misses Mark every time she walks into the room he would stay in when he was in downstate Illinois for work. That she has a picture of him on her desk playing mah jongg, and she smiles thinking of how passionately he played the game. That she misses him so much she still sometimes cry. And that people sometimes don't want to upset me by talking about him, and how they miss him.

Is it sick of me that hearing all of this made me feel better? It made me remember that he DID matter to others, that there were many more people who loved him than just the children and me. It felt like a weight had been lifted - I wasn't alone in my grief. Someone I love misses and loves the man who meant (and means) the world to me.

I would encourage anyone who knows a person who has lost a loved one to talk about the one who has passed. It helps more than you could know to hear how memories others have.

Yet once again, my mom has been the source of a blessing to me.

Mistakes

Have you ever meddled in something that you thought was the right thing to do, but in retrospect, was the totally WRONG thing to do? I did that today, and I am all conflicted inside. On the one hand, I felt a matter needed to be addressed, as it involved having my child not telling me something. On the other hand, when parents get in the middle of a dispute among your child and other friends, matters never end well.

It is never fun to be yelled at, told you are lying, have your child labelled the cause of all major disputes. How does one react in a positive way? I tried being calm, and to some extent succeeded, but I don't know that I represented Christ well today. And while I would like to make the situation better, it is quite possible that trying to fix things would just make it worse.

Sigh....it is hard to find the blessings today.

Happy Mother's Day, Mom!

When I was young, I loved spending time with my grandmother. She always had time to listen to what I had to say, passed on her love of baking to me, and sent us all home from her house with a wicked case of heartburn because she filled us with good food the entire time I was there. And I used to think often that I hoped my children would feel about their grandma the way I felt about mine.

My prayers were answered. My mom has filled my children's lives with love and joy, more than I could ever have imagined. Whether it is shopping at garage sales with the Prince, or baking and sewing with the Princess, she always has time and attention for them. She even learned how to send audio texts to/from the Prince - and if you know my mother, you know what an accomplishment that is! She will spend hours sewing blankets and pajamas for the children. When the Princess was younger, my mom sewed all of her dresses since the Princess was too slim for store-bought dresses. When the Prince was young, she made special vests for his pre-school class for them to practice buttoning and zippering. Even now, my mom will make the children's favorite dishes when we visit. She fills their lives with love, hugs, and unconditional acceptance.

As much as she shines as a grandma, she has really shone as my mom. While I didn't appreciate the effort made at the time, she would spend hours making clothes for me when I was little. My Barbie dolls had many homemade dresses - many made without patterns. My love of reading and books were encouraged by the fact that whatever paperback book I wanted from the book order, she purchased for me, even though money might have been tight. My friends were always welcome at my house; in fact, most Sundays, my youth group would end up at my house. While I wasn't the easiest of teenagers to raise, my mom always let me know I was loved. When I had mono for three months, my mom would always come give me a kiss goodbye before she left for work, and several times a week would bring me home shakes.

Even now that I am an adult (no snickering, please!), my mom shines as a mom. I've never heard her complain when I've called her several times a day for silly reasons. She still makes my favorite meals when I go visit. I still crawl in her bed early in the morning, just to talk. When I moved to Illinois, she lined all of my cabinets with contact paper - no small feat, and she did so good-naturedly. She'll play mah jongg with me as long as I'd like. And when Mark became my husband, she accepted him as her 2nd son, loved him unconditionally, and taught him that hugging was a good thing!

While there are innumerable reasons why my mom is a good mother, there is no better example than what she did for me in February of 2010. When Mark entered the hospital, my parents dropped everything and came up to help me with the children. For the next two weeks, my mom barely left my house. She cooked, cleaned, and did laundry for more than a dozen people. She watched over my children so I could watch over Mark. And when I didn't think I could hold on anymore to my sanity, my mom did that for me with words of encouragement.

No words could properly express how grateful I am for the wonderful lady that is my mom. I am very blessed to be her daughter, and my children's lives are blessed having her as a Grandma.

I love you, Mom!

Good People

Recently, I was able to spend a few days with my grandparent's at my folk's house. Grandma is 90 years old, and Grandpa is going to be 95 this year. In July of this year, they will celebrate 75 years of marriage. Each are devoted to the other.

When I married, I wanted a marriage like my parents. My parents wanted a marriage with devotion like their parents had. We all were lucky, no - blessed is the better word, to have found devotion. What kind of devotion did we want?

The kind that makes my grandpa, though frail and a bit unsteady on his feet, give his wife her daily shots. The kind of devotion that has him helping her with her stockings at night. The devotion that has my grandma wanting my grandpa served first. The devotion that still enters my grandma's voice when she talks about what my grandpa does for her. The devotion based on a belief in God and the sanctity of marriage.

I heard the steely determination in my grandpa's voice when he spoke of helping my grandma for as long as he could. I had asked him if there was help for him when he needed to give her her shots, or take her blood pressure. He told me, "I will do this myself for her as long as I can." He was firm and unflinching, and I was humbled by his love for her.

My grandparents don't use flowery language with each other. There are no grand displays of affection, no sweet nicknames for them - just "Mother" and "Dad." But their actions speak volumes. My family has been blessed with their example.



And while I wasn't blessed with 75 years of marriage, I was blessed for 17 1/2 years with a man who was like my grandfather in his devotion to his family. I hope I was like my grandma in my devotion to him.