Valentine's Day

In one of my last conversations with Mema last year, less than a week before she died, she gave me her ideas for valentines. She must have known that very soon I would be assigned to the Valentine's Day line at work and that I would, in fact, be making valentines. Her ideas were as follows: "a heart with a heart, a heart on top of a heart stacked high, a heart with a hole in it, a heart with a bundle on it." I don't know what "bundle" meant. But today - on the one year anniversary of her death - we are making a bundle of all sorts of valentines. 

Mema always did think that love could solve any problem. Or as my mother phrased it last year, Mema "lived her life as if unconditional love is the cure for everything. And she's right."

Mema's Birthday (observed)

Today would have been my grandmother's 94th birthday. She passed away in February. She is always in my heart and on my mind. She was 100% amazing.

I continue to remember #arliememagandy on Instagram

All day long the girls and I have been singing "Put me in your pocket" - which we do pretty often anyway. You can Google it and listen to a few other folks sing it. But if you want a real treat click here to listen to Mema herself singing this to my aunt Joy last year on the cusp of Joy's relocation to Colorado. How I love to hear Mema's voice. I'm so glad Joy captured it.

Tonight when the girls took a walk with Sergio they sang the song again and he texted me the following dialogue...
Julia: Do you want to sing it again?
Clara: No.
Julia: But it'll make Mema so happy in heaven!
Clara: Ok.
And on top of all that sweetness, Julia also suggested that we sing Happy Birthday to Mema and we did. That felt really nice. I never expected my toddlers to help me grieve. I had assumed it'd be the other way around.

...

About 10 days before Mema passed away, we decided to go down to Oklahoma for a last visit, not knowing how much longer she'd have. When Sergio and I were debating when to go, he suggested that we go quickly urging "every moment is precious." He meant every remaining moment and he was right. But the truth is, every moment was already precious. I am beyond fortunate to have had Mema in my life.

I will forever be grateful that Sergio's spontaneous "let's just go to Oklahoma this weekend" suggestion overruled my penchant for scheduling things way in advance. We visited that last weekend in January; I spent an entire day simply being with Mema. I sat with her. I held her hand. I listened to her sing - so many hymns and all of them about Heaven. Every moment was precious.

On that Sunday we had to leave and that was the hard part. When we said good bye we knew it was Goodbye with a capital G. And even though we all knew that it was her time to go (even Mema knew it), it didn't mean my heart wasn't breaking. I stood on the threshold of that room, reluctant to put one foot in front of the other, to step out of that sacred space. What do you say when you know it's your last goodbye? We had had one final tea party that morning - the girls sharing their little cheerios with Mema. And when Mema starting saying "I'll meet you in the morning," which is a reference to Heaven, Julia piped up, "Mema! We won't be here in the morning! We're going home!" And we all let out a tearful chuckle.

That night when we got home we discovered we'd left the heat off in our house and the temperature in the house was 49 degrees. By bedtime it had only risen to 50.  When I put the girls to sleep I told them that as they're falling asleep they should think about how much Mema loves them. Julia said, "I know how much Mema loves me. A lot a lot a lot a lot a lot a lot." Then I snuggled Julia and she felt cold so I asked if she wanted another blanket. She said, "maybe I want my quilt [which Mema made for her] because my quilt has Mema's powers in it. And if I sleep with it it will put Mema's powers into me and then I'll think, 'Oh yeah, that's what it was like at Honey and Papa's! I remember Mema!'" Yet again, my small child shows me the way. 

Mema really was an example to us all and a treasure. And she did have powers you know - Mema the superhero, as Tyler put it. Given how frail Mema was there at the end, that notion is funny. But I think we all know it was truer than true. Her super power was love. No matter how frail she was at the end, she had a powerful pull on all of us.

That room where Mema died - it was the "sunroom" at my parents' house - was bathed in light and love and that was the image I carried with me back home as I waited for another 5 days before I got the news that she'd passed away peacefully early in the morning on February 6.

...

Last night I had some friends over, one of whom was celebrating her birthday, also on May 31. She requested a chocolate cake - so I made her a chocolate cake but I also made a big double batch of Berry Dumplings in honor of Mema's birthday. Now it occurs to me that that'll be a great way to celebrate Mema for years to come. She always did love celebrating and remembering with food.

A few days before Mema died my mom texted us all to say that Mema had woken from a dream and asked my mom if she wanted to eat pie with her. (Mema is generous with her pie even in her dreams.)  We all texted back and forth imagining which pie she must have been enjoying in her dreams. Mama Taylor's chocolate pie, perhaps? Or Mema's pecan pie? Or her famous pumpkin streusel?

Wouldn't it be nice to sit down with Mema for pie just one more time?

Memorial Day (or Too Many Funerals)

#arliememagandy 

In the last two years I have attended more funerals than I can ever remember attending. Which is to say not that many but more than usual. The tally is four. That's four funerals since Memorial Day 2013. (Four funerals and a wedding, actually.) I keep thinking "that's too many funerals" and then wondering what is the "right" number of funerals?

Perhaps these circumstances are unique because three of the funerals I have been to are those of people who were too young to die. (But what is "old enough?" And where did I get all these strange rules and limits? As if matters of life and death ever play "by the rules." We hold up our ideals anyway.)

This year we spent Memorial Day with Beto and Lindsey, our dear friends and, oh yes, family, too. They are freshly grieving the loss of their sweet son Beckham. Their pain is unbearable. But their spirits are indomitable. It was so good to be with them.

Next month I will get to see my friend Ricki Lea who, in the 9 years that her son battled cancer and in the 21 months since her son died, has always impressed me with her fortitude.

My aunt Jetta would have been 63 earlier this month. This year on her birthday we had not mentioned to the girls that it was Jetta's birthday. But out of no where, Clara said, "I just saw Jetta! Driving that white car!" We chose to pretend that Clara's vision was real.

In February, I attended my grandmother's funeral; the days surrounding that event were what I called a Mema Memorial Bubble. It was more sweet than it was bitter, to simply remember and relive. I think of her so often, especially now that the flowers are in bloom and her birthday nears. She would have been 94 this weekend.

Just today I caught Clara playing in the other room and singing Put Me in Your Pocket - incorrectly but sweetly. Julia chimed in with accurate lyrics and they both carried on singing.

We are all thinking of those who have gone before.

Put Me In Your Pocket (click through to hear Mema sing it)

Put me in your pocket so I'll be close to you

No more will I be lonesome and no more will I be blue

And when we have to part, dear, there'll be no sad adieus

For I'll be in your pocket and I'll go along with you.

Arlie P. Gandy

Arlie P. Gandy 

May 31, 1921 - February 6, 2015

BIOGRAPHY

Arlie Gandy passed away peacefully on February 6, surrounded by her family. She lived 93 years of a beautiful life. She was born to Julia (Wesson) and Joseph Octor Taylor, along with two sisters and four brothers. Her father died when she was eight years old and her mother raised all seven children with a remarkable strength of spirit and perseverance in central Texas during the depression under conditions of extreme poverty and hard work. Arlie was shaped for life with a deep commitment to family and home, and a belief that with gumption and hard work, one could do almost anything.

When she was nineteen years old, she married Alvin Gandy. Aside from the fact that she was beautiful, he loved her spunk and sincerity. Wherever they lived, she made it home - across Texas in Dublin, Monahans, Brownwood, Dallas, Ft Worth, and in later life, Indianapolis, San Antonio, Kansas City, Detroit, Miami. While in the Dallas/Ft Worth area, they had three daughters. Through the years, sons-in-law and grandchildren rounded out her family, and along with many family friends, they all came to call her Mema. 

She was preceded in death by her husband, Alvin, her daughter, Jetta, three brothers and two sisters. She is survived by daughters, Judy and husband Winford Akins; Joyln and husband Mickey O'Neill; and her close family - Damon Akins and sons Hollis and Reuben; Emily Akins and Sergio Moreno with daughters Julia and Clara; Tyler Thomas and daughters Ling and Minli; Hilary O'Neill; Christopher and Bailey O'Neill; Jo (O'Neill) and Max Gleason; and her dear friend and daily caregiver, Carol Johnson. She is also survived by many members of her beloved Taylor family, including her brother Joe; and members of the Wesson, Gandy and Cox families.

She will always be cherished for the unconditional love she showered on everyone around her. She was a gifted listener, entering deeply into the joys and sorrows of each of us. She was the master of mighty and lasting hugs and handshakes. Her faith in God was indisputable and unwavering. Ever gentle and always direct, no one ever wondered what she believed. To be in her prayers was pure grace and one of life's great blessings.

She loved the music of her early years and in her later life sang a 'new' song every day - from memory - every verse and chorus of every hymn and all the songs of the '40s. As she came closer to the end of her life, in her last moments, all of her singing turned to songs of heaven.

She leaves us with vivid memories of flower gardens and a trellis of abundant pink roses; fabrics, quilts, ruffles and lace; favorite foods on special occasions; amazing stamina and daily optimism. Her love made the everyday and the simple profound.

Her family is ever grateful to her caregivers - Carol, Sara, Rosa, Patricia, Diana, Melanie, Lena. 

Viewing will be Wednesday, 9am-9pm, with family present from 5-7pm at Mercer-Adams. Services will be Thursday, February 12, 2:00pm at Mercer-Adams Chapel with interment in Chapel Hill Memorial Gardens.

From mercer-adams.com

http://www.mercer-adams.com/memsol.cgi?user_id=1515979

Mema

Me and Mema

This is me and Mema last Saturday. She passed away peacefully this morning. She was 93. 

At times like these, thoughts turn to the afterlife. So many people seem so certain about what happens to you after you die. Some are certain that they DO know what happens. Some are certain that they don't know what happens. I have no idea what will happen to YOU when YOU die. But I will tell you what will happen to me...

When I die, my first stop will be Mema's house on the corner of 45th street. I will park by the big chain link gate at the back. There will be a dog in the yard, and it will be Daisy who will be as happy to see me in the afterlife as she is every night when I come home in this life. There will be roses on the trellises - tons of them. I'll go through the back door of the house and Jetta and Mema will be there in the tiny kitchen. It will not be a special occasion or a big day or a triumphant reunion. It will be a Wednesday. The dinner on the stove will be simple. Chicken and Dumplings or Spaghetti. We'll drink Lipton iced tea and eat chocolate chip cookies made with the recipe on the side of the Nestle Toll House chocolate chip package. We will watch Wheel of Fortune. And we will be so glad to see each other. 

Rest in peace, Mema. 

Daisy

Well, we got a dog. 

Daisy, 6 years old, miniature schnauzer 

It was a surprising turn of events for us, instigated by an unpleasant surprising turn of events. Daisy was my aunt Jetta's dog. After Jetta was diagnosed with cancer and we realized that Daisy would outlive her, my family and I began to wonder what would happen. Sergio and I discussed the possibility of taking her - I was delighted to discover that he liked the idea! As long as I've known him, he's always said, "I like dogs, I just don't want to live with them." But with Daisy it was different. He developed a soft spot for her and was totally on board with the idea of adopting her. After Jetta died and we proposed this plan, everyone agreed that this was the right idea and that it's what Jetta would have wanted.

My biggest concern was taking Daisy away from Mema, who had been Daisy's companion, or maybe it was the other way around. Mema told us everything we needed to know to care for her, including Daisy's special "Say your prayers!" trick. I will always think of Jetta's voice when we do that trick with Daisy. 

The most amazing thing is how much Daisy loves Sergio AND how much he loves her. He is her favorite. When he invites her to his lap she bounds onto him eagerly without giving it a second thought. When I invite her to sit in my lap, she looks at me as if to say, "hmmm. I'm still considering other options. I will let you know." When Sergio leaves for the grocery store, she barks and yelps for him and waits on high alert for his return. When I step outside, she says "meh..." and goes to curl up with Sergio.

All of which is fine with me. I don't mind playing second fiddle. I'm just happy to have a dog again.

Second Fiddle

We brought Daisy here by car right after fourth of July. A long car trip, but she handled it well (thanks to Sergio). Just before driving away from OKC, Sergio reminded us all that when he proposed to me, my dad said, "will you take the dog, too?" That was a long time ago and the dog in question wasn't the same dog. But  just before we carted Daisy off, Sergio was quick to point out that, even if it took him 10.5 years, yes, he is taking the dog. 

A Tornado, a Birthday, and a Funeral

My Aunt Jetta

We went to OKC recently to attend my aunt's funeral; the weekend before we'd gone to celebrate my grandmother's birthday (early) and to see my aunt Jetta who was very sick. She had been diagnosed with late stage cancer just after Easter. We had no idea how rapidly she'd decline. She only had one cycle of chemo that lasted just three weeks. She died before her hair even had a chance to fall out. 

I had no idea that Memorial Day weekend I was saying goodbye for the last time. That weekend she said no more than five words to me, which in and of itself was a feat. She was virtually non-communicative towards the end. That weekend when I reached out to her she responded, whispering "Thank You," "Love you," and "Pretty," (that last one was her acknowledgement of the bouquet of flowers I brought her from Mema's garden.) I am grateful for the visit I had made earlier in May when she was doing a little bit better and when I brought her a birthday gift and a card, which I know she treasured; she wouldn't even let my mom throw away the envelope that her birthday card came in. She passed away peacefully on Wednesday morning, May 29.

I struggled with how to tell Julia that Jetta passed away. She knew something was up ("Jetta doesn't feel good.") and had already asked some poignant questions (“Who hurt Jetta?”). But she is too young to understand death. When we went back for the funeral, I worried that Julia would inquire after Jetta or want to know why we were all sad. She IS in the “Why?” phase, after all. We used our best euphemisms and our simplest language and I think in some fundamental way, she understood just enough. The truth is that her child-like view of it all brought some levity that I found to be refreshing in the most stifling parts of the mourning process: “She’s pink!” (Julia said, at the funeral home where there was a pink light shining on the body) and “Jetta has a new bed!” (after the viewing) and “Is Jetta hiding?” (at the graveside service).

In many ways I was helping myself understand death as much as I was helping Julia. This was the first death in the inner circle of my mom’s family since the year I was born. I’ve never had to face it so forthrightly. I questioned what it all meant each step of the way.

The night of the viewing of the body, there was a big storm brewing. Being tried and true Oklahomans, we all knew something big was coming. You could just feel it in the air. (Also, we were watching the news and the meteorologists said something big was coming.) We proceeded with the evening’s plan nonetheless; my mom took Mema to the funeral home and many other folks arrived. Sergio and I came with the girls and were able to have our moment to say “Goodbye” and “We love you, Jetta.” Before long the storm had progressed and we realized we needed to take cover. We hustled out of the funeral home and piled into our caravan of cars as the newscasters on the radios advised us all to take shelter. We were headed across the street to go into the basement of the church. It felt so weird to leave Jetta behind.

The viewing of the body is peculiar. We know in our heads what has happened, that our loved one has died, but our hearts want to believe that maybe it’s not true. Our hearts want to believe the way Julia probably believed - that Jetta was just asleep. It certainly looked that way. She looked beautiful (no small feat after her illness) -- and pink, even! -- as though she were just resting for a moment. But let me tell you - nothing drives home the reality of your loved one’s condition like having to leave her behind in the funeral home while the rest of the family takes cover from a tornado.

Oh and did I mention that this was my grandmother’s 92nd birthday? What a strange way to spend your birthday. That night, Mema powered through the visitation and the tornado, broken heart and all. We all even managed to share some cake together and reflect on those 92 years. But it was far from a happy birthday. We found out later that the tornado that came through that night was the widest tornado ever recorded in US history - about 2.5 miles. The wide-reaching path of destruction was an apt metaphor for the ripple effects of Jetta's death - of anyone's death, I am sure. It has both a broad (for many) and a personal (for each of us) impact. However, no one felt Jetta's death quite the way Mema did. As she told me later on, tearfully, at the graveside service, "It just cuts so deep."

The next morning the sky was clear and beautiful. The funeral for Jetta was perfect; she would have loved it, I am sure. Family came to town and my parents' house was full of warmth and full of flowers and full of food. There was an amazing outpouring of support from my parents' friends and co-workers, my aunt's friends and co-workers, my friends - more generous that you could imagine. If quantities of food delivered to the bereaved are any indication of how well someone was liked, then my aunt was extremely well loved. The remainder of the weekend was part hustle and bustle of family gathering and part quiet reflection. And lots and lots of emotion.

Jetta was a giver of great gifts, a baker of amazing birthday cakes, and a taker of great photos. She was patriotic - didn't care who you voted for in any election just so long as you voted. And she'd give you The Raised Eyebrow of Consternation if you didn't. She was a loyal Hallmark Gold Crown shopper and invested a lot of time in finding the right gift. She was a bit of a wallflower. She was full of tact. She never said an unkind word. She loved iced tea. 

It is so hard to believe she’s gone. We are all better off for having had her in our life. We miss her so much.

“I had rather be shut up in a very modest cottage, with my books, my family, and a few old friends, dining on simple bacon, and letting the world roll on as it liked, than to occupy the most splendid post which any human power can give.” - Thomas Jefferson

(a quotation framed and hung on the wall at Jetta's house)