What is that feeling when you're driving away from people and they recede on the plain till you see their specks dispersing? - it's the too-huge world vaulting us, and it's good-bye. But we lean forward to the next crazy venture beneath the skies.
Jack Kerouac, On the Road
I picked quite a year to write a blog. Oh yes. Quite a year.
On Wednesday afternoon I received a text from my Aunt, which was surprising because she seldom texts me. Upon returning her call I learned that my great grandmother had just passed away. She was 102 - a Spring chicken.
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| I featured this picture in another blog post. This is Grandmommy. |
Death never comes at a convenient time, eh?
The next few hours were exhausting - Trying to call my parents in California and brother in DC but only getting their voicemails. Dealing with screaming kids and meetings with worried parents in the midst of my sadness and anxiety. Running errands for a trip I wasn't sure I was going to take. Finally, late in the evening, getting a hold of my family, making plans, thinking, returning calls, getting new information and returning more calls. I was too busy to eat - something that's happened to me maybe 5 times in my life. At the grocery store I grabbed a bag of cheesy chex mix (something my Grandmommy always had at her house for us to eat when we played cards) and a bottle of wine (something my Grandmommy never ever consumed) and headed home to work on a eulogy with my brother via the telephone.
My brother and I stayed up late rehashing old memories and brainstorming the best way to put them together to create an appropriate tribute. After our brainstorming session, my brother gave me some time to free write. Writing is enormously therapeutic for me. Thoughts and phrases and words and sentiments rushed out of me as I sat at my kitchen table drinking wine, crying and putting pen to paper (for something like this you have to write by hand). I called Jonathan and read what we came up with. Naturally, he had critiques. That's how my family works and I love it. We made modifications until we were both satisfied with the piece.
Then on Saturday, during my great grandmother's funeral, my Aunt Winnie read our eulogy in our absence. We were in San Francisco.
Deciding to go ahead with our family trip wasn't easy for any of us. We all wrestled with the choice. We were very close to Grandmommy. My Mom lived with her before she and my Dad got married (Remember when people who weren't married didn't live together?). Every time my Dad took his car to get the oil changed he would walk to Grandmommy's, take off his shoes, rock in her chair and talk with her about whatever was happening in the family. Grandmommy took care of me when I was a baby - visiting my family in Bolivar, MO at my birth. My brother was the closest with Grandmommy, caring for her when she was sick, bringing her lunch, helping her into her jammies...they had a special bond.
But that was the thing, we enjoyed every moment we could with Grandmommy. We were there in good times and in bad. We always let her know how much she meant to us and how much we loved her. We always made sure each goodbye was good enough to be the last. We were there for the important part - life.
For me, I'd already said my goodbyes to Grandmommy and made my peace. Sending my words to the funeral and taking time with my parents in San Francisco to honor her memory was enough closure for me.
Life carries on and we have to carry on right along with it.
So on Sunday. I found myself in San Francisco with my family. And after 14 years of refusing to go to church with my parents I found myself walking to church with my mother and father and brother and it wasn't even Christmas Eve. They volunteered to come along on the experience.
During my research for a good church to attend in San Francisco I came across Glide. People raved about Glide's inclusive atmosphere as well as their extensive outreach programs. Glide feeds over 1 million people every year. They have multiple housing units for the homeless. Weekly support groups for LGBT persons and substance abuse recovery are offered at the church. On their roof, they have an organic garden and beekeeping program. They have endorsements from Maya Angelou, Warren Buffet and Oprah herself. That's right, I said Oprah. It's a pretty impressive place. Reviews raved about their jazz band and large choir. So, I was anxious to experience their Sunday worship service. I made my family get to the church 45 minutes early to ensure good seating. My how the tables have turned, eh? We were ridiculously early, but it gave us a chance to take in the ambiance of the place - and boy there was a lot to take in. There was one fabulously energetic man with pom poms and a flower hat greeting everyone warmly and shouting "Good morning! Hello! Shalom! Guten Morgen! Frosted Flakes!" out into the congregation.
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| This guy was a hoot! |
People of all kinds gathered in the sanctuary. From men dressed in nice suits to men in raggedy clothes to men in dresses. Old and young were represented. Gay and straight and transgender. Women with short hair. Women with long hair. Women with no hair. Women with dreadlocks. People of every race. People of every ethnicity. People of all abilities and disabilities. People of every income bracket. People of every belief structure. People of various backgrounds and life experiences. And what were all these diverse people doing you ask? Hugging. Oh my. So much hugging. Big giant welcoming bear hugs. Now, I'm not a hugger, but I think hugging is a very healthy thing to do. People need hugs (but please hug me sparingly). To me, church should be the kind of place where people are freely hugging each other. It warmed my heart to see all these beautifully unique people showing such affection for one another. Just warmed my heart.
It also warmed my heart to see my beautiful family sitting in the pew with me. My Dad smiling at the man with the flowered hat. My brother engaging in conversation with the regulars seated next to us. My Mom encouraging me to take pictures of everything so I could include it in the blog. Getting to share this moment with my family, especially after losing a dear family member, meant the world to me.
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| My brother is silly. I love him. |
People trickled in, hugged someone and then found their seats. Service began. The room was packed. The 6 (maybe 7 I can't remember) person jazz band beat out rhythms and the congregation stood up - clapping their hands and swaying to the music. The room was alive with energy. Slowly, the stage filled with the large choir who was as equally diverse as the audience. Song filled the sanctuary. On stage, the faces of the choir reflected the warmth of the faces around me. Everyone was smiling.
Singing. Singing. And more singing. I love big choir numbers. Love them. This church fulfilled my "I want to go to a church with really great music" wish. The choir was amazing. The soloists were dynamite. Energy and love and celebration and soul and joy and pure talent poured from the singing ensemble. I enjoyed every minute.
Much of my experience at Glide reminded me of my time at MCC, that glorious God filled church I had such a moving experience at. During my time at Glide there were moments I felt a few tears well up in my eyes. Demonstrations of love move me and Glide was certainly filled with love. However, I could feel myself building up a wall to block my emotion and I wasn't sure exactly why. Was it because I was sitting next to my family? Nah, to my family's dismay, I'm not afraid to show raw emotion in their presence. Was it because of the traveling? Was it because it was too similar to MCC?
Then, as the "Intern" (I can't remember her name. It was a long week.) was giving her sermon, it hit me...
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| The choir at Glide. |
Sidebar: While this amazingly articulate woman was speaking a man was sitting behind her in the choir providing encouragement for everything she was saying. It was almost like call and response. Only he was the only one responding. He had a deep voice that was difficult to miss and a creative response for all of her statements and I mean ALL OF HER STATEMENTS. As I was sitting there listening, occasionally giggling to myself, I thought about how great it would be if I had a person who followed me around backing me up with encouraging responses to my words...
To me, God is love (amen). And God's love is unlimited (you know it). I loved that this church truly embodied the concept of unconditional love (say it girl). They are living out the command to "Love one another as I (God) have loved you"which is written in the Bible somewhere I'm told (Praise God!) The man sitting next to me admitted at first it was hard for him to accept all the differences in the church (ain't easy). He didn't know how respond to a biological male who believed himself to be a woman (help me Jesus). Unconditional love is not something you do without considerable effort (amen). It is easy to write someone off because they are different (yes it is). Cast them away. Put them in a box and label it "unloveable". (uh huh). But those of us who know that God is love know that God's love extends to absolutely every being in the universe (hallelujah) and even when it's hard we must fight to love all of God's beautiful creations (you said it!).
After this Tina Turner reference I felt my emotions change. She started to speak about social justice issues. Political issues. She talked about homophobia, gay marriage, racial inequality, gun violence, social programs, sexism, socialized healthcare, etc. A wall was building up around my emotions and I could feel my face go blank. This is just like social work. This is like social work church.
Social justice issues are near and dear to my heart, but I live them out every day at my job. See, I am a social worker. And every social worker knows you cannot get too emotionally attached to your work or you will crumble under the weight of a society burdened with pain. So when anyone starts to talk about social jusiticey things I get very analytical. The service became more like a political rally than worship. I wasn't too crazy about that. I'm sure Jesus wouldn't be happy about gay bashing and massive gun violence, but when people start combining God and politics I get nervous.
Overall, I enjoyed my experience at Glide. They are doing amazing things in their community. I absolutely love their attitude about inclusion. Jesus was an includer. He just was. Lots of those Bible stories seem to be about inclusion. Prostitutes, lepers, lower class, children, elderly, women - Jesus loved em all. Loved em. Wanted to hang with them. Touched them. Invited them to dinner. Helped them. Healed them. Washed their feet. Offered them forgiveness. Jesus was a decent man. I've got no beef with Jesus. As the song goes, Jesus is just alright with me. Oh yeah! It's churches that claim to follow "the teachings of Jesus" yet exclude a laundry list of people from their church that bother me.
Service ended. As did my vacation. I came home to an apartment where my great grandmother's vase sits on my coffee table and her mother's rug color's my kitchen floor. Her smiling picture is on my fridge and her handmade dish cloths hang over my sink. Her memory is in my apartment as well as my heart.
Since this is a place where I share my thoughts through my writing I would like to share with you what my brother and I wrote for our Grandmother's funeral...
For Grandmommy
“Will you make me some pancakes?” were the first words Jonathan spoke the minute our parents walked out the door. You didn’t even respond. You just smiled, walked into the kitchen, pulled out your cast iron skillet and within minutes we were eating the most delicious pancakes ever made. The smell still lingers in the air. As does the memory of you standing over the oven while we sat at the table in your tiny kitchen chattering on waiting for our pancakes.
Food was one of the many ways you showed your love, but not the only way. When Sarah snuck into your bathroom and pulled out your blue eye-shadow, rouge and hair pick you showed your love by enduring hour long make-overs. You showed your love by driving us in the Impala, that boat of a car without seatbelts and only an AM radio, to get Chinese food at Jade East or ice cream at Baskin Robbins or taking us to the movies to see The Santa Clause. Reading us our favorite books, Ping the Duck and Leo the Lion, over and over was yet another demonstration of your love. You showed your love by teaching Jonathan about the “bunny ear” shoe tying technique and bringing him Reese’s peanut butter cups in your pocket to every Bears basketball game, determined to make him like chocolate. It was love when you would lie about your hand so we could win the card game. Looking up at you with puppy dog eyes we’d say, “Tickle me”. You would lay us across your tiny lap, gently tickle our backs and we would melt in the comfort of your love. When it was time to go, you would always insist on walking us to the car. Then you would stand on the driveway, smile and wave your silly wave. Then you would stand on the porch and wave some more. Driving off, almost out of sight, we would see you peering out your window still waving, still loving us.
When Nana passed away we were lost. We were heartbroken. Then you stepped up to fill a void in our hearts becoming more of a grandma to us than a great grandmother. We would barge into your house and you would welcome us with open arms, cheesy Chex mix and a garage full of soda. We’d play cards and eat and laugh and be silly and you’d say “that’s disgusting” a lot and for an hour all was right with the world.
Then things started to change and suddenly we were the ones bringing you snacks and helping you into your jammies. We became the ones lying about our hand and letting you win the card game. Every goodbye was important – never knowing how much time we had left with you. “We love you” we’d say and give you hugs. “See you next time” we’d say and you would always respond “I’ll be here.” Then, just as you always did, you would smile and wave until we were out of sight.
Now you are gone and this is our last goodbye.
We love you. We loved every minute we got to spend with you. It was such a joy to have you in our lives and an honor to call you Grandmommy. Thank you for all the wonderful memories. We will cherish them always. We’ll see you next time. Until then, we know you’ll be here, forever in our hearts.
For the last 12 years of my grandmother's life we were on guard for her death. 12 years. Every Christmas we knew could be her last so we always tried to make it special. When I went to London for a semester and my brother went to Germany for a year we both thought it might be the last time we saw Grandmommy. Every visit we would make sure to leave with a good goodbye. We always told her we loved her. We always ended things on a positive note, because we never knew how much time we had left. When she passed, I was sad, but we had so many goodbyes and so many I love yous. Somehow that reassured me.
The truth is none of us know how much time we have left. Could be hours. Could be years. Shouldn't we treat every moment as if it could be our last? I'm not talking YOLO here. I mean...shouldn't we hug like it's the last time and always end on "I love you"? Shouldn't we forgive? Let go? Be kind? These are the thoughts that kept me awake upon my return home from San Francisco. I tried to think if I had any lingering "bad" goodbyes out there. I did. One. So, I stayed up writing a facebook message to someone I refused to forgive and haven't spoken to for nearly 3 years.
This is one of the greatest lessons I will take from my grandmother...always end it with a hug and an I love you. Always. Always. Always.
Thank you for reading this.
I love you.
I owe you a hug.
Beautiful. I'm crying at work.
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