Graduation and the Future...

This post is brought to you by a college graduate! Don't worry: I can hardly believe it either.

Yesterday, Sunday the 12th of May, dawned bright and nearly two hours later than the early hour I wanted to get up from a text message from my sister telling me my family would be there in an hour and a half for my graduation. This last weekend had been busy with our craziest days at work, and this last week had been busy with last minute school work and this last bunch of weeks had been busy with travel, flip-flopping emotions and panic over having no idea what I was doing as so much was happening at once. But that morning I woke up calmly, did my makeup and went to buy breakfast as an impromptu mother's day present for my mom when she would arrive. (I also gave a little happy mother's day shout out to the BVM that morning. Obviously the most awesome of all mothers, who is the only one capable of beating my own mom for first place.)

Entering the Hall; my many family members on cell phones; a panorama from my seat;
my friend L found me; S and I adjusting our caps with the rear camera of my phone as a mirror.

It was surprising, even as we filled the Hall in which I would become a graduate, seeing all the other families and blue-clad students, how little I felt like I was actually graduating. It couldn't possibly be happening yet (which does make sense in a way, since I had only been at university for three years: it's doable, but the constant overloads of courses can be killer). I said goodbye to my family, noting in my head that I would be different in kind of a major way once I met with them again, and went to save some seats for my friends. One of my Catholic friends, L, tracked me down and my coworker, S, arrived shortly after and we took pictures together as the band played a Les Mis collection and time ticked closer.

The three of us had fun pointing out the misspellings on the captioned screens showing the speakers (president of the university, Commencement speaker, etc.) and joked around about how useless our studies potentially were. I think a lot of that conversation covered up what was really happening in my head, but it became a reality when the Commencement speaker got up. After his little autobiography and some jokes, he began closing his speech with some seriousness. One of the things that hit me most was the ending: "Some of you will do great things that the world will notice and some of you will do great things that the world doesn't notice, but that will have a lasting effect. You will be creators."

"Pretty accurate," I thought, as I considered my aspirations to be a mother and my stomach felt all tingly with anticipation. Those words were so apt for my future. I don't have a lucrative career or fancy internship or high-ranking graduate school lined up. At one point in my college career, I wanted those things, or at least the last thing, very much for post-grad. I had mad respect for the doctorates that were called up part-way through the ceremony to receive these giant sashes. But that wasn't on my radar anymore. What I really want now is a family life, and the speaker's conclusion helped me realize that, though that plan is greatly unconsidered by college graduates in favor of other plans, it is no less important than the popular plans.

Shortly after, each college was called to stand and be proclaimed "graduated" by the president of the university. Since the colleges were called up by chronological order (oldest college first), my college, the college of Liberal Arts and Sciences, rose first. Thunderous applause filled the Hall as we stood and, as I thought of my family in the stands, it began to feel real. When the president bestowed upon us all the responsibilities of our courses of study (yada yada, right? Though, now I wish I could remember the exact words), I kind of wished it was like a Sacrament of initiation which would mark a change in me. It was a change anyway, so still cool, but there was my Catholicism in the middle of cheers and blue caps.

My super awesome fantastic mother who kept her cool.
This is probably one of my favorite pictures of us now.

After each college was called to stand, "be graduated" and sit, one of the university's chancellor asked all mothers to stand and be recognized, as it was mother's day (and I wondered when I would be in that group too). I looked back to my family in the stands and saw my mom (a bit reluctantly) stand and the proud admiration I had for her overflowed until the threat of tears made me look away. Everyone in the stands was invited to stand and was congratulated for all their roles in their student's schooling. Finally all students stood and we were invited to move our tassels to the left and declared the Class of 2013. My tassel was a bit stubborn, but L and S helped me with it and then our arms were around each other and we were swaying to the school song and everything was actually finally really real in my crazy brain: I was a college graduate. Holy. Crap.

We all broke away as we were dismissed and I met up with my family, weaving through people to get to my mom first. It is tradition to present your graduation stole to someone who has greatly supported you through college and I later bequeathed it to her. She has wanted me to go to college since I was a tiny kid (and probably before I can remember) and she has helped me the best she can in every way to get me to this point. I never would have graduated without her help and she deserves a thousand graduation stoles for her support. (When I was still with my friend L and my stole was giving me problems with staying on properly, I joked that I felt like a priest. To which he replied, "Wymyn priests...." Really though. Mad props to priests who manage to keep all their priestly clothing all nice and ordered. Wearing a gown was probably the closest I'll ever get in similarity to your garb and it's a little silly to keep track of sometimes.)

The president conferring upon us the awesomeness of our degrees; the recessional of the Class of 2013;
me with my aunt and uncle; me with my immediate family; me making a silly face and battling the crazy wind.

After, I did lots of feasting (mac and cheese, doughnuts, fries, ice cream; pretty much the worst foods for you and some of my most favorites) and hanging out with my family before they left and I went to Mass. During the homily, father talked about living our Catholic faith in every environment, whether that was at work or at school or other places and I realized I wouldn't be going to school next year. There would be no more "Oh, my occupation is student." or "I got to such-and-such school." or "X is my major." As "commencement" indicates, I will be starting a new chapter in my life. I'll be a "real adult" with different responsibilities and university will just be a mark of my credentials and not my day in, day out experience. It feels very strange and unknown now, but I'm looking forward to doing something new with my life.

Not all of it will be new: I will still blog and I'll be on campus for the next few months until my lease is up working and reading. I will still go to Mass and bake and take walks and learn about things that interest me. But now my time will be freed for a full-time job (hopefully something I will enjoy) and I can spend more time planning a wedding and thinking about my potential future as a homeschooling mother (so I guess I'm not completely off the hook with school, haha). I can entertain new hobbies that I haven't had time for, like writing fiction and painting and experimenting with cooking. I want to spend more time with family and start doing things I think of as adult things: getting people's addresses, writing letters, copying my great grandmother's recipes down into a book, organizing my belongings, just experiencing life with people.

I went to work later in the afternoon and took pictures with some of my favorite coworkers.
These guys have made my college experience interesting, awesome and hilarious.

Looking back on my life the last three years, I can see how much I have changed and learned, inside the classroom and out. And let's be frank: I have done so much more learning outside of the classroom, with friends and Mass and examination of my life as I've progressed from a green, eager-to-please freshman to an official graduate. I'm still pretty rule-abiding and eager-to-please, but now I feel more aware of the things worth spending time on and the kind of people worth keeping in my life and the situations not to waste too much time worrying about. I feel like I have a better handle on my spiritual life than when I started school. I am more comfortable with not having exactly every single detail planned since my career interests changed. I feel like I know the kind of woman I want to be and like I can be as graceful and loving as my great grandmother and as strong and hard working as my mother.

I have done a lot of growing up, I feel, even only in the last half dozen months. I am excited about the life ahead of me and ready to pursue my interests. But I think most of all, I just want to relax for a few weeks. I feel like I've earned it, and like some cold drinks on warm Summer nights with good friends, feasting and a bit of adventuring, living up the last of our campus life is the best way to close this chapter of my life.

Cheers, class of 2013!

A Troubled Heart

In the days following my last post, I forgot about my grandmother. Well, didn't forget so much as stopped letting myself dwell on everything for a while. I really wold only remember most and feel the worst when I was at work. I'm not entirely sure why that was the case, but it probably had to do with being forced to be around people who didn't know what was going on and being unable to escape into my own activity.

During Mass on this Sunday night, however, everything seemed to hit me again. Presented with the Truth, reminded of God's grace and Christ's death and eternity and all of it, I could only wonder how truly merciful God is, if Christ embraced my grandmother in His resurrection, how I could have done anything to affect her eternity. In the midst of the guilt stage of grief (those grief stage things probably hold some validity), I asked myself how I could have done anything to help her salvation, or to make myself feel like I had done all I could for her. Could I ever pray enough? Did I completely fail her by not getting any last rites for her? The readings that day, though fantastic on their own, seemed to make things more difficult.

The angel took me in spirit to a great, high mountain
and showed me the holy city Jerusalem
coming down out of heaven from God.

St. John continues to describe the holy city, all its splendor and perfection and beauty and I couldn't help wondering whether she was enjoying the presence of God and His kingdom.

Peace I leave with you; my peace I give to you.
Not as the world gives do I give it to you.
Do not let your hearts be troubled or afraid.

I'm sure Jesus had all the best intentions when He said this, and Father did as well, encouraging us to take heart and accept such radiant peace. But I couldn't feel it. Close to tears nearly the entire homily, I couldn't help but feel anything but peaceful. Not for a lack of trying, of course, because I really did want to feel well about this and like I'd been the best, most charitable and faithful grand-daughter I could be. But doubt creeps in somehow. Not doubt that God won't make good on His word and give you some of His peace like a cool drink after drought. But doubt that you could let yourself feel such peace, because somehow you must have messed up and not deserve it, or somehow you would never get over it because in the moment it still hurts so much.

And you wonder how long this sort of thing goes on. How long does one feel this pain after losing someone close to them? This was the first death that ever happened to a close family member, but I was taken aback by it. I did love my great grandmother in my life, but I didn't realize how important she was to me. I didn't realize how much a symbol of strong faith and motherhood (and simply womanhood) she was. I didn't realize that she was the glue of the family. I didn't fully notice how central she was to the lives of our family here.

It seemed to me like she would always be there, like she couldn't possibly die because she had always come back from so many things that, even at my adult age, I began to think her immortal. I couldn't picture the day she wouldn't be there, or ever predict how great an effect her death would have. I can't remember the last time I told her I loved her on my own and not as a response. I can't remember if I thought about her often or if she just slipped into the back of my mind because I supposedly had other, more important things to focus on.

I feel so much guilt and heartache and fear about the future that I don't know how or when it's possible to receive peace. When, if ever, will I not let my heart be troubled or afraid?

Final Hours (pt. 1)

Thursday. 11 PM.

Nothing brings a man to his knees quicker than a tragedy, especially one over which he has no control.
Nearly twelve hours ago I got a phone call that my great grandma, resilient at 81 years old, fell and suffered a cerebral hemorrhage and was being transferred to a larger, more capable hospital. I ran a few errands and was on the way to the hospital a few hours later and have been here ever since.

The hardest thing--harder than reliving memories or thinking about what she'll miss out on or how our family will react as a unit after--is really not knowing where her soul hangs in the balance. Because, really, even if she were the most devout person in the world, there's no way I can know for certain. I can guess or suppose or give myself or others comfort thinking it will all be okay, but that space of uncertainty is still there and there's nothing I can do about it.

Friday. 1.30 AM.

Our last family member coming in for the evening is here. Tomorrow until Monday more people will be arriving by plane, train and automobile from around the country and abroad (my estimate is 25 people). Services are expected Tuesday.

It strikes me as odd that, despite the grave circumstances, I am very happy to see everyone arriving. Then I realized that it makes perfect sense considering our family. Ours is huge (I have cousins whose names I don't even know) and it's a perfect testament to the woman my great grandmother is whose defining feature is love. As the matriarch of our family, she has been our strength and a fount flowing abundantly with love.

Friday. 2.30 AM.

Everyone is going to sleep now in these adjoining waiting rooms (which our family have taken over like crazy people, there are so many of us). I believe we are going to keep waiting until more people arrive in the morning and hear from a couple people. My great grandma is in as stable condition as she's going to get, though she's only being held in place by machine work.

Tomorrow (or today, I suppose it is) will be a very difficult and long day. I got a priest (I would have hunted him down if he was in the building instead of on call) to come and pray for her and bless her, but that's all he could do without her being a practicing Catholic, though she had been one at one point in her life. It brought me only some comfort at first because I felt a bit let down that she couldn't receive an anointing, but better after because I realized I've done all I /can/ do. I will still pray, but everything from this point on is God's plan (not that it wasn't always this way).

I'm going to end here and document the next few days in another post(s). Please take a moment to pray for her soul as her time draws closer.

Holes

At yesterday's service different people in my family talked briefly about my great grandma, highlighting specific memories and basically saying how awesome she was. It wasn't until one of my great aunts was talking about the several Christmas cookies that she made and had cooling everywhere in her kitchen that I realized I'll never spend Christmas eve with Grandma Norma again.

Ever since I moved to this town nearly twelve years ago, we always had Christmas eve at my grandma's house. For half the years this side of recency, we would go to a Christmas eve service at church before our own festivities because it was then that we really started going to church regularly (though, we've never been a "Easter and Christmas only" attending family). We would usually have Mexican or Chinese or appetizers--something a bit unusual for Christmas--for dinner and we would often play games and just spend time together (as if we didn't spend enough time with each other outside of Christmas). Sometimes we would be allowed to open one present that night, which was often one that my grandma or great grandma had gifted us. We would return to our own house for the night, open presents there in the morning, then return to my grandma's for the rest of the gifts and often lunch of the leftovers from the previous night.

It wasn't something we had practiced all my life or had down to an exact science, as some aspects would often change, but it was one of the strongest traditions we did have. I can't imagine how different it will be next time. Grandma won't be baking in the kitchen anymore. Or, at least, she won't be dictating directions to us as she hovers at our elbow with her walker anymore, since she stopped cooking and baking as much in the last few years. My mom won't be calling to her asking what she wants on her plate before she brings it to her in her sitting room and goes to join her herself. The kids wont be told to be quiet and stop goofing around so loudly because grandma's trying to sleep. We won't sit at her feet on Christmas morning opening presents and either pretending to like them more than we do or being stunned by her generosity with larger gifts.

No matter who sits in her chair, it will never be properly filled by the person who occupied it the most. We'll never hear her singing hymns in the mornings as she clanks pots around doing the dishes. The creaking of her front door won't be followed by, "Hey, grandma!" or "Bye, grandma!" as she looks at us in surprise at our arrival or sadness at our departure. We won't hear her pray for us or yell for my uncle to wake up because he'll be late for work or see her eyes widen at how much we've grown or feel the softness of her gown as she hugs us.

Everything is going to change, but the thing I feel the most is this overwhelming absence. People say it's like there's a hole in your heart that can't be filled. It is like that, but there are all the other holes too: the hole in the living room where she used to sit, the hole in the kitchen where she used to stand, the hole in the garden where she used to work, the hole where she used to crookedly smile at you from, the hole where "I love you" used to be said, the hole of no more baby blankets, the hole of her never meeting my children, the hole of all the knowledge and secrets that we never asked about that she took with her, the hole you want to yell in to tell her to stay for just one more moment because you have to say you're sorry and you love her and you want her to know she meant so much to you. There are holes everywhere that no one can fill, that no one can cover.

The Thoughts That Keep Me Up

My great grandmother's services were today (or yesterday, as it is when I post this). I'm thinking that it hasn't really hit me yet, likely because I haven't let myself dwell on the reality of it too much. I can't imagine her being gone, as my mom mentioned in her short speech to everyone today (which, naturally, had me bawling), so most of me worries (or maybe not so much worries, maybe just is a bit more than a bit concerned) about how things will change.

I know that the family has lost its great leader. As when my great great grandma died, her role as the head of the family fell to my great grandma. Now I'm not certain if my great grandma's role falls to someone else and if so, who that would be. I can't imagine that anyone could match her skills in the kitchen, in faith or in family matters. Aside from this new empty "leader" role, how often will family now visit? I know a lot of her children who lived all around the country visited her frequently, but will they still come back to visit in the same place, especially if their core is missing? Will I only see my (relatively) immediate family from now on (by whom I mean all of my grandma's kids and their families, which may be a lot to other people, but is not even a quarter of the rest of the family who was here the last several days)? How will life change for others who were much closer in their relationship with my great grandma? Will they lose a spark or become stronger or be depressed or become more God-centered?

What is it going to be like when I visit again? Just today I called my dog by the name of another dog we had that died two Falls ago. I know a dog isn't as big a deal as a person, but that's the point: if I can be gone and slip up like that, will I walk into that house and expect to see her sitting in her chair for several months after? Will I wonder if I can talk to her about something or ask a question only to remember she can't answer? She had all the answers: what was the right baking conversion, how to right a crocheting project, how to react in a certain situation. She could sew without a pattern, throw together a recipe from memory and experience and was stubborn with how much she wanted to be in charge of the care of her house. When you have a walking, talking encyclopedia, what do you do the day it's gone?

And then I have the slightly guilty thoughts: Did she know how much I appreciated her? Did she know I loved her? How much did I ever say that? Does she only remember my eye-rolls when I was a kid? Does she not know the blanket she made for me when I was a baby is still my favorite? What did I miss by not asking her questions about her life? How much of her love did I not accurately catalog in my mind? I can hardly be the most important person in her life, so am I thinking too much about this?

I'm not heartbroken, but I'm also not heartless. How do you deal with an unexpected, but long time coming, but nothing you can do about it death? How do you make something so unreal feel real (do I want it to feel real?)?

Her Greatest Legacy

I keep measuring in weird sequences of time:

One hour (and exceeding) since my Mom said she'd pick me up as I waited on the steps outside my apartment.
Over twenty hours since I'd eaten a meal and I'd fluctuate between being ravenous and sickened at the thought of food.
Two hours, three hours, four hours (which became six hours) until others would arrive in the city.
One hour since I sent for the priest and was kicked out for nurse rounds and check ups.
Another one hour since I sent for the priest (he got held up) and since my mom left for the airport.
Twelve hours since I was alerted to my grandmother's condition and preparing for the hospital. (At which time I prepared well in the hygiene area, but not well in the duration area.)
Five hours since I'd fallen asleep scrunched up on hospital chairs and four since I thought we would lose her.
15 minutes until the last aunt would arrive who would be present.

One hour (or the longest "15 minutes") since the nurse said she'd talk to us about a private room and final arrangements.
Ten seconds since my aunt asked for us all to pray, eight seconds since my mom agreed and two and a half seconds since my sister (and quite promptly everyone else) broke down.
Ten minutes since we prepared to leave the waiting room and a red alert went off and we all asked, "Is this really happening now of all times?"
Two minutes since this wasn't happening and all of us made a mass exodus to a new room.
Some unknown time since I'd felt this uplifted and heartbroken at the same time. Probably never time. Because nothing else could possibly make someone feel emotions so conflicted, and feel them so intensely, than by experiencing such amazing love.
Several minutes since my mom shattered my heart with her grief and I held on to her, since when words have absolutely no power, sometimes the only thing you can manage is feeling grounded and connected.


12.23. The moment time stood still for a split second and our mother and grandmother wasn't the same. Since we knew she wouldn't open her eyes and shake her head at us and make us laugh with her sarcasm. Since we realized there were things we wish we would have said when she was alive so we could see her approval or see her eyes light up or hear her advice one more time. The moment before the peace and the chaos, the tears and the silent alleluias, the clinging and the letting go.


Another unknown passage of time since tears slowed, miles slipped away and we made our way to grandma's house for the first time when she wouldn't be there waiting for us, when the house would be so empty and so full at the same time.
Twelve hours since I woke up, cleaned my face and went to pray Our Father, Hail Mary, Glory Be in the solitary morning sunlight. My gift of prayer would come almost exactly a month after her prayer with me before I returned to school after Spring break. (I like to think that my mind isn't weird and instead God is an absolute genius.)

And really, He is. He is a genius and master of time. He knows the beginning and the end, knows our standing and our lying down, knows our hopes and our fears, knows we need him most at our most desperate. He has brought our family grace and hope and will, I hope, bring us a stronger faith. He gave us a wonderful figure to cherish who taught us about Him and showered us with love. We have each other now because she gave us each other. She built up this family so we could persevere through all hardships, even the loss of our beloved mother. By God's grace, we will live lives honoring him, and we will be her greatest legacy.

Eternal rest grant unto her, O Lord, and let perpetual light shine upon her. May she rest in peace. Amen.

Final Hours (pt. 3)

Friday. 11.45 AM.

The nurses came to see us and told us how the process will work. When they left all (16) of us gathered to pray and it seemed to suddenly hit us. Frail voices, a couple tears and then outright sobbing. It's amazing the impact this woman has had on our lives. She has brought so many of us together so quickly and has loved and led us with such strength. We acknowledged these things and prayed for a swift and painless death. Now we're stuck in our waiting rooms because a red alert went off. Timing, huh?

Friday. 1.00 PM.

The alert stopped and we went to her room as the nurses were unhooking all of the machines. We gathered around her and prayed a sang Amazing Grace, In The Garden and I'll Fly Away. I kept expecting her to open her eyes, look around at all of us and tell us to stop being so sad.

After people who wanted went through individually and said goodbye, all her kids gathered around and told us she could go on to her husband and daughter and babies. The nurses stepped in, checked her heart and announced her death at 12.23.

Mostly it hasn't hit me, but seeing my family together some laughing, some crying made me feel such compassion for the people I have with me. Grandma brought all of us together in her life and in her death. She was a marvelous, strong, loving, generous, selfless woman. She was a lioness.