{What I'm Reading} April

I read these books in April.
I took these pictures in April.
I uploaded it all to share, in May.
Yes, other books are now being read and enjoyed.
But in April, in the midst of Nana's last days, these are the books whose words I read.

The Great Good Thing by Roderick Townley ~ The girls and I saw Townley speak at the Children's Literature Festival we attended in May. He was a memorable man, perhaps because he was exceedingly tall; or, perhaps because he was exceedingly quiet in his approach with a roomful of students; or, perhaps because he asked a young person to leave the room when her texting distracted him in the middle of his talk. He shared that The Great Good Thing began as a story he would share with his wife before bedtime. It's the story of characters inside a book, who must find a new home when tragedy strikes the pages in which they live. I found it all fascinating, as I read aloud to my youngest daughter. I believe I even gave it five stars on Goodreads, and I don't often do such a thing. There was a grandmother/granddaughter relationship involved in the book, so the tender timing of reading it to my own offspring while in the process of telling my final grandparent goodbye may have influenced my affinity for the book. As a Christian, talk of the Author offered parallels to appreciate as well. Overall, I think the quote on the front of the copy I have from the library is perfect, "A timeless treasure for all ages." —James Howe. So good, in fact, that youngest girl and I currently are reading the sequel.

Chasing Silhouettes: How to Help a Loved One Battling an Eating Disorder by Emily Wierenga ~ I didn't think I needed to read this book. Though I respect Wierenga, and always benefit from visiting her blog, I thought dealing with eating disorders was one issue I've been spared. While at the Jumping Tandem retreat, however, she had this book along with her new book Mom in the Mirror, which I really wanted. Meeting her in person had managed to increase how much I like and respect her all the more, so I new her words in both books would hold meaning for me in some way. Plus, I'm a sucker for a signed book. Ooh. Wish I'd taken a photo of the inside jacket where she signed! Actually, I'm reading the other book this month, so I'll be sure and do so for that one:) Anyway, in the middle of a life dealing with a whole lot of everything except eating disorders, I read these words, wondering why now, why take the time. God knew, though. Would you believe right as I finished I ended up in a discussion with a young lady dealing with this topic? I was prepared for the conversation only because I'd read these wise words. Such a good reminder to me about everything not having to look like it makes sense. Freedom, folks. After reading the book, I do think I have disordered eating, though. Emily offers helpful insights in an encouraging way of moving to a healthier perspective.

The Red Thread by Roderick Townley ~ I read this other book by Townley independently while reading The Great Good Thing to my daughter. My middle daughter flies through books, and I wanted to preview it first in case it would be a next option for her. It's fine. I wasn't enraptured, but I could deal with it if kept firmly in the fantasy category. There's a little kissy kissy stuff (only a little) and past lives stuff (a lot). That's all I'll say. Hmm. I didn't give The Red Thread its own pic when I did the other two—guess that says something, but the book did keep me reading to the end.

Well, I hope in the midst of walks outside, graduations, and planting flowers, you're having space for a few words as well. I'd love to know if you're reading something that has really captured you.

~Happy Reading~

Remembering May {Again}

Mother me,

Flower me,

Remember me fine.

So alive,

Nurturing,

Days divine.

Calling us outside,

Coloring our world.

Collecting adoration, happily served.

We celebrate you, May.

So fresh and full,

Full.

Full of graduations and mothers and memorializing and more.

Endings. Beginnings. Good. Much good.

Gazing on good, admiring your flowers, weeds can sneak a sprout.

Sleep and nourishment and care of little things

Overlooked and sometimes messy

While we go and do and smile about.

Still, you're lovely,

Worth all those 31 days

To blossom your beauty.

Happily remembered, May.

Though I'm going to pre-date this post, I've let more than half the month elapse before sharing the new calendar pictures for this year. The calendar, though, has been a blessing all these days of May.

Here's a reminder of last year's calendar art, also from eldest girl:

Happy May, Friends!

Tea Art

My friend invites some of us to her studio so we can work together on art.

You can imagine the topic I chose for one creation,

which I dabbled in for three different Saturday morning gathering times.

Pictures, words, colors that I love.

Now it hangs above my desk, pouring warmth into the area,

even when I don't have a cup in hand or pot of tea nearby.

~Still, it creates a Happy Teatime~

Tulip Pictures {What I'm Holding}

 
The tulips came into color while I was away last weekend.

They hold tears tenderly on the damp mornings.

Reflecting light gently.

The same tulips transform in color and shape when the sun greets from a blue sky.

An open dance, they reach out and up, stretching petals in delight.

There's a time to hold close, and there's a time to open up in release.

Both blessed in beauty.

::: What I'm Holding :::

:: puppy dreams :: long walk with eldest girl :: reminding me of long walks 16 springs ago when I held her in a snuggly :: springtime wonder :: funeral plans :: visiting relatives' plans :: little sleep :: then, blessedly, a lot of sleep :: letting God give me rest :: gratitude ::

How about you? What are you holding?

Finishing Her Story

I took this photo in the dining room. The same room where we had Easter lunch with Nana a few weeks ago.
Spring may be arriving late this year, but I'm thankful Easter arrived early so we could share that one last gathering.

When it's time to finish the story,
you have to let it end.
Nana's time was yesterday at 6:05.
We were all there—my parents, my aunt, my daughters, my husband.
Hospice accompanied us.
For the afternoon, until about an hour before her passing, the hospice worker was familiar.
Only God could write it this way.
I hugged the worker. Told her I thought she was well suited because I remembered her kindness and intelligence.
She was professional and perfect for the moment.
Care center workers came one by one to tell Nana goodbye.
Two of them came in on their day off.
Nana's night nurse had been off with an injured foot.
She went against doctor's orders to put on a shoe and get there.
Nana struggled to respond to her, though the death rattle had been going on for a few hours by then.
The nurse said she'd had a grandmother like Nana. Told Nana she loved her. Cried.
We all did.
The breathing paused more.
But Nana held on until my husband arrived.
She'd asked for him that morning as well as the night before.
I thought she'd meant an especially good worker by the same name as my husband,
one who'd even come to see her in the hospital the last time she was there.
I think I was wrong. She needed to see this grandson-in-law one more time.
He held her puffed, colorless hands and told her he loved her.
Told her he'd care for the girls and me.
She tried to talk.
Opened her mouth. Moved her tongue.
He said he knew what she was saying.
And then peacefuly, a few moments later, with everyone close, it all stopped.
The story finished.
My mom with her dementia paced around the room.
To the hall.
Back again.
I think it's close she'd say, even after the hospice nurse told us Nana was gone.
I'd hug my mom. Tell her it's okay.
My dad wheeled around, What do we do now? he asked through tears.
He'd gone to her side in those last moments.
Held her hand.
Said we're all here, Mom. It's okay.
My petite aunt cried. Leaned over her mother.
Made it hard for me to stay serious when she boohooed, I wanted to throw her a 90th birthday party.
I held Nana's hand one last time.
The hand that had scratched my back hours on end as a girl.
The hand that sewed how many dresses for me?
The hand that crocheted more afghan blankets than we can use.
Her hand still, having completed its work of writing her life.
Her hand cooling. Her mouth open. Her soul gone.
But that physical body still precious for a few more moments as it'd been the picture through which I'd known her.
I held my girls, one at a time.
They cried. But they wanted to be there.
The day had changed from a hint of sunny spring to cooler weather and more moisture and
when will spring ever arrive? I wondered.

She poured herself a glass of sweet tea to help her think.

But I know.
For Nana spring has arrived.
She's finished her earthly story, but not the eternal one.
Some final paragraphs were hard to write, a few in the middle as well.
But she did.
And I'm thankful for the way Nana's Story launched me into my own.

Before she had taken three sips, Babba Zarrah knew what to do.

I drank dark black Paris tea this morning. I save it for days I really need a lift. Today qualified.

I also thought of this book, The Story Blanket, which we had from the library recently.

The character Babba Zarrah made me think of Nana.

Nana always seemed to know what to do, and she was good at making things,

especially the story of a life.

~comforting sips of tea today, with stories rich in truth and goodness~

Puppy Love

I met our puppy last night.
She's two pounds of precious.
My husband and girls went to meet all the puppies on Saturday when I was out of town, but we already knew we wanted this little cream colored girl.
The family ahead of us in the selection process liked her too, though.
Actually, the dad and one daughter like a black and tan puppy, while the mom and another daughter liked this little creamer.
They had the appointment right after us, so we had to wait for word on whether or not we'd get what our hearts considered ours.

Just before I went to dinner Saturday I received the call: Jenny will be ours!
Appropriately, it was my friend named Jennifer who was with me as I fretted.
Jenny is the name the breeder has given our pup, but it works out well with our name for her, Genevieve.
Middle girl would've been named Genevieve if it weren't the dog's name in the Madeleine books I read to eldest girl often in that season of a second child on the way.

Other than the crazy time I let those two boys drive me home from school and they thought it'd be funny to take me 90 mph over a hill, I've never driven as fast as I did yesterday driving home from Omaha. We were a little bit into the trip home when my husband called having talked with my parents and said Nana was close to the end.
I needed to hurry.
Hurry I did.
Hurried until I ran into her room to find her sitting in her recliner.
Turning to me she smiled, How was Omaha?
I sat down in the chair next to her, took her hand, and didn't move for the next two hours.
Turning to my dad in his wheelchair to the left I'd mouth, What's going on? What's Hospice saying?
He shrugged his shoulders.
Nana meandered through phrases, some making sense, some about seeing Idaho on the ceiling, some about if we return to Europe.
I stayed until I hurried to a seminar on Alzheimer's for my mom at church.

Then I left early to hurry for my turn to meet the puppy.

And what do you know, in the midst of all that speed I hurried right into Joy.

Little Genevieve, a Labradoodle, has represented Joy to me since God toppled my heart to want a puppy again.

At age 11 I came home from a friend's slumber party to be greeted by a red Pomeranian my parents had adopted while I was away. I had red hair, and didn't appreciate it, until I saw this puppy. Saw her red beauty that matched the leaves of fall. These were the days when I also learned to fear my singing voice. A friend and I taped ourselves singing, and I selected the song Puppy Love. Yes, I adored Donny Osmond. Then I heard my voice singing his song, and I adored him all the more for his much better than mine singing. It was an age of puppy love.

But when the next spring came, I got off the bus one afternoon barely noticing a black bag by the curb in our yard. I entered the house to my mother's greeting, and then tears telling me Sugar had been hit by a car that day. A week later I lost my first grandparent, my Bible reading Irish Gramps. Everything seemed sad for awhile.

We've made it around the sun more than 30 times since then, though clouds occasionally hide the view.
I accept Nana's time is close.
This final time I say goodbye to a grandparent, I'm thankful we'll be welcoming a bit of puppy love.

Our dear friends are also getting a pup from the litter ~ Jenny will always know her brother:)

::: continuing in gratitude #s 1920 - 1933 :::

:: celebrating Youngest girl's birthday :: safe trip to Omaha :: meeting such nice people :: hearing worthwhile content :: time with my friend :: husband and girls having a great weekend ::youngest girl getting a ponytail cut for giving :: new 3/4 size violin for middle girl :: cello possibilities for youngest :: time with Nana :: celebrating Youngest girl's birthday :: my friends, true friends~ praying, texting, encouraging :: tulips, forget-me-nots, lilac bush in bloom :: Genevieve Joy ::

Happily Linking with beautiful Laura at the Wellspring, who I've now had the joy of meeting in person:)

Letting Go {What I'm Holding}

In my mom ballet class Wednesday afternoon our teacher encouraged us to Let Go.
We were at the end of class, going across the floor with our sashay, glissade, leap.
I remember my daughters doing this years ago in their earliest classes, and now I'm giving it a try.
My feet are cooperating, nothing impressive, but they are doing it, so I tried to add my arms as well.
I soon learned adding the arms can totally throw off the feet.
Our teacher encouraged us that it's all part of the process.
Let Go. You'll feel like you lost what your feet have learned, but you haven't. It will all come together.
Just Let Go—it will come together in time, she says.

Letting Go is a theme right now.
We celebrated a tenth birthday for my youngest daughter this week.
I'm letting go of the idea that my daughters are little girls now, all the evidence proves otherwise.
On the morning of her birthday my Nana was given a day or two to live.
I want to let go of her bravely, but I prayed she'd wait until the next day,
not wanting my daughter to associate her first big loss with her own birthday.
Nana made it.
Now we're a few of days past what was predicted.
My husband and I spent time with her again yesterday evening, reminiscing.
Holding her hand.
Listening. Smiling. Holding on.

Frances called, she wanted to hear my voice one more time, she says.
I squeeze a little tighter.
The reality of not hearing that voice, not holding that hand, hurts.
So this week I've squeezed life into smaller spaces and spent more time at her side.
The waiting is hard, precious, exhausting.
Worth holding.

My head itches, Amy, could you scratch it?
I do. I laugh. Nana, that was the one thing you'd never let me do when I was a girl. I couldn't touch your hair.
Why was I like that? she asks, wondering why she didn't let go sooner.
You'd set it for the week, I suppose. It was good for me to have limits anyway.
I keep scratching the way she used to scratch my back when I was girl.
Do Dat, she says, imitating a much younger me.
Yes, do dat, the words I'd say if she paused while scratching my back.
She'd resume the scratching.
She still remembers.
She's still lucid.
So is it wrong for me to hold on?
There's still so much to hold.
But I know her body is about finished.
I know it's time to let her go.

I'm supposed to leave town today. Driving a few hours north for the Jumping Tandem Retreat.
Nana was always about a bit of travel.
Every trip we've taken in the past year has made me anxious when I'd think about Nana's condition.
This week, though she improved a bit mid-week, is by far the closest.

I pray she doesn't make her final journey while I'm gone.
Though if I'm honest, maybe that would be easiest.
Maybe I need to let my dad and aunt have those final moments.

Soon enough, it will be time to Let Go.
I imagine it will throw my steps and my confidence off for a bit.
But she'll be free.
And maybe it'll teach me more about the beauty and freedom of Letting Go.

      What about you? What are you holding?

**One more thing, on a lighter note: my husband and daughters are selecting our puppy this weekend! We won't get her until later in May, but wouldn't you know the time for selection is happening now?! Truly, practicing letting go.