My good fortune began in January of 1961. Now, those that know how young I am realize that it's not possible for anything to happen to me in 1961 (well, other than conception) nevertheless, the story of who I am today began then. In January of 1961 my future in-laws Jim and Ruby adopted Paul in a private adoption and forever changed the trajectory of his life and indirectly mine as well.
Ruby had numerous titles in her life, wife, mother, daughter, sister, friend, home-maker, bookkeeper, but on February 11, 1991 she became a grandmother (Gigi), a role she was destined to play and one that was perfectly suited for her. She served as Gigi to so many people, not just her four grandchildren. She was the grandmother that everyone deserves but few actually receive.
Gigi was the consummate homemaker, a Martha Stewart without the orange jumpsuit or the pretense. I feel like in the presence of Martha Stewart I would be uncomfortable and inadequate. In the presence of Gigi I WAS inadequate but she never made me feel that way. She didn't insult my abilities (or lack thereof) and she didn't try to change me or pressure me to be a better housekeeper, wife, mom, cook, or person. Maybe she realized the futility of such an endeavor or far more likely she accepted me as I am. I learned a great deal from her and I believe that I am a better person because of her. Once, many years ago I was driving and as usual got impatient and whined about the man in front of me not going as fast as he should, she calmly said, "He's probably someone's sweet grandfather." That stuck with me. I'm still impatient, but I try harder to be patient and more like her. WWGD?
I was honored to spend time with Jim and Ruby while she was ill, the three of us developed a daily routine together. My favorite time of the day was bedtime. I would take her pills to her, tuck her in, kiss her, and tell her I loved her. How extraordinarily blessed I was to share this time with her and I thank God for allowing me that opportunity, but I wanted so much more and I had so much more to learn from her. There wasn't enough time.
I can't tell you how often I complained about how this wasn't fair and that this wasn't supposed to happen to her. She came from near indestructible stock - her father lived to almost 101 and her mom was 94 when she passed away so obviously we were expecting a great deal more time with Ruby. You always think that you have more time. Never once did she complain. Never once did she ask "why me?" and she never gave up hope. It's possible that when she was alone she questioned God but never in front of me. Even as her health continued to deteriorate she stayed strong in her faith. I didn't. I'm still asking "why her?" and I'm still angry, and I still feel cheated by God. I obviously had more to learn from her, and now that chance is gone and it makes me angrier. I needed more time.
My grief is personal and painful. It wakes me up at night, takes my breath away, and physically hurts. Waves of tears hit without warning and the emptiness is almost too much to bear. I alternate between total disbelief that she's gone and the cold reality that it's true. I know from enduring this pain when I lost my dad that it does get easier but I also know that you're never complete again. She was our matriarch; the one that orchestrated all of our family's celebrations and now that she's gone it will take several of us working together to attempt to fill the void she left. We thought we had more time to learn.
I was in the room when she passed away. Throughout that night and into the early morning she didn't display fear or uncertainty. She faced her death with the grace that characterized her life. I guess she had at least one more lesson to teach me.
- Time is now fleeting, the moments are passing,Passing from you and from me;Shadows are gathering, deathbeds are coming,Coming for you and for me.
From the Hymn Softly and Tenderly
http://obits.dignitymemorial.com/dignity-memorial/obituary.aspx?n=Ruby-Latham&lc=1759&pid=179555875&mid=6880775
Link to obituary and slide show:
No comments:
Post a Comment