Seasons

Summer is winding down. And with the impending change of season comes time to reflect on one which has contained the greatest joys and sorrows...

Grandy left this world on Monday, August 8th. She was with her children as she breathed her last breath. I am sure that her death is noted as of natural causes. But the truth is, she was ready. Whether it was because she wanted to see Granddad once more, or because she was just tired of this life, she went on her own terms.

Grandy was the sweetest lady, a darling. She was funny and witty and giving and forgiving and generous and loving and affectionate. She wanted everyone she cared for to know as much, and she wanted to be able to provide us all with everything we wanted. I will never forget her laugh. Granddad, her kids, her grandkids all made her laugh.

Processing my view of the world without Grandy in it is daunting. It doesn't seem possible that she is gone. She was always so full of life, that to imagine that death has taken her is counterintuitive. We spoke to her by phone 6 days before she passed. She was aware, and perhaps a little foggy. We told her we loved her, that she means the world to us. And she responded in kind.

I continue to be so grateful. Grateful that I got to be a part of Grandy's family, that I got to bear one of her great-grandchildren, grateful that Kinnie got to meet Grandy. Words cannot express the admiration, respect and love I have for her. Nor can they express just how much she is missed. She lived life fully and lovingly...

"You would know the secret of death.

But how shall you find it unless you seek it in the heart of life?

The owl whose night-bound eyes are blind unto the day cannot unveil the mystery of light.

If you would indeed behold the spirit of death, open your heart wide unto the body of life.

For life and death are one, even as the river and sea are one.

In the depth of your hopes and desires lies your silent knowledge of the beyond;

And like seeds dreaming beneath the snow your heart dreams of spring.

Trust the dreams, for in them is hidden the gate to eternity.

Your fear of death is but the trembling of the shepherd when he stands before the kind whose hand is to be laid upon him in honour.

Is the shepherd not joyful beneath his trembling, that he shall wear the mark of the king?

Yet is he not more mindful of his trembling?

For what is it to die but to stand naked in the wind and melt into the sun?

And what is to cease breathing, but to free the breath from its restless tides, that it may rise and expand and seek God unencumbered?

Only when you drink from the river of silence shall you indeed sing.

And when you have reached the mountain top, then you shall begin to climb.

And when the earth shall claim your limbs, then shall you truly dance."

~Kahlil Gibran

Rest in peace, dearest Grandy. I love you.

Spent

I called Kinnie's doctor's office today, and left a message for the nurse about Kinnie's recent tummy trouble (which is nothing serious, but worth asking about). I left all the information, and was about to leave my phone number, when....

poof! I didn't know it anymore. I was stunned. I haven't had that happen since I got the darn phone. I started off strong... "My number is 720-..... (long silence. long enough that the voice message had to ask if I was finished leaving my message)." I then proceeded to give a number that I am quite sure was the wrong one, because I haven't got a call back.

The thing is, this summer has just been so full. Brian's best friend's wedding, Kinnie's first birthday, our anniversary, my brother's wedding in two days, a trip to Wyoming in a week. All that was eating up my brain cells faster than the speed of light.

And then, we got such sad news this week. Brian's Grandy, my Grandy, has fallen ill. I feel as though I can't even process the words. I love and adore her.

So, yes, spent is the correct way to describe it. Maybe burned out. Or fried. And, without a doubt, I'm running on fumes. I keep wondering when life will settle. I think the answer is probably never.

Reflection

One year ago right now, I was having contractions. I had had "false alarm" one week earlier, during which I had regular contractions, but was not dilated. So, one year ago today, I figured it was another false alarm. Kinnie was not due for another two weeks, and I was scheduled for a c-section in a week. Only, these contractions caused pain different from those I had experienced previously. I called my mom, who offered to come down. But, I figured it couldn't be the real thing, so I told her to wait. I tried all the things I had heard of to slow them down. I walked. I lay down. I took bath. But they didn't slow. We called the doctor's office, and were advised that we ought to come in to be checked.

I went back to my bed to lay down and breath, and something hit me. I got overwhelmed, scared. I called my mom and asked her to come.

Within 4 hours, Kinnie had arrived. I still vividly remember the first moment I touched her, the softness of her cheek on mine. I remember the immediate experience of a love I had never felt before.

A lot of people comment that they can't believe it has been a year. And sometimes, I can't either. But there are moments when it feels as though it has been forever. It is as if my life before Kinnie was a completely different lifetime.

I have learned so much in the past year. Humility because I don't have control over when my baby may be fussy or sleepy or wanting to stay up late. Acceptance because I had to deal with the humility. Pure, uninhibited love. Joy. Pride. Amazement. And did I mention love? Most of all, gratitude. Every day is different. Every day is an adventure. And for every moment, I am so grateful. I am blessed to have this life, this baby. Happy Birthday to Kinnie Lin. Here's to an amazing second year, and many, many years to come.

Cambio

Cambio is Spanish for "change." One year ago today, we left Guadalajara. The changes in our lives since that day have been immense.

I awakened this morning trying to make sense of what my experience in Mexico means to me. I want other people to know how much a part of me that experience is, how much it meant to me, how much I loved it. But I don't know what to compare it to.

Moving to Guadalajara was a victory, because we challenged ourselves and found that we made it through. It was humbling, because we had to face our lack of knowledge of a culture and language, and ask for a lot of help. It was exciting, because we took risks and adventured in a way we had never imagined. It was stressful, because we were so far away from our family and friends.

I think, most of all, it was lovely. Lovely in the most beautiful, passionate sense. The culture, the community, the people, the food, the scenery, our students...

I still so clearly remember our little house, and lying in bed in the mornings and seeing our orange tree out the back window. I remember walking Koda and Fifi through the neighborhood, and greeting all our neighbors. I remember lugging our laundry around the block in trash bags to the laundromat. I remember sharing Pizza y Come with our friends. I remember the traffic on Lopez Mateos. I remember driving by a billboard for half a year before figuring out what it meant, and then feeling so proud that I finally did. I remember the feeling of my classroom early in the morning, watching the sun rise before my students came in. I remember the taste of Juan Carlos' tacos dorados, and Hector's tortas ahogadas.

It is not as if I regret or resent the changes in my life. Anyone who knows me knows how much I love being a Mama, and how I love being close to my family and friends. But I think this longing in my heart will always be there...

The mother of an almost 1-year-old

We have begun to discuss how to celebrate Kinnie's first birthday. It is tempting to go all out (think Super Sweet 16), only because it feels as though somehow, on some level, all that material stuff may give Kinnie one inkling of just how much we love her. Alas, we are middle class folks. So there will not be petting zoos, or bouncy castles, or merry-go-rounds at the party. It will be simply our family and friends, and a cake to dive into.

In Kinnie's first 10 months and 21 days, I have managed to only fall into the "She's growing up so fast" mentality on a few occasions. Her growth and development are a joy to watch, and as much fun as each stage is, I feel proud of her, and happy for her, when she discovers some new element of being. The sentimentality did hit me hard a few nights ago, and I sobbed. It hit me, too, several weeks ago, when Bri and I were watching Toy Story 3, in which the boy goes to college. I looked at Brian and said, "Kinnie will never go away to college, right?" Of course, I don't lament the fact that she may go away. If she is anything like us, she'll go far away. If she values the things we value, she'll venture into other cultures and challenge herself. But, in the very deepest part of my heart, I never want to spend a second away from her.

Kinnie is on the move. She is discovering new parts of the house every day. This week, the dogs' toy basket was particularly intriguing to her. I am learning to choose my battles. I figure we have recently washed all the toys in there, so if she pulls those out, it's not so bad. And then she got into the brushes, and I thought that they must be neat to feel. Then, I looked over, and she was chewing on an old beef bone. Eww...

We laugh together, and we cuddle more than ever. Though she was not one to be held a lot when she was younger, now she curls up on me daily. This morning, she fell asleep on me. It warms my heart. And, it makes all the hassle of all these teeth that are growing in totally worth it. She has been almost refusing to eat baby food. Despite the fact that she currently has approximately 2.5 teeth, she much prefers "real" food. When I have a snack, I now have three beggars, instead of only the two usual four-legged suspects. I continue to feel lucky, and blessed, and grateful.

Dawn

Dearest Granddad,

When the phone rang at 6:00 this morning, I knew what the news would be. We had been waiting, as patiently as possible. With it came a slew of emotions, and incredible gratitude.

You died this morning. Your kids were with you, and all of us were, too- at least in spirit. You and your beautiful bride of 62 years created an incredible family, an incredible life, one which I am grateful to be a part.

I can imagine you scoffing a bit at the thought of all of us being sad. I realized this morning that you wouldn't want us to be mourning the loss of you. But, it is impossible not to. You were kind, funny, ornery, caring, stubborn, loyal, strong. You were admired, respected and very much loved.

I remember when I first met you. You and Grandy had driven to Evergreen to visit Kevin and family. You were a young 69. Brian and I had been dating for just under one year, and somehow, even though I was but a teenager, we connected. Your warmth was there from the beginning, and I have carried it with me since.

Some of my favorite memories with you include all the times I tried to match your wit. You were full of it, but I think I got you a few times. And, of course, I will never forget visiting you in January. You had changed a bit. I know it was hard for you to talk, but your smile and laugh were still vibrant. The fact that you met my daughter, your Great-Granddaughter, means the world to me. As we said goodbye, you held our hands and said, "thank you for coming."

Thank you for coming, Granddad. Thank you for your presence. Thank you for being so giving. Thank you for all the laughs, and the smiles which shine on now through these tears. Thank you for being a man we can all look up to. Thank you for those blue eyes, which I see every time I look at Kinnie.

We will carry on. We will watch after Grandy, and do all we can to make all her days cheerful. We will live the rest of our lives with you in our hearts, and we will make you proud. We will miss you.

I love you very much,

Kelsey

An historic day

My mom called me late last night with the news: "Osama Bin Laden is dead." Ten years after he masterminded the attack that killed thousands of innocent Americans, our hunt for him has ended. I remembered exactly where I was on 9/11/01, and I'm sure all of us who were alive then can. I hope for closure and for peace and for a sense of justice for those who lost loved ones.

I do not feel joy. I do not feel happiness. I do not feel like celebrating.

In the war started with the goal of finding Bin Laden, to date, 2441 Coalition forces have died in Operation Enduring Freedom. And though an exact number has not been recorded, it is estimated that up to 10,000 Afghani civilians have died as a result of this war.

It is not a joyous occassion.

A senator interviewed on the news this morning said that, while an important day, he is not sure that Bin Laden was still the threat he once was. The senator said that Bin Laden had remain so deeply hidden that he was unlikely to mastermind another attack.

I am reminded of a saying attributed to Ghandi, "An eye for an eye makes the whole world blind." I look into my daughter's eyes, and imagine, if she were older, the questions she would ask if she saw on TV people celebrating the death of an enemy. And I'm not sure I would have the answers. In an oversimplified way, it seems that the message is this: hunt down, regardless of cost, those who wrong you. I just don't think that's right. Nor, something to celebrate.