It’s a Tuesday night.. I’m at college. …

nothing but junkmail in my career path.

boo…. hiss…..

-angry eyes-

Today I woke up with this thought and it followed me to the shower and to the car and to Wright State. This is the first time this thought ever occurred to me.

My children will never know my grandparents.

I got a phone call last night from my Dad. Grandpa is dying. They don’t expect him to make it through the week. Dad and Mom are flying out tonight. Matt and I will be going to get their car from the airport and sending them onto the plane with hugs this evening. As one who processes the extent of loss after the fact, I don’t expect to cry any time soon. It’s not that my grandpa doesn’t mean something to me, but it’s that focusing on the facts is always my default in coping.

But the thoughts this morning brought up this new realm of reality. My children will never know my grandparents. And Matt may never know them either.

You know, a lot of people are blessed with supportive, loving families. They have big family reunions and the grandchildren get the opportunity to see their cousins, aunts, uncles, grandparents and even great grandparents.

I remember my great grandma Ruth briefly. Really once my memory kicked in great grandma Ruth was not doing so well health-wise. But Grandma would take us up to see her quite frequently. Jes and I would play with the few toys that great grandma had as grandma would take care of her mom. Great grandma Ruth didn’t say much, as a result of a stroke. But we loved her because grandma loved her and grandma took the time to take care of her. (You know how kids are, they love people and things because important people in their lives love people or things.) One day we stopped visiting great grandma. And that was all I knew. I received a tea cup and saucer in the mail sometime afterward. Great grandma had left it for us. The orange set have traveled with me to UT and WSU and now reside in the China Nook. And the doll that great grandma made for me took on new meaning.

Grandparents are wonderful, especially mine. I could shower you readers with stories of working in the woodshop with Grandpa as he made wood come alive and I will never forget asking him to make me a rubber duck from wood before I left for Ohio. He kept telling me that he could make me a wood duck, but I told him I wanted a rubber duck of wood. (Stupid kid!) Or there’s the “Little House on the Prairie” that would welcome us to grandma time. Jes and I would watch… grandma would sometimes nap.

And I wish I could tell you of stories with my Mom’s parents, but they were never grandma and grandpa to me. Mom’s dad died many years ago and Mom’s mom never really enjoyed my family’s company. So it’s just weird to think that here shortly I will no longer have grandparents. At all.

No one so close to me has died yet and it’s quite foreign to think about.

It’s becoming more hard to think about as it sits with me…

do you ever wish you could save someone?
it’s not that you want to be their hero.
you just don’t want them to have to face what is before them.
their decision is naive and will cause them more pain than they know.
very soon.
you just want to change their mind.
wrestle their pride to the ground.
break their inhibitions.
shatter their stubbornness.

oh if they could see the light they are missing!
if they only knew the beauty in surrender.
the overwhelming, overpowering flood of purpose and love.
surely they would run, hobble, crawl …

choice is so hard to watch.
i can’t imagine how You do it.
and it is through those moments of utter yearning
that i agree with Your life-giving compassion.
do you ever wish you could save someone?

only You can.

-how my heart hurts for you.-

—

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-my grandpa in CA-

It’s 12:39pm on a Friday. Here I sit at the very school I have attempted to leave so many times before. This time graduated, which apparently means wearing black heels and dress clothes to the library. The career services interview a past success, despite a four-lane blocking accident delaying me fifteen minutes of my half hour window of “fix this on your resume” and “quickly, here’s our computer system” time. The Other Place interview now lost into the world of “I need full-time, not part-time”. Waiting on the Montgomery County machine to slowly get itself going. Whispers from rebellious platinum blond fashion queens echo copy machine cries and coughs. This place reeks of carelessness, acting and unemployment. My stomach complains. Laundry waits at the apartment. A hospital visit of a friend’s sister looms. Productive, one could call it. Hard-working. Or also just plain lost. This job hunt. But this freight train fails to find fuel. “None Available” burns into my eyes with site after site. But Hope still remains. The trees wave through glass. The wind active again. And with ideas long gone, discovery hangs… yearning… waiting. Alas, these black heels find pavement beyond the library doors. Across the street. Within her past hatred they wait. Until at last they find their home on the wood floor… empty. A morning gone, with red feet and wasted paper it’s products. Laundry calls. Visits persist. And then alas… rest.

Thus goes the story of today’s employment.