Posts Tagged ‘Grandma Jean’

My Aunt Suzy, who is a truly enlightened person from my perspective, sent out her Christmas greetings this year by sharing her “Grateful List”.  I was so touched by this that I asked if she would mind if I posted it on my blog.  This ability to look at what’s right in your world, to appreciate the people and the beauty around you, can make such a difference to your own feelings of well-being and to the contribution you can make to everyone you touch.  We all have frustrations and hardships that we must face in life but we all also have wonderful gifts and people.  The more energy that you devote to the latter, the more positive the energy that you radiate both inside and outside of yourself.  This does not always come natural to us.  It takes commitment and perseverance.

So, here is Suzy’s “Grateful List” for 2010. 

As I look out onto the pure white landscape with snow laden trees and buildings, Xmas lights shining through, I’m once again reminded of how extraordinarily beautiful winter can be in this part of the world, and how lucky I am to enjoy it all. 

I’ve read and heard in the various courses I take what ‘good medicine’ it is to practice thankfulness, and I am a believer:  it’s a wonderful way to get the warm fuzzies, putting your mind to all that is good in your life.  So this year, instead of a letter I’m sending you my Grateful List, as a way of sharing with you matters to me.

 THIS YEAR I AM GRATEFUL FOR:

•  the discovery of a new hobby – walking.  I’d never taken the time to just walk, and this spring, summer and fall were utterly perfect for my newfound activity; even now that we have winter I’m enjoying walks along the trail – I never realized how lovely it is to just simply ‘be’ out there, with no phones, no noise other than the birds, no talking (well, I do talk to Aub on our morning walks), no pressure – just absorbing the energy of nature around me and being alone with my thoughts.  Author Sarah Ban Breathnach says “…I walk regularly for my soul, and my body tags along.”  I know exactly what she means.
• the gift I was given this year of a health challenge (pacemaker implant, then blood clot at the insertion site), which afforded me the opportunity to take an extended leave of absence from work.  As a result, I was able to spend many precious hours with my mother in her last two months.  She died very peacefully in her sleep in March, having made a remarkable and beautiful transition from believing she would get well and go home, to accepting the next step with courage, curiosity and grace.  It was an honour to walk with her on her final journey.
• the wisdom of my friend and colleague Jane, who upon returning from another mission in Haiti affirmed that it’s the small acts of contribution we do day-to-day which truly make a difference. 
• the fact that life continues to surprise me.  After struggling with the decision of whether or not to retire, I did so in July and have been amazed that after 40 years of looking after other people I am finding great satisfaction and serenity in just looking after me.  I’m not the slightest bit bored, and am astonished at how quickly a day goes by.  I would have thought I’d have had the cleanest house in Listowel by now, but so far I’ve cleaned one closet and am learning to make peace with dust bunnies.  It has been unexpectedly the easiest transition of a life stage I’ve ever made.
• the contributions to my life that all of my family have made – my husband, sons, Casey, my sisters, their mates and families, my brothers-in-law, their mates and families, my Earle relatives … and the best mother-in-law on the planet.  I grow more and more appreciative of how lucky I am to have their love and support.  And they’re all such interesting people!  I picked well this time.
• likewise, the encouragement and support from my many wonderful friends – every year of course, but this year in particular.  I think it takes a village to shepherd someone through the minefield of grief.  This year my friends were enormously helpful shepherds, and genuinely caring friends.  I’m getting good at picking!
• the ability and opportunity to attend the various courses and lectures with my spiritual sisters – it’s such a gift to enjoy their camaraderie while getting my spiritual batteries recharged.
• that Aub had the joy of playing the best round of golf in his life last summer, shooting 5 under par!
• that a lovely young couple has moved into Mom’s little house, are fixing it up and making a wonderful home, and that there will soon be a baby in it for the first time in decades.  Mom would like that very much.
• that for once in 40 years I was able to say (albeit for a brief time), “My Leafs are undefeated!” 
• the gift of receiving and reciprocating love from 2 special cats –Ripley and Pax, who both went to heaven this fall.  Ripley, who finally used up all nine of her lives at the age of 13, but not before giving me much extra special attention when I was grieving for Mom.  Although she hadn’t been an overly affectionate cat, during those many months she would climb up on me until her body was fully against my chest, front legs over my shoulders as though she was hugging me.  And little Pax, a stray kitten I fell in love with at first sight, who succumbed to Feline Leukemia after going blind.  He was the most affectionate cat we’ve ever had, preferring our attention to food.  Though he was only with us for 4 months, he inserted himself right into our hearts.  I am grateful to have known that little guy – and to be reminded of the lessons animals have to teach us.   About unconditional love; about not thinking too much; about finding joy in the simplest things; about being perfectly happy with just a full tummy, a toy, a snuggle and a warm soft place to sleep. 

 Seems like a good place to stop for today.  Tomorrow there will be other things on my Grateful List – many the same, some new.   It’s a very worthwhile way to occupy the mind, and infinitely more satisfying than listening to the news or worrying about what-ifs. 

The Dalai Lama says:  “If you want to know what you were doing in the past, look at your body now; if you want to know what will happen to you in the future, look at what your mind is doing now.”   My wish for you this Christmas season is that your own Grateful List will be carried with you in your hearts, revised from time to time, but remembered often.  And that it will always make you smile, inside and out. 

 Namaste

This Eulogy for Grandma Jean was written by her youngest daughter Susan and delivered at her memorial event in April.  Susan shares some of Jean’s final reflections and insights on death and the afterlife…

Thank you all for being here today, to help celebrate Mom’s life.  Mom was a great one to collect and quote poetry.   Recently I was going through her wallet and came across this very dog-eared newspaper clipping – had likely been in her wallet for years.  It’s entitled “Nobody is Perfect”, and I’ll read you what it says: 

“Each one of us is a mixture of good qualities and some perhaps not so good qualities.  In considering our fellow man we should remember his good qualities and realize that his faults only prove that he is, after all, a human being.  We should refrain from making harsh judgment of a person just because he happens to be a dirty, rotten, no good son of a bitch!”

It’s so like Mom to have saved this quote – shows her impish sense of humour.  I don’t know if anyone has ever done a formal study, but I believe that all Newfoundlanders are born with a humour gene – Mom certainly loved to see the funny side of things, loved to laugh. 

...with her four daughters and first husband, Wib

In the last couple of years Mom’s memory was beginning to fail.  She would get frustrated by this at times, and ask me why it was she couldn’t remember anything – I’d explain that she was having little strokes and that they affected her short term memory.   One day she said to me, “You know it isn’t all bad, not being able to remember – I’ve even forgotten who I didn’t used to like!”   I would tell her that from time to time, as she had forgotten she said it, and she got a kick out of it every time.

I spent a good deal of time with Mom in these last 3 months, and it was such a gift.  Not always easy, but as time went on, very rewarding.  Mom died the way she lived her life – curious about what was happening, but asking for nothing; being as independent as she could be; and appreciating whatever it was that people gave her.   She lived, and died with dignity and strength. 

Mom believed very much in not looking back – only forward.  Yet, over these last few years whenever I tried to engage her in discussions about what might be next for her, she did not want to go there either.  She would just say, “Oh well dear, everybody’s got to kick the bucket some day.” – and I knew that was the end of that topic. 

The highlight of Mom’s life in these last few years was her monthly trips to the casino with Aub.  Although she did ‘donate’ far more money than not, she also won from time to time.  The last time she won a pot we decided not to put the money in the bank – that way every time she looked into her wallet (which she did quite often) and saw all that money, she was delighted anew!   So in December, when Aub asked her if she wanted to go gambling, and she declined, we knew she really wasn’t feeling well.   She was admitted to hospital a few weeks later.

Most of you have your own memories of Mom, involving perhaps her grit, her sense of humour, her independence,

...with her first two grandchildren

generosity, love of family … today I’d like to share with you some highlights of conversations I had with Mom in these last few months, which demonstrate the grace and dignity Mom displayed making the transition from believing she would recover and go home, to accepting her death. 

Mom was raised in the Anglican Church in her youth, but had not been a church goer for most of her adult life.  In the past few years she had begun to seriously question religion, and even the presence of God.  We have had many conversations in which she asked “It says in the Bible that Jesus is the son of God; but it never says where God came from.  Now answer me that.”  So I’d tell her my theories about a Higher Power, discuss infinity, offer thoughts from theologians far more intelligent than me … but she always seemed unconvinced.   After she was admitted to hospital in January, she brought up this issue again, and for a change I said the first thing that came into my head – that I didn’t think we could understand God with our heads, only with our hearts.  I said, it’s like love Mom – you can’t see love, you can’t touch it or paint it – but you know it’s real – you can feel what a powerful force love is.  She seemed astonished at this thought and said, “Oh, I see now.  So God is Love.  Yes, I see that now.”   Mom’s memory was such that she would not have consciously remembered that conversation 5 minutes after it was over; but it is interesting that she never asked me that question again.  

For about the first month and a half that she was in hospital every day I went in she would ask me why she was there, and when she would be going home.  I would tell her that she had almost died at admission, and then once again and she would be astonished, then say – “Well, everybody’s got to kick the bucket some day.”

In early February she began quoting a poem I’d never heard before – it’s a hymn and it’s written on the back of your program.  It’s called “The Lost Chord”.  Mom remembered the lines:

Seated one day at the organ, I was weary and ill at ease.

My fingers wandered idly over the noisy keys.

I knew not what I was playing, or what I was thinking then,

But my fingers struck one chord; it was the sound of the Great Amen.

She said to me that what the people were talking about in that poem was death.  But she made it very clear that SHE wasn’t dying – it’s just what that poem was about.  I said that I understood.   Over the next weeks, after Patti had found the hymn on the internet and I printed it out, I would read it to her in its entirety, which she seemed to enjoy.  

One day in early March she asked me, “When I’m finished here, where will I go?”  I said, “You mean here, like on earth?”  And she said yes.  I said, “You’ll go to heaven Mom.”  She said, “Heaven, like up in the sky?  Do you really think so?  Do you believe there’s a heaven?”  I said that I certainly did think so, but then her face darkened and she said, “What about Hell? – maybe that’s where I’ll go.”  And I said, “Oh no Mom, Hell is here on earth.”  Despite her frailty her eyes widened, she drew herself up and with pointed finger she said, “You are absolutely right about that!”  So we talked about heaven, and who all would be there waiting to see her.  Finally she said, “Hmm, I guess nobody really knows.  I mean, you have to die to find out.”  I confirmed that that was true, and then with a twinkle in her eye she asked me – “If I get there, do you want me to send you a sign?”  I said I definitely did.  I’m still waiting.

Jean at 92

A few days later she asked me what will happen when there is only one person left on earth.  I explained to her that it was very unlikely due to our population growth.  She wanted to know what would happen when we ran out of room here on earth, and I said “Well they’re doing space exploration all the time – I suppose when Earth gets full, lots of people will go to other planets to live.  She seemed fascinated by this and said she was really glad she’d asked me this.   But she continued to ask that question over and over, finally asking this – “But if there WERE only one person left on earth, it’s unlikely that it would be somebody in my age bracket, isn’t it?”   I said, that simply wouldn’t happen, that someone as old as she was would not be left as the last person on Earth.  She never asked me that question again. 

She had stopped by this point asking why she was in hospital, or when she would be going home.  She seemed very content, and enjoyed visiting with whoever came to see her.  One day when my sons went in to visit her she immediately called for a nurse.  When the nurse came in she said, “There you are.  Two young bachelors – take your pick.”  

The day before she died I spent quite a bit of time with her, reading to her, listening to music, talking of this and that.  She was drifting in and out of sleep but awoke once and said, “I heard it Susan – The Great Amen” – I asked her what it sounded like and she said it was absolutely beautiful.  I said that the next time she heard it she’d be in Heaven, and she said, “I’m ready to go – how do I get there?”  I said she just needed to let go.  Just let go.  Then she asked if I was coming too.  I said, “Uh, I don’t think so … not for a few decades.”  She just said, “Oh, okay.” 

The next morning when I went in she was weaker yet, but still talkative.  I fed her lunch and she drifted off to sleep, then woke suddenly and said, “They were wrong.  It isn’t the end.  It’s a beginning.”  With tears in my eyes I asked her if she meant Heaven, and she said, “Yes, I think so.”  We talked again about who all would be waiting to see her and she said that would be lovely, just lovely.  Then she sent me off home for lunch, saying she was going to rest.  I kissed her forehead and told her that all her daughters loved her.   I got the call about 40 minutes later that Mom had died peacefully in her sleep.

I’m going to close by reading you a note I got from one of the nurses who cared for Mom on 1^st floor.  Llori used to work in the community with the VON Friendly Visiting program, and now works in hospital.   She wrote:

“I just wanted to send you a little note to say how much I really enjoyed all of my interactions with your mom Jean.  Everything from her being filmed for TV with those in-home exercises, to all of the fun she was in her hospital bed.  She was such a pleasure to care for – so bright, lively, funny and very witty.  She was one in a million and my life is richer for having had those experiences with her.  I miss her.  The hospital hasn’t been the same without her but she’s in a better place and I smile when I think of her.”  

I’m honoured that Lori took the time to write this note, and filled with admiration for my mom, who even in her dying days made such an impression on the people caring for her. 

Grandma’s 93^rd birthday was last week but she is no longer alive on Earth so she missed it. 

Grandma Jean departed in March.    Although resistant for many years, in the end she understood that there was something more waiting. She knew it was her time and so she left us in peace.  It was a final gift from a generous and loving woman to those of us that would mourn her passing.  Instead we are left to wonder and muse upon what she might be doing now, to cherish her life lessons (primarily taught by example) and to always know her pride in us.

Grandma never met Jasper.  At least we don’t think so.  In any case, we didn’t witness their encounter if in fact there was one.  Jasper was born on June 14^th, the first child of my sister, so he is now 18 days old, having breathed his first breath less than three months after Grandma breathed her last.   

As it’s been years since I’ve spent time with a newborn, I’d forgotten how enthralling it is just to stare at the darling little face of burgeoning awareness, his instinctive cries for survival, his utter dependence on his loving caregivers, and, of course, his impact on everyone he touches. How does such a tiny little creature completely transform the nature of life to his new family?  One can only stand by in awe when confronted with the reality of how fast we can fall desperately in love, how immediately our own life can become secondary to another.

2010 is a landmark year for our family to have witnessed the wonder of both life and death in such an intimate manner.  

Both Grandma and Jasper have shown me that everything in the universe we need is available right now.  In this exact moment of time, everything is as it should be.   This is something that I will have to remind myself of every day.

Goodbye Grandma, you were an inspiration. I would love to know what you are up to now but I imagine I will find out soon enough..

And Jasper, welcome to our planet!  What a joy it will be to watch you grow…

Au revoir Grandma

A brand new life