I miss my Nana

I graduated two weeks ago tomorrow, and I did it for, and because of, my Nana. I am her only grandchild to ever get a college degree, and I know I made her proud walking across that stage that day.

I went to her stone yesterday to take pictures. I wanted to sit and talk to her. But as I got there and started to bend down, I had this overwhelming feeling, like she was actually talking to me, telling me I didn't need to sit next to no stupid stone to talk to her! It was her voice and everything! She was always so direct. She was never one to watch her words. She would tell you things exactly as they were.

She died in a car accident on August 1st, 2005. Nobody can explain what happened. The autopsy report is even inconclusive. My three youngest siblings were in the car when it happened, and they don't know what could have caused it. One minute they were all laughing and having a good time, and the next minute they careened at 80MPH into a tree on the side of the highway. M pulled 3 of the kids out of the car. D was stuck under the dashboard, his seatbelt having been ripped right out of the seat from the force of the impact. J, my cousin, cried and ran back to the car to try to get D out, but M stopped him, knowing too well that the car could be engulfed in flame at any second. That girl, at just 10 years old, is smarter and more brave than anyone I have ever met. Imagine having the foresight to save yourself and 3 younger, injured kids, and knowing that it was too risky to go back and get the others. I get a tickle in my throat just looking at her sometimes, thinking of what must have been going through her head as she weighed the consequences of possibly leaving her brother in a burning car, with the possibility of herself or her other siblings and cousins getting killed in the process of trying to help him. I can't even imagine.

My Nana was 68 that day when she died. It was the most beautiful morning. Sunny, hot, and forecast to get hotter. They were going to the beach. Nana was great for things like that. It would always occur to her to just pick up all the kids and go somewhere cool for the day. Even when I was younger, I remember her picking us up to do something special all the time. Unannounced. It could be stupid things like going to super WalMart or helping her plant her garden. But the fact that it came out of nowhere, and it was just a gift for us being *us* made it so special. I thank God that the kids' last moments with her were filled with that feeling you get when you truly believe that you're the most amazing kid in the world. Because that's how she made every kid feel.

Nana and the car full of ids left that morning. I was supposed to be there to wave them off, but got caught up in my own life for a few too many minutes and of course, everyone assumed we would all be together at the end of the day to say hello and talk about the trip to the beach. I swear, never again will I treat another moment like it will always be there for the taking. I hate to simplify experiences like this into little gems of wisdom but I truly believe that God wanted me to learn this lesson. Sure, there were a million other reasons why He called her home that day, but I can't overlook the fact that He wanted to also show me to slow down, take some time to see people, to talk to them and love them. I think I have forgiven myself for those extra 15 minutes I took that morning, but I will never forget them. They were so insignificant. So trivial, and they cost me the chance to tell her one more time how much I loved her.

Most people don't have the relationship with their grandparents that I had with my Nana. We were truly different from most people. Even before I was born, she loved me. She literally saved my life. I adore my maternal grandparents but when they found out I was coming along, they were determined to stop it. My Nana hid my mom away, convinced her to keep me and promised to be there to help my mom through everything. I would have never been here if not for her undying love, and her bravery. How many people can say that they literally owe their life to someone?

And I've always taken that seriously. I am like her little clone. From the first moment that I can remember, I remember trying to be like her. Talk like her, think like her, do everything like her. She was truly my idol. Even now, when I'm faced with tough situations, I think of what Nana would do. And then I do it. I owe it to her, to live on in her footsteps, as she is the one who allowed me to live in the first place. So many times a week, someone in my family will tell me " You are your Nana's girl!"

I wish I had a way with words enough to accurately describe her. I feel like everyone who never met her has missed out somehow. She was so honest, so blunt, and refreshing.

You just knew never to ask Nana for advice unless you REALLY wanted it. Because she would give it to you. And it would not be gentle or sugarcoated at all. She had a way of knowing exactly what the consequences of your actions would be, and had no problem telling you.

She never made it through high school. She worked all her life to provide her kids and grandkids with all the luxuries that she never had.

She watched her 16 year old son (my dad) go from being pronounced dead, to pronounced a vegetable, to walking and fathering children, like no doctor thought he ever would.

She hated cats. Don't know why, just did.

She spoiled all of us relentlessly. Anything we wanted, and even things we didn't know we wanted yet. That Christmas season when Furby's were impossible to get, she somehow managed to get me 2. Just because.

She made you feel like you were the only person in the room. You could always stop in. She might be in her housecoat, but there would be coffee, snacks and hours of conversation. And with her, you could really get into it. You could swear, cry, bang the table, yell. Do what you needed to do. She would join right in with you.

She was a strong Christian. You would never know it outwardly. She wasn't interested in saving souls or even talking about her beliefs. But she would pray for you, and for anyone else she met. She would talk to Jesus and get all her strength from Him. I wish I had gotten to know her more in that regard.

My favorite memory ever of her, is me and her sitting in her swing, singing You Are My Sunshine. I know that sounds so cliche, but it's the truth. We did that. So often. And I would sit on her lap and ask her if I was too heavy for her. She promised me over and over that I would never be too heavy for her lap. And I swear to you, until the day he died, that was the truth. I sat on that lap more times than I can count. When I was happy, sad, sick, anything. It was the most comfortable spot in the world to be.

How I wish that lap could have somehow been there to comfort me when she passed. I know that it really was, in some Heavenly way, as I never ever in a million years expected the strength that I had through her services. I did it for the kids. I had told them so many times about how beautiful Heaven is, and how happy people are to be with God. How could I then go and cry at her passing? It would make me a liar. So I didn't. And I know it was her that gave me the strength to do that. But when I got home, when there were no curious eyes waiting for my next move, I was a wreck. I stood on my porch and screamed at God. I screamed at her. How could she leave us like that??!! How dare she just go, and leave us by ourselves, with no other family to love us like she did! It took a long time to get over than anger.

I'm not angry anymore. I'm thankful that I'm finally in a place where I truly and utterly believe that she is with the Lord, sitting with Jesus, and loving every minute of it. I am thankful that I had such a great relationship with her that others can see her living on in me. I am thankful that I have the chance to pass on all her wisdom and beauty to the younger kids, who never knew her like I did.

I miss her so much lately, just thinking about the milestones that I will hit without her here. Graduation day was difficult, to say the least. How will I handle my wedding day, when I marry the man that she loved more than I did at first sight? How will I handle having children? Buying my first house? Getting a Master's degree?

I don't know, really. The night before graduation, I let my mom see my cry over this for the first time ever. I wish she could have been there. I would have given every last thing that I own to have had her back for those few minutes while I made the greatest accomplishment of my life thus far. I would have uninvited everyone else, just so that she could have been there. Anything, anything at all I would have done just to see her smiling face there next to the stage.
I have to stop, crying on a keyboard can't be good for the circuitry.

God, I miss her. The world has some big shoes to fill.

Last night's post

I forgot to finish off the title of last night's post, and bring the post to somewhat of a coherent close. I was typing it in bed and typing on my phone makes my fingers hurt so I guess I was in a rush. It was meant to end with the fact that it's people like that woman who make people like me hate an otherwise pleasant job. She really made me question if it is worth staying on for a few extra bucks a month.

Tonight I'm going to a little cookout with the guys. And SJ ladies know the story about this racist girl and her crap. Supposedly she won't be there, but I have a feeling those plans will change. So I have to decide whether to be on my best behavior and ignore her crap, or if I should set a tolerance limit and then give her a piece of my mind at that point. I know it will cause stress in my friendships but I'm really starting to question the hearts of friends who don't stick up for me in something this serious. And I'm questioning Brent too, because he hasn't actively put his foot down with her or anyone else in my defense. I'm just trying to see it as Brent letting me fight my own battles since technically I haven't straight out asked him to step in yet. Maybe I should. Plus, he likes to avoid conflict whenever possible. Meaning All. The. Time. I've never seen him stick up for anything if it could potentially cause a conflict.

We'll see how this goes. I think I'll set a limit and be prepared to leave gracefully when that limit is reached. With or without Brent. If he won't step up and support me, then he can find his own ride home and deal with the guilt of adding to my already feeling bad.

People like you...

I am officially in my last week of CVS. Today I was sitting in the office contemplating staying on for one night a week as well as occasional Sundays. You know, don't burn bridges and all that. I had just decided that I have so many good friends and so many great experiences that it would be worth doing. When in walks the customer from hell. This will be my first customer complaint in two years. I can't say that I don't deserve it either. She started by slamming an item on the counter for a return. Fine I can deal with that, I do I every day. But then she says, with a horrible attitude, that she wants her out of star sales tax refunded because she paid it and she wants it in cash. Before I could even say anthing she told me not to even try because she has worked for CVs and she knows I can do it. Well I can't. It's not possible to do in the registers. She completely flipped, telling me I need to learn how to deal with customers blah blah. At this point I have a line so I opened my drawer and have her the stupid 98 cents. Then refunded her in cash for a purchase she made on a card. Whatever. She got what she wanted so I thought she would leave. But instead she wanted my name, manager's name and phone number. Guess giving her what she wanted even though it's against company policy wasn't good enough for her. Oh and to top it off she went over to another cashier and started bad mouthing me. I really think she was disturbed. The only comfort I he is thinking that she got thus way from her previous years at CVS, dealing with people like herself. I'm sure my manager will shrug it off as I usually get a few email or phone call compliments a month and I've never gotten a complaint. But it still makes me mad that thee are people in this world with such entitlement issues and such nastiness in them.

New Job! Graduation!

Last week was just a whirlwind.

I had a job interview on Friday. Graduated from college on Saturday. Had a second interview this past Thursday. Today, I slept until 2 pm. I needed that!

My first interview went very, very well. So well, in fact, that the interviewer told me to give my current job my two week's notice. So my last day there is the 28th. She scheduled me for a second interview on Monday.

However, when I got out of church on Friday night, there was a voicemail from the director of the company, canceling my second interview. Turns out she wanted to interview me personally. Yikes!

She wanted to offer me a much better position. However, the drive was way too much for me, and the pay not enough. I ended up acing that interview, but turning down the better position. Financially, it didn't make sense right now. I wouldn't be making enough money to relocate closer to the job, and gas prices would have killed my take-home.

So I will be making less money, but working much closer to home. And doing a job that I think I will love. I'm so excited to start. And I will be working in the same building as my mom, so I will probably get to see her a lot more often now.

No more retail. No more rude customers. No more nights, weekends, holidays. No more stressing over the changeability of a retail week-to-week schedule. No more worrying about a week with no hours and no money. No more having to stress over being scheduled on Thanksgiving, Christmas, etc. My family might actually *see* me on holidays! And I will have health insurance....oh, sweet, sweet health insurance.

I loved my coworkers, and will miss them dearly, but there are some things about retail that I would never wish upon my worst enemy.

I have so many other thoughts, but not enough energy to concentrate them into a post right now.

When you think Tim McGraw....

I joined in on a prayer group today; an opportunity for seniors to reflect prayerfully on the past four years. We were asked to create a time-line of our years at college. And then we put tissue paper over those time-lines, and wrote in between the dates how God was or wasn't present at that point in our lives. Where was He? What did He do? What did He not do?

I realized, after I did that exercise, that God was most present in my life in the years when I didn't think He existed. I look back now and I see those years as a series of gifts, blessings....God was present in the people that I was blessed to meet and fall in LOVE with. At the time I was living it, God was absent. I was a devout Athiest. Now, I have no idea how I could ever have overlooked all that I was given. How could I have ignored the blatant displays of unconditional love from God, ever-present in the people that He surrounded me with?

And I put my love story on the time-line too. I have a love story. I always kept it a secret. From everyone. Nobody would really understand.

You see movies, and you imagine that floating feeling that you would have if that were you. I had that. You see lovers sipping wine on the hood of a car in a field at night and think that doesn't really happen. It happened to me. You watch two people intertwine to the point of being inseperable in the span of weeks and think that's unrealistic. That was my reality.

But until today I discounted it as a dream, a teenager's longing, hormones, whatever. I thought about him tonight, and I pray that when he hears a Tim McGraw song, he gets the same goosebumps that I do. I pray that driving by a pasture of horses in Texas reminds him of the nights we spent trying to feed the horses in Arlington. I pray that when he eats peaches, he remembers how I wanted to move away to Kansas, no forwarding address. I hope that he gets the knot in his stomach when he rives by my house, that I get when I drive by his.

No, I'm not in live with him. I probably never was. Brent is a gift straight from God himself. But my love story was a lesson from God, a painful reminder of the fleeting nature of passion and lust. And he was an example of how God is present in things that are painful, unpretty, hurtful, and sometimes even vile. I was probably never in love with him. But I LOVED him. The idea of him. The enigma. And now I'm rambling. But honestly, have you ever ridden in a convertible from MA to Canada, and turned around to go home after you saw the border? On a whim? Have you ever honestly, truthfully, danced in the rain? Been picked up and spun around while kissing, dancing in puddles? No, that was not love. That was not being in love. That was being in fantasy. But I loved him. I think I still love him. Somewhere in me. When I hear Tim McGraw songs and long for the man who really feels what those lyrics say. When I sit on my balcony at 5 am with my coffee and wonder who else appreciates the beauty of feeling the dew evaporate. When I drive back home, top down, rims spinning, thinking how amazing it is just to be here, right here in this moment.

Now I know I'm rambling. But I can't get him out of my head right now. I need to know that he's okay, that his life has turned out the way he wanted it to when he signed those dotted lines. My dad has spoken to him since he left, but I haven't. I can't. I can't ever talk to him without going back to Dudley road, learning how to drive at night. Or to the Hess, counting pennies for gas to get us to a friend's house, who would lend us money for more gas. Or to the Hajjar parking lot, debating the fate of the apocalyptic battle between Batman and Superman. While skunks take refuge under the Cougar and I cry because I don't want to smell.

I can never speak to him again without wondering what goes on in his heart when he hears Tim McGraw. Does he remember teaching me how to climb trees? Does he think about that time when we spied on the new development, dreaming about the day when one of us would own one of those fancy houses? Does he remember that he gave me his class ring? With his initials....PMM? Does he ever think about that time he yelled at me for chewing my sleeves? I'll never forget that, and I'll never chew my sleeves again. Does he remember the notebook we passed to each other in the hallway, so nobody would know? How many times has he relived that time in the grocery store parking lot, where we sped away, rubber burning, so nobody would see us together? We were the perfect mismatched pair. The disaster waiting to happen.

I thank God every day that he left the way he did. I thank God that my teen-aged self could let him go, and know where to go when he was gone. But I wonder every night where he is, what he's doing. And if I'm on his mind the way he's on mine.

If people knew how love stories really ended, I don't think they'd sell as well. I hope he thinks of me.