Personal Histories

Dad just dropped by.  He has started to write his life story and didn't know how much detail to go into. He was asking the kids what they wanted to read about in his history.  I'm not sure they care.  To kids last week is ancient history. 

When I was in college I lived with  my grandfather Moulton for a year.  He told me some of his life stories.  I listened and most of them were interesting, but I could have asked for more.  I didn't.  Now,  I wish I had the opportunity to ask hundreds of questions.  I have recorded much of what I remember, but so much is lost forever. 

My other grandfather used to call me almost daily to talk when I was a new wife and mother.  We lived close enough that the calls were local (which meant free).  This was long before unlimited minutes. We could talk as long as I had time to listen.  I am embarrassed to admit it, but some days I wouldn't answer the phone to avoid his calls.  I had trouble with some of his racist ideas and talk of conspiracies.  He also told me stories from his past.  I still need to write those down.  They were more trivial and he repeated them so many times that I was certain I would never forget.  He talked about day to day life.  Many of his stories revolved around growing up. Once again, the chance to ask questions is gone.  I was so busy changing diapers and running a home that I didn't think that there would come a day that he would be gone.

I am glad that Dad is writing his history. I wish my grandfathers had taken the time to write as well as tell me about their lives.  It's a heavy burden to be the one responsible for keeping their stories.  I will be grateful to hear about my Dad's life and also my Mom's life through my Dad. She never seemed to tell us any stories from her life.  I think to her the past was best forgotten.  She seemed insecure with her capabilities and embarrassed by her mistakes.  She wasn't proud of her family growing up.  Even her handwriting bothered her.   By the time we realized that we were losing her, it was too late, her memories had become confused. More than anyone I feel the loss of her stories.

For me, I hope that my patchy journals will be left to tell my posterity who I was.  Today, I hope that this blog can tell my family who I am and in the future it will tell the stories they want to read.

A Happy Heart

Yesterday I went to Relief Society Meeting.  Faye Flame was speaking about staying spiritually healthy.  We were talking about how this effects our lives especially moment to moment.  I felt prompted to share a small moment that happened yesterday.  I was sewing new valances for the living room and I was in a hurry to finish before the children came home from school.  In my haste, I knocked over the tin full of pins.  I looked at the mess on the floor and decided it was an opportunity.  I called out, "Hey, John grab a magnet and come here!"  He came and I showed him how to pick up the pins with it.  He was excited to help and said "Mom, this is a really great idea!"  The rest of the project was one of those great bonding times.  John snipped threads and took pins out of my sewing. When I had nothing else he could do I gave him a wash cloth, a needle and thread so he could sew to his heart's content.  This morning he noticed a hole in the knee of his jeans.  As soon as Sesame Street is over he wants to sew them.  I'll let him, but I don't think he will be wearing them in public.

The peace that comes with  a more spiritual outlook can change everything.  I think back to how I  grew weary of dirty diapers when I was new mom.  After 24 years of dirty diapers they don't seem like such a big deal any more. It is the change in thinking from,"Not another one, I hate this!" to "Let's get you cleaned up so you can be more comfortable." I hope I am teaching my children a better attitude about the little unpleasant things in life. It seems as though most of those revolve around cleaning something.

Lydia thinks cleaning up is great but she's only 18 months old. By the time she gets really good at it, it will probably loose some of it's appeal.  I kept her happy through Tyler's graduation ceremony by giving her baby wipes to clean the seats and floor.  Helping with the dishes and laundry are also favorite pastimes.

Those are never ending chores for me.  I don't think it is possible to get every dirty dish in the house washed, or every piece of laundry done.  I am dealing with too many people.  I used  to hate those chores as well. Having a dishwasher, a large capacity washing machine and efficient dryer have helped my attitude, but even with those I could choose to think of them as the ball and chain in my life.  Enlisting the children's help lessens the load, but there are times that they don't have the time to pitch in. A deep breath, roll up my sleeves and plunge in.  You can't finish until you've begun.  Hey, I've done harder things than this before.  Why be miserable?  There is no way I can help smiling through the chores while watching a toddler giggle every time she drops a shirt in the washer or seeing a preschooler burrow into a pile socks.  It's the people that make life joyful.

Tears

As a child I had been taught not to cry.  As an adult I seldom cried. Then my mother passed away 7 months ago and I felt as though part of my personality changed dramatically.  I was often crying. Not just about my mother, but over anything touching, or sad.  I kept wondering if this was something permanent or temporary.  If it was temporary how long would it last, six months, one year? Is this just part of the grieving process?  Recently, I felt as though this phase of my life was ending and I was returning to who I was.  I was still a little more sensitive which was probably good, but my reactions were not as dramatic and tearful as they were a few months ago.  Yesterday changed everything.

Bill's funeral was yesterday.  I went alone.  Roy couldn't get off time from his new job and the children didn't feel as though they could miss school.  Audrey was off work but she had a paper to write so she stayed home with the little ones.  I thought that would be fine I often go places alone and there would be plenty of friends I could sit with.  I wasn't prepared for what I experienced.

The first person I saw when I walked into the building was Kathy Jones.  I hadn't seen her since my mother died.  She helped by sister and I dress my mother for her burial.  That started the thoughts and emotions flowing.  I then walked into the room for the viewing.  Teri (one of Bill's daughters) grabbed me into a big bear hug and sobbed.  Then came her daughter Sarah, red eyed and tearful needing a hug as well.  I hugged Chris the daughter who lives across the street and then Sadie.  I looked around the room full of his family.  People I have known and loved for 13 years.  I saw a son of one of Bill's sons who is in the Army and is home from Iraq temporarily.  He used to sleep over with my son.  Another grandson went to school with my son.  Jordan was there with his younger siblings and his dad and mom.  She was in high school when we moved in.  I watched him for a day shortly after he was born.  Now he is friends with one of my younger sons.  Other children and grandchildren were there who would come over to play and we would see at weddings and graduations.  We have a long close relationship with this family.  I would miss Bill, but I ached for their loss.  They were feeling so much pain.

I didn't lose it until I walked out into the foyer and say Alice there.  She works for the funeral home and was there for everything when my Mom died.  I stared to sob not just for Bill and his family but for me and my family.  For my little children who will never remember their grandma.  For my children in the middle who don't remember her the way she was before the dementia. For all of us who miss her and all of us who will miss him. I grabbed the tissues and thought, maybe this change in me is temporary and permanent.  On a daily basis I will cry less and little things will effect me less, like my old self, but my heart is forever changed to be more sensitive.  I suppose only time will tell.