Grammy

Dear Jules,
One of the most special things in the world is the relationship between a grandchild and a grandparent.  I luckily had very special, very different relationships with my mother's mom, with whom I went to church, and my mother's dad, with whom I played violin, listened to stories, etc.  See Dedi.  You are lucky in that you have special relationships with Papa, Nagyi, and the woman I'm writing about today, Grammy.

When I first met your Grammy, I thought of her as more of a friend than a mom.  She has such an adventuresome spirit, is always up for an outing, and makes for an excellent shopping partner!  One of the things I reallly see in both of you is your zest for life...sometimes despite the odds.  When you go to the ocean, you get right in the water with no fear, and this is what your Grammy does.  Even if it's difficult, she wades right in and experiences life fully.  She's persistent and won't take "no" for an answer, which is something I envy but, thankfully, something you share with her.  In fact, Diane, your speech therapist, said that your spirit and your "willfulness" would take you far in life, and I can already see that.

Just a few years ago, I was on the phone with Grammy who, in her early fifties, wanted to go back to school to study photography at the prestigious Savannah College of Art and Design (SCAD).  She had talked to someone who told her she should stay at home with her husband, your Papa, and she was having doubts.  I told her that she needed to do this...I like to think that this conversation, along with the support of your Papa and her own determination, spurred her on in taking that leap--to continue our metaphor--into that water.

And the water was chilly and deep; she spent many many nights awake working on homework, had to have her work critiqued by eighteen-year-olds (who, let me tell you, are not kind critics!), and, most difficult, she lived almost four hours away from Papa.  It was not an easy time, but she did it.  She graduated Summa Cum Laude and is now a bona fide photographer and, recently, a painter.

I like to tell this story to my students because it would have been easy for her to back down.  At this point, she did not need the money, she had a house, and she could have just done photography as a hobbyist, but this was her dream, and she followed it.  She did not take "no" for an answer.

Not only is Grammy persistent, but she's one of those people who manages to pull this off and still have lots of friends because she has such a big heart.  She has been nothing but accepting of both me and your aunt Maggie, and this woman would go to the ends of the world for her boys.  She loves you so very much, and you have been developing a very special relationship.  Last week, she came and spent about three days with you; you went to the beach, to a few therapies, but mostly just enjoyed each other's company.  Here are some "selfies" that you and Grammy took:

Just seeing how happy you both are makes my heart smile, and I would like you to have these pictures and treasure them as you both grow older (and possibly less silly...though I doubt it).

On a personal note, it meant a lot to me that Grammy took time not only for you, but also to do something special with me.  Because I'm busy with you and with work, I don't often have time to do "girl things," and it's really easy to forget to do things for myself.  Grammy came with me to a studio called Wine and Design, where we had a few glasses of wine and then proceeded to copy one of their paintings...from scratch!  I have really no sense of spacial orientation and was terrified at the thought, but Grammy helped me every step of the way.  And we both painted sea paintings to go in your room:

I know they won't be in your room forever, but maybe you have these in storage and can remember this story.  I really did not like my painting until Granny told me the problem was that I had too many colors.  I fixed it and tried to "unify" it, and I think it turned out much better.  She didn't do it for me--it's definitely my own painting--but her advice helped.

This is, I think, the key to good parenting: to help your children but not do things for them. I can already tell that it's going to be so hard; when you're having trouble, I just want to make life easier, to do it for you.  But this painting makes me proud because I did it myself, and because I accepted advice (also not the easiest thing for me).  And so your Granny isn't only adventuresome and kind, but she is an excellent parent and grandmother.  You have special, very different relationships with all of your grandparents, and I think the magic is that you learn different things from each one.  

Nonetheless, every time you jump fearlessly in the water or insist on doing things by yourself, I think of this woman, her invaluable influence, and her precious love for you.

Dear Jules,
Today, June 6th, marks the 70th anniversary of D-Day.  Now I fully expect you to talk to your father about this, because my historical knowledge of WWII is very very hazy, but I do know that Normandy was important to your Great-Grandfather (remember?  The one in the picture in your room? Every night, we say:  "Momma loves you; Dadda loves you; Grammy loves you; Nagyi loves you; Papa loves you; Great-Grandpa loves you; your aunts and uncles love you; Puck loves you; and God loves you."  Right now, your favorites are "Papa," "Puck," and "God," which I guess I could psychoanalyze...).  He served in the 463rd battalion, 79th infantry division, and was part of the Normandy invasion, which is amazing.  He never drank, but he would always drink a bit of Calvados  to celebrate the occasion.

I've been thinkng about Great-Grandpa a lot, as I never had a great-grandparent, and my own grandfather died four (!) years ago now, almost to this day.  And we visited him recently in Rome, Georgia.  He lived for a long time with his wife, Jean, who he absolutely adored, in El Paso, Texas.  Grandpa used to tell lots of Jean stories, and all of them were similarly almost worshipful.  In these stories, Jean spoke her mind, told this Brigadier General what to do, and he did not mind one bit.  He just adored her so much, and I knew he was in love with you when he said you resemble her (which I'm not sure you do, but still...).  I need to find a picture of her to put on this blog for you, but I digress.

Your dad was very close to Great-Grandpa growing up; he would stay with him, help him feed his pet turtles, hang out on his hammock (you also enjoy this!), and read book series, most notably the Oz books.  I actually met him through his 463rd Battalion reunions, which I started attending even before Daddy and I were married.  I still have his honorary pin which, to me, meant so very much.  Both Aunt Maggie and I received pins, and they were a clear "welcome to the family."  Both of us knew how much he loved and cherished not only Dad and Uncle Lee, but also their girlfriends--soon-to-be-wives (For Grandpa knew a thing or two about love, you see).  At these reunions, he always gave the closing speech, which he practiced and delivered from memory in a manner that I envy.  The speeches were not (thankfully) mostly about war, but more about strategy, the friendships these people developed, and the love of his life, Jean.

In 2006, your Dad and I had the opportunity to stay with Great-Grandpa for a week in El Paso.  We had such a lovely time.  Every day, at 0900 (military time), we would leave the house for an outing somewhere: we went to Carlsbad Caverns, New Mexico.  I unfortunately can't find my pictures from then, but these were wonderful times.  We would get back for lunch, and everyone would take a nap while I went for a run (some things never change).  Then we'd all go get dinner somewhere.  I really grew to love your Great-Grandpa during that week and am so grateful I got to see him at his prime.

You've also met your GG a few times.  We've thankfully had the chance to spend two Thanksgivings with him.  During the first one, in 2012, you were almost two--here is a picture of him and some other people you might recognize:

GG, Papa, You, Papa-Dada, and Aunt Maggie

I

In 2013, we went to Aunt Maggie and Uncle Lee's house in Durham, North Carolina; Grammy drove to Rome, GA to pick up GG and take him first to Charlotte, and then over there.  Again, you and he got along famously.

This past weekend, we went to visit him in Winthrop Manor, where he's currently staying.  His health has declined a good deal; he's in a wheelchair, was on oxygen, can't read books or really hear much any more, and keeps falling.  I really wanted you to see him (and him to see you) while he still could, so we drove to your Aunt Emily and Uncle Mark's house in Atlanta, where you got to play with your cousin Lucy, and then to Rome.  I was a bit nervous about how this all would go, but you just went right up to every single resident, waved, and gave hugs.  You were especially sweet with GG and requested that you sit in his lap:

Every time I look at it, this picture makes me tear up.  You felt so at home in his arms...and just look at how much he loves you!  Even when he's not around any more, I hope you can look at this picture and feel pride and love for this amazing man.  When he came to visit you for your first birthday, I asked all of our guests to contribute a song to a playlist, and his choice was Perry Como's "Til the End of Time."  It's a beautiful song- here's a link to it:  http://www.azlyrics.com/lyrics/perrycomo/tilltheendoftime.html.   Here's a part that I find most touching:

Till the wells run dry
And each mountain disappears
I'll be there for you, to care for you
Through laughter and through tears

Even if he's no longer physically here, your Great-Grandpa, like your Nagyapa and so many others who will love you, will be there, caring for you, always.

Nagyapa

It has been a whirlwind of a weekend; we had a family reunion at Myrtle Beach where you go to see your cousin Oliver and meet your newest cousins, Stella and Lucy.  We all ate too much, talked too much, stayed up way too late...it seemed like the perfect weekend.
Except for one thing.
Today, May 18th, is the 13th anniversary of my father, your grandfather (Nagyapa)'s death.  I can't believe it has been thirteen years of living without him, and I'm constantly sad that he never got to meet you.  I know he would have loved you so very much; in fact, I know he's looking down from Heaven loving on you right now.  As I've written before, you are named after him--his name was Julius (Gyula), the same as his father's, the same as your uncle's, and now you are carrying on this family tradition.
So today I would like to memorialize Nagyapa by posting some pictures of him from my childhood.  He was mostly the photographer and is not in many pictures, but I want you to see him, to know this man.  Your grandfather was a man who had his priorities straight and knew what mattered.  In 1956, he escaped from Hungary after the revolution, lived in a refugee camp in Austria, emigrated to Poughkeepsie, NY, worked at Fargo, and then  volunteered to serve in the US army.  My dad loved all of the opportunities that America offered him, but they were there because of his hard work:  as a salesman, he worked long, often thankless hours and saved assiduously to be able to send money back to his family (another priority for him).
He also knew he wanted to wait until he met the right woman, and that's why he met Nagyi a little later in life.  Once he married her and had us, he knew that we were his priority.  He could have opened that camera shop, could have taken more chances, but he worked at Montgomery Ward and the Rocket Store and at Caldor because they were a source of stable income and could support his family.

Here is a picture of Nagyi and Nagyapa with me, probably in 1973, what would have been my first Christmas?  We never had a whole lot of money but, like Randy Pausch writes in The Last Lecture, I won the parent lottery.  This was my second birthday in 1974:

Here's a rare picture of just him with me and your uncle.  Since Nagyapa was the photographer in the family, he is rarely in any of our pictures.

I think I would never have met your Daddy had it not been for Grandpa and Nagyi.  They both sacrificed so much not only so that I could get a Bachelor's Degree but also a Master's:

And, three years later, when I decided I wanted to apply to Ph.D. programs, both of my parents were so supportive of me.  You know, it's at Chapel Hill that I met your daddy, and the rest is history!

Anyway, one of the things Nagyapa loved the most was photography.  I tried to get into it but never had the eye that he, and your Grammy, do.

 I especially love this picture, not only becuase it's so well-composed but also because it captures one of those brief, elusive moments of beauty.  That butterfly will only alight for a few moments, but this picture makes the experience immortal--it's captured forever and almost made more beautiful through art.  This is exactly why I love poetry and literature, and it's exactly why I'm writing you these letters.  Even though you will never meet Nagyapa, I do hope that you get a sense of him through these letters that I'm writing you.  In that way his memory, like this gorgeous picture, will live in your heart, with you forever.  He is, and always will be, a part of you--I see him in your smile, your focus and concentration, your incredibly deep love of music.  In this way, he lives on in stories, in his own photographs, and in you, his precious little granddaughter.

Becuase Nagyapa valued family so much, I'd like to think he would have been happy that we spent this usually painful weekend with family, building new bonds and reinforcing old ones.  But I don't ever want to let new family get in the way of the memories I--and, hopefully, you--will always treasure.

Gratitude Day 2

Today I'm grateful for Charleston, this beautiful city in which I live.  I'm sitting out on our porch writing this, and It's so amazing to see the jessamine getting ready to bloom, the azaleas out in full force, and the dogwoods blooming away.  You like to run the bridge with me, and here's a picture taken on top (the Cooper River bridge).

 What really gets to me here is that, even in the midst of ugliness, in the midst of decaying stone and human trash, we see beauty.  Remember that as you go through life- to look for beauty everywhere.

Gratitude

Lately, it's been all too easy to feel ungrateful.  It's the end of the semester, I've had so many "problem" students, my allergies are absolutely killing me, and you still have trouble getting through a week of school without getting sick.  Yesterday afternoon, in a rather foul mood, I attended a funeral of a colleague's husband.  This young man, who was only 32 and died of head and neck cancer, fought as hard as he could, smiled as much as he could.  According to the priest, one of his last prayers was for "happiness."

I haven't been able to stop thinking about him, about his family, about his two young children left without a dad, about the way that he could ask for happiness at such a devastating time in his young life.  It's too easy to look at the negatives: to see everything wrong instead of cherishing everything that's right.  So in memory of Mike Lonon, and also because this is a lesson I would like for you to learn, I'm going to be posting short things, words or pictures, every day, of something I'm grateful for.

I'll start today with your daddy, my amazing husband, Ben.  I'm grateful that he drives you to school every morning (and gets up at 5 to do so!), that he never complains about our often uncreative food options when I'm working, that he lets me sleep in on Saturdays and wakes me up with hugs from both him and you, that he took you to lunch today so that I could work.  Speaking of which, I should stop procrastinating and do that.  But I wanted to start this today, and I can't think of anything better to start with.  I would be lost without my husband, my best friend, and I feel such pain when I think of my colleague losing hers.  God bless you, Mike, and may you find happiness in the arms of your heavenly Father.

Bah Humbug

When I was a little girl, I used to walk down to the corner of Croft Road and Wilbur Boulevard (I still remember the road names), where a couple had a huge Christmas display, complete with a nativity scene, in their yard.  Music streamed through loudspeakers, the lights were brilliant, and I was spellbound.  When I grew older and understood what Christmas was about, I would pray at that nativity scene and feel this amazing sense of connection.  It was Christmas time, snow was on the ground, school was out, Christ was born to save mankind...life was good.

All too often, Jules, I forget this wisdom.  As William Wordsworth famously put it, the "child is father of the man," meaning we know things as kids that we forget as adults.  This particular holiday season has been really hard on me; my students took final exams and wrote final papers at the last minute, and I was grading them and reading complaints on the internet.  I was sleepy, upset, just not in the mood.

And the minute I finished that, my first thought wasn't about celebrating the season or taking a moment to be grateful.  It was "now I have to clean the house, and bake these pies, and take Jules to these parties."  In fact, your dad and I were in a grocery store, and he was looking at all of the goodies there, enjoying our time as a family.
"Hurry up," I said, "we don't have time for this."

"For this?"  But this is what Christmas is all about...family.

Then, we went to our usual tree lot, and the trees were all sold out.  And our vacuum cleaner is broken, so we couldn't vacuum up the pine needles.  And we still have to clean out the house for our onslaught of guests.  And I have so much cooking to do for parties.  And I need to prep my classes for next semester.  And do my research.  And....

But wait.

Mary and Joseph didn't sit there going "Crap.  We planned this all wrong.  We were supposed to get a room in an inn.  Now our baby will be born in a stinkin' manger."  Instead, they trusted in God, and in that moment, and it turned out to be far more beautiful than their most elaborate plans could have been.

And you know what?  We actually found a place that sold trees and donated the money to needy children, so I feel pretty darn good about that.  It's the most beautiful tree we've ever had!  And we're getting a new vacuum cleaner, and our guests won't care that much about our home, and I can always buy food for parties, and I will get the prepping done.  I always do.  Like Mary and Joseph, I need to trust in God, and in the beauty and magic of this season.

Thankfully, you are here to help with that!  Here's a video of you dancing to the light show on James Island.  Like me as a kid, you love the music, you love the lights, you love the people.
Click here for the video

You know me, Jules.  I'm always running, literally and figuratively.  Christmas, though, is about stopping and celebrating the miracle of Christ, of family, of life itself.  I hope that, when you get older, you never forget (like I did) to pause, enjoy the season, and give thanks for all of our blessings.  I don't think you will...your father is much better at this than I, and I think you take after him.  But just in case you do, please read this letter and remember that all that matters is that night, that manger, and that little baby.  The rest is humbug.

Letting Go

When I was younger, I never understood why my parents would be so worried about me if I was out with my friends, or coming home late at night.  Other parents, I thought, were not this "over-protective," and I felt frustrated, infantilized.

Well, now I think that they handled it well.  I was out with my friends, or with people they didn't know, driving on my own.  You are 2 1/2, and the people I leave you with are at daycare.  Or I leave you with your dad, who I know loves you and takes great care of you.

Today and tomorrow, you are spending the day with your Grammy Rogers, who loves you so very much and will also take great care of you:

And yet, I get this feeling deep in the pit of my stomach, like something is being ripped away from me. I now understand that, when you carry a baby around for nine months, you really do "connect" in a deep-seated way.  I also don't know what it's like to have a non-special-needs child, but taking you to therapy four times a week has really, I feel, cemented this bond between us.  It is just so very hard to "let go", even when I rationally know that these are people who love and care about you.

Don't worry--I'm working on this because I know it's healthy for you to develop independence, spend time with different people, etc.  I've been really trying to give you time alone with Daddy and, now, with Grammy, and I hope that you'll get some good alone time with Nagyi and Papa.

But it does make me realize how hard it is to let a child, any child, go.  And even if you don't have children, this holds true for every relationship we have in life.  The minute we have a bond with someone, we try and tie them even closer to us, thinking that the more we cling to them, the tighter the bond will be.

Paradoxically, trying to hold on so hard just makes things worse.  When we let go, people will come to us.  And, as the cliché says, loving is "letting go."  This morning, I thought about what that meant for God and His gift to us.  Whatever you believe, you have to admit that the story of Christianity is a beautiful story of selfless love.  I think about my love for you and then I think- "this is the kind of love God would have felt for His son."  Probably even moreso, since our love is always tainted with selfishness in some way.  So the fact that he sacrificed Jesus for us, that he "let go" enough to let His son die for us, is truly amazing.  I think about how I feel when Jules isn't with me for a few days, and then I think that God must truly have wept (or whatever the God version of weeping is) that day.

So I think Christianity has a lot to teach us about parenting.  While God did let go of Jesus for us, we are also His children, who he loves unconditionally.  And so (and this is the tough part to wrap my head around), he let go of His Son in order to redeem his sons and daughters.  And he let Him go so that he could fulfill his higher purpose.

Now don't get me wrong--I won't be sacrificing you any time soon, and this is a huge leap from giving you more alone time with other people.  But I do want you, too, to fulfill your "higher purpose," and I know I can't do that if I'm holding on to you too tightly.  So this year, as my spiritual discipline, I will work on "letting go," not despite my love for you, but because of it.