It's not sadness, but it's not quite nothing either...

My grandmother, my dad's mom, died last night.  The last time I had any contact with her was three years ago at my dad's funeral.  She was drunk.  That's not why I haven't had any contact with her; I just haven't.  I haven't called or written her, she hasn't called or written me. I'm not even sure she knew that I had a daughter a year ago.

My grandma lost custody of my dad when he was in late elementary.  She was unable to adequately care for him or supervise him.  When he was released from the foster care system at 18 he lived with her a little while until her current man told her that she had to choose between him or her son.  She choose her man and my dad moved out.  As far as I know they lost contact until after my dad married my mom and she became pregnant with my older brother, their first child. They found my grandmother and initiated contact.  They wanted her to be able to be a grandma.

She was part of our lives inconsistently.  Sometimes she was around at holidays, sometimes not. My parents were faithful to send school pictures and invite my grandma and her husband to things and, sometimes, they came. Despite the fact that she proudly hung our pictures on her walls, I wondered if she cared about me.

Despite how deeply she'd wounded my dad or how little I felt she acted like a grandma to me, I've never been angry at her or bitter toward her.  I knew she was broken and hurting; the way she lived her life was evidence of that.  I know that hurting people hurt people.  It's not an excuse, doesn't make it okay, but it's the way things are.

Several times I've thought that I should write her or call her.  Once, 5 years ago, I did.  It was awkward.  I think I introduced myself as "Jenny, your son David's daughter" because I didn't think she'd recognize my voice or my name.

Still, she was my grandma, my flesh and blood (or am I her flesh and blood?).  Even knowing that she would never be what grandmas are supposed to be, I feel like I should be what a granddaughter is supposed to be, but I wasn't.  I know that when someone dies it's normal to regret all of the things you could have done.  I regret the things I could have done. 

But here's what's really bothering me.  Death if final.  There are no more chances for redemption in her life or relationships.  While she was alive there was always hope (not like, "I'm holding my breath cause I need this to happen" but, "this could happen and it would be good if it did.").  There was hope that her life could have been redeemed.  That all the mistakes she made and hurts she caused could have been redeemed-- forgiven, given new meaning, used for something good.  That relationships could have been restored at a deep level.  That all the pain she experienced and all the hurt done to her could have been healed and forgiven, that she could have faced it and seen God make something beautiful out of her life.  Until yesterday, she was not too far gone that her life couldn't be redeemed.  But now it's over.  There can be redemption in the lives of those she touched, those of us who are still alive, but not in her life.  Her opportunity is done. 

I don't like it. I'm not quite sad, but I'm feeling something a little more than nothing.

Blessings and Frustrations are Largely a Matter of Context

Last night I was only woken up at 11, 2:30 and 6.  Those times indicate that my daughter slept in 3 1/2 hour chunks between feedings.  Last week, and the weeks before, she had been sleeping (and eating) in two hour chunks.  Waking up three times in one night is so much better than waking up five or six.

Normal people (being currently defined as people not having a baby that wakes up and wants to eat as frequently as mine does) would probably be annoyed to be woken up three times in the middle of the night. I was thrilled.  So thrilled, in fact, that I almost had trouble getting back to sleep each time because of my excitement.  The difference between normal people and me is simply context. 

My guess is that much of life is like that. 

I get frustrated when 7-11's  Slurpee machine is broken, forgetting that I lived several years of my life when there wasn't even a 7-11 within several hours (almost unimaginable).  I get frustrated as I struggle through what it looks like to balance mothering and my job, forgetting that many women don't have the luxury of struggling with this balance either because they don't live in a part of the world where they can have a good paying job or simply because they aren't able to conceive.  Many barren women would count every frustration I have with my daughter or the balance between work and family as pure joy. 

Alternately, many of the things that bring me joy and that I count as blessings probably wouldn't phase a lot of people.  I feel extremely blessed to be able to take  a couple seminary classes this summer (Theology of the Old Testament and The History of Israel).  For some people, taking these same classes would be torture.  I'm sure I could think of other examples, but the point is simply this: I need to remember that blessings and frustrations exist in context.  Sometimes I need to remember my context to more fully experience my blessings and sometimes I need to remember my context to help ease some of my frustration.

"Sometimes the Most Spiritual Thing You Can Do is...

...sleep."  Someone told me that in college and, while I have struggled to believe it, the struggle is getting less and less intense.

Last night I said, "Cory, I'm thinking about giving up. I'm going to go lay in bed and feel sorry for myself.  In a few minutes, can you come talk me out of giving up?"  He asked if I wanted to talk then.  I told him that I did not want to talk right then, laying in bed and feeling sorry for myself was an important part of the plan.  So I went to my bed and waited for him to come give me a pep talk.

But when he came he didn't give me a pep talk.  After suggesting I go for a run (which was actually a good idea, but not practical because I don't like running in the dark) he suggested that I just sleep.  It was 9 o'clock.  For some of you that's a reasonable bedtime.  For me, that's about four hours early.

At first I thought he was crazy, but he was right. What my cranky mind and exhausted body needed was not to try harder or just deal with the frustrations, but to sleep. And sleep I did.  Even was I was awakened at 3am by some guys loudly enjoying Mentos in Diet Coke in the parking lot outside my window, I was already feeling better.  After that brief awakening I went back to sleep and (other than numerous not-so-sleepy baby interruptions) slept until 7:15.  A glorious 10 hours of sleep.  My soul felt refreshed.

If you are losing hope and getting cranky, maybe you should do something really spiritual to help yourself out: sleep.