Grandma DeeDee

Most of you know this already but for any who may have missed the news, my Dad’s mom passed away on Oct. 6^th. I want to thank all of you who sent us your love and support and let all of you know how much we appreciated your kindness. It’s been a rollercoaster. Now that everyone in the family has gone back to their routines, I’ve been doing a little reflecting. I’m not entirely sure where I am going to go with this, or with what purpose I’m writing but I guess there’s just a few things on my mind I feel I need to share with those that I know and love.

I’ve discovered a funny thing about houses since DeeDee passed. Vanessa and I are currently living in DeeDee’s house for the time that we’re still stateside and the more time I spend in this house, with just the two of us, the more empty it feels. When the family was here for the funeral, it was hard, DeeDee’s chair was empty and there was a fog of sadness that lingered over all of us, but it felt right. The house was full. We were all there, in her house. Now that it’s just us, the house doesn’t feel right. It feels as though the house has gone into a deep sleep in her absence. I guess even houses mourn when their inhabitants move on. Come Thanksgiving, we will make it smile again. But for now, Van and I go about our daily routines and we feel so grateful to have a place to rest and feel at home while we are here. And we are adjusting well I think. I still miss her dearly and more than once, I’ve wished she were there when I look at her chair. I think Jake misses her too sometimes but even he seems to be settling in to new routines. He spends more time with us than I ever would have expected him to. So as we adjust, we reflect as well and while I have had such a hard time figuring out what I would say, I think it’s time for me to stop thinking about it and just write it. So here goes.

Whenever someone dies, I always find it intriguing how we try to avoid the word death. I guess more precisely we are trying to avoid being insincere or disrespectful but I just find it odd that the words die, death, and dead seem so different from the words we do use when referencing the deceased. Far more often we say “she passed away” or “He’s moved on.” It makes sense. The “D” words are more finite. They signify the end where as saying something like “passed away” implies that they’re still around, just in a different place. That just feels so much more comforting doesn’t it? They’re not really gone, just away. Well now that DeeDee has “passed away” I have realized that this is exactly how I imagine DeeDee to be. No longer with us, but not really gone. I truly believe that she must be in a better place because, having raised the 5 boys that she had to, God knows she’s earned it.

In the passed month since her death, it has become very apparent to me that Darlene Rogers was truly a servant. She contributed to more organizations and charities than I knew existed and I know this for a fact because each and every one of them has called at least once to say thank you…and ask for future donations of course. I have learned so much in DeeDee’s passing about who she was and what she did. Her love for her family and friends ran so deep. I know I speak for all of my family members when I say we will all miss her dearly. And while we will all have moments of sadness and will grieve for having lost such a dear part of our lives, I have realized something for myself, which makes some sense to me and gives me comfort. Death separates us from those that we have loved in life and at times the loss can seem so painful. But Death also bears with the pain a gift that until now I couldn’t see. The gift of regret. When we look back on the many things we wish we had done or said, it becomes starkly clear to us, at times painfully clear to us what we SHOULD have done when we had the chance. The things that we were too blind to see before are shoved in front of our faces. While it felt wonderful to have learned so much about her as we gathered around old photos, and told stories, I couldn’t help but feel guilty about the circumstances. I should have learned all of this sooner, from her. I think all who loose someone feel that way, but isn’t it strange how we all seem to fall victim to it? We don’t know what we have till it’s gone. It’s a painful gift, but a gift none the less to know what to say when I see her next. I have an amazing Grandmother, and the moment that I get to be with her again, I know all the things I want to tell her. She did amazing things for so many and took every opportunity she could to share love with those that needed it. So for me, I feel more confident in saying this than I have felt about saying anything; Grandma DeeDee is doing just fine now. I have no doubt. She’s probably having Tea with Mother Teresa as we speak.

The circle of life

Grandma Dee Dee, Pop Pop and their five sons

When boys become men, they really stay boys just in bigger bodies.

Grandma Dee Dee and her grandchildren.

If the rays of sunlight could have reached out and tickled our noses, I think it would have. Shining through the window, the sun breached the thin layer of skin blocking the world from our delicate eyes. At one time, one of us was a morning person (not me), early to rise and ready for the day, but those days have passed. Kyle has been converted and one of the greatest pleasures in life is lazily waking on one's body clock rather than the alarm clock for the great roll out of bed. After breakfast we settled down to work on some good ole Spanish when the phone rang. Kyle's mother was calling with the news of Grandma Dee Dee. She was sick with an infection in her intestines which prevented her life support of dialysis. This meant that Grandma Dee Dee was not much longer for this world unless some miracle occurred. I was raised in a family of fixers, something can always be done. I wanted to know that something could be done. There had to be something that could fix Grandma Dee Dee. We couldn't let something that seemed so trivial slowly drain her life. As I looked up plane tickets back to Texas, I prayed for a miracle, surely this wasn't the end of an era of such a great woman.

As I sat wishing for her extended life I got to thinking about life and life's cycles. These bodies we are born into are such a blessing and yet a curse. They help us to navigate the world into which we are born, giving us the ability to run, jump and roll in the grass. But they don't always stay strong and often turn on us in the end. We are born into delicate baby bodies that require nutrients and nurturing. We grow quickly into little humans, but much more bouncy and resilient than adults, more like bouncy balls than ceramic vases. We continue to grow up towards the world of adults growing stronger everyday until we reach our tipping point. The tipping point is different for everyone, sometimes it starts as early as in the 20's, and sometimes it waits until the 50's. Our bodies continue to grow and strengthen until we hit our peak, and the aging process begins the decent into the valley of decay. Often times we can hold off the decline by taking care of ourselves, keeping our minds and bodies healthy, but healthiness is not fallible, only preventative, not a cure for the aging process. I have heard it said many times before that we are dying from the time we are born. Maybe that's true and maybe it's not but they definitely are unpredictable. Our bodies are like a house, as soon as you have the money to put down a new floor, the refrigerator and the AC go out at the same time. Our bodies change from a smooth running vehicle that gets us from here to there, and everywhere to a hindrance, keeping us from experiencing the life for which we were made. I wish we could live in our bodies without the fear of the decline. We would be born, grow up, stay strong and die of something specific, not the shutting down of our systems one by one until we are trapped in our cursed bodies. I wish we could be like an ever-lasting gobstopper, almost impossible to destroy, except maybe with a hammer. But those are dreams, and this is reality. One reason, I had such a hard time accepting Dee Dee's fate was because her health had seemed to improve so dramatically over the last couple of years. Dialysis had done wonders for her and in my mind she was stronger than ever, or at least much stronger than she had been in the past. But in the end, her body was more fragile than I had thought, and it wasn't the ever-lasting gobstopper, just a regular body, imperfect and fallible.
Grandma Dee Dee's death not only started me thinking about our bodies' cycles but also the generational cycles. When we are children, we take for granted that there will always be people and/or relatives older and wiser. Parents, grandparents and sometimes even great grandparents are our families time capsules. The generations that connect us to our history and our journey and the reason we are here today. Our parents and grandparents lives often give us insight into our lives and it is hard to imagine a world without them. But like in school, how we slowly make our way up the chain from being a lowly freshman to being the king and queens of the world, Seniors, we don't have much of a choice. Life changes and we must change with it. I don't want to think of a world without my grandmother, or my parents, but we don't live forever, and one day, I will take their place as a parent, and a grandparent; the one giving advice and telling stories of how life used to be. Life moves in cycles whether we want it to or not. Grandma Dee Dee was Kyle's closest connection to his past on his father's side, and now that she is gone the world seems less complete and emptier. But we must fill it with our own stories and keep her story and those stories of the many generations before him, alive.
Grandma Dee Dee had a full and colorful life. She raised five boys and lived to see 9 grandchildren born. We are sad to see her leave us, but happy for her to continue along into her next journey as we must continue along ours.

The four generations picture of the Sanders Family. (Vanessa is the baby)

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Death and Greiving

My Uncle Donald Braun died. He was my dad’s identical twin. Monday, my half sister Rachel called and left a message, but my phone was dead. Tuesday I received a second phone call from Rachel, but I had been out cold calling while my phone recharged at my apartment. When I came back for lunch, I noticed several missed calls and new voicemail, so I checked my voicemail to see what was going on. Rachel had left a message saying that I needed to call because she had some bad news. My heart skipped a beat, and I knew something had happened to either my dad or Donald. I felt heat travel the surface of my skin from my head to my feet, and sweat formed immediately at my brow. I was hopping for someone being in hospital rather than the alternative. When the next voicemail was Dad calling from Rachel’s phone, I eliminated his death as an option. I was relieved but anxious and concerned; I needed to know what was going on. I often fear the worse, so I was hoping that my expectation would be alleviated and I would be told something serious, but not mortal. Rachel didn’t answer the first time I called, so I left a calm and happy message , hoping that my cheerfulness would improve whatever gloomy state of affairs was occurring. She called back quickly, and requested that I sit down, in the background I heard my dad ask if I was driving. I wasn’t driving, I was standing in the bathroom removing my earrings, but I obediently followed her request and found a seat at my dinning room table. The request and the seriousness of her voice gave away the situation. I knew she was going to tell me Donald was dead. She had already told me, just not in words. I didn’t gasp, I didn’t cry, I didn’t even feel all that particularly stunned, I felt like someone had told me they were going shopping at the mall. I didn’t have a reaction, my reaction was numbness. I asked the basic questions, “How did it happen? What’s happening now? Who is coming in? When are we meeting?” When the conversation was over, I closed my phone, set it in front of me, and stared into space. I tried to reflect, “How do I feel?” “Why do I not feel more?”
In high school, I would joke that I had a heart of stone; nothing could make me cry. Movies would make my eyes dampen, but tears didn’t dare go overboard, they went as far as the rim and stopped still in their tracks. I honestly thought something was wrong with me. My mother assured me that it was emotional stability, but I felt incomplete. I finally did cry, breaking my streak of over five years, my sophmore year when our two week theater camp came to a close. I was so happy at my tears, I almost reversed the flow that I was so happy about.
I would describe myself as a very sensitive and feeling person, so the fact that I did not feel an extreme loss, or much pain agitated my inner conscious. I am a woman of many emotions, but the death of an uncle wasn’t moving me. Instead of pain, I felt guilt.
The rest of Monday disturbed me very little, although something felt remiss. Tuesday was different. I didn’t want to join the world of the walking. My bed was my haven, the covers my protectors, the world my predator. I had a strong pull towards my most frustrating character flaw, avoidance, and it had more strength on it’s side of the tug-a-war game than I had in opposition. I was sad; I felt something. My reaction was not tears, but avoidance, but though it wasn’t much, it was something.
While I was Italy, I had received notice that Donald had fallen ill, been hospitalized and diagnosed with lymphoma. I was told not to worry, because although serious, it was treatable and not terminal. It was a type of cancer of the blood that had no cure, but wouldn’t kill him as long as he continued his treatments. He had been treated in San Antonio, so Dad could be near. He moved in with Dad and his health started a steady increase towards the happy end of the spectrum of health. It then leveled off, and he still struggled with fatigue and walking without a cane. He moved back into his apartment in Austin with the notion that he would clean it out, take his valuables, move back to San Antonio, and when his health improved they would travel around the country in an RV. Donald had been in his apartment for a couple of months, making little progress. My dad called him one day as usual, but Donald didn’t answer. After several days of trying without response, he called Rachel to visit Donald to make sure everything was all right. He had already been dead 10-12 days when she found him. An autopsy was difficult because the condition of the body. His death certificate states lymphoma as the cause of death, but the family believes it was something linked with his upsurge of fatigue.
The service was very true to Donald, held outdoors at McKinney Falls State Park, with trickling water as the background music. Standing under a tree, we prayed, told stories and comforted one another on such a tragic loss. Standing in a circle, facing the other members of the Braun Family, listening to Donald’s life story told in 10 minutes, I came to a realization; I didn’t know Donald. I had been on family vacations with him, gone camping with him, had many a dinner with him, and laughed with him, but I didn’t know him. These are the things I knew about Donald; Donald was the most gentle soul of the Braun Family. He was the protector of his younger sister, and always tried his best to take care of her. He was kind hearted and always had nice things to say. Of the twins he was the more optimistic. He lived by himself in Hyde Park Austin in a tiny, cramped apartment full of junk (or his collections, whichever you please). Despite his clutter, he always added to a conversation. He was well read and knowledgeable and had a great laugh. He had been married and divorced once, but didn’t have children. An ultimate bachelor, he was slowly attempting to move out of his apartment to move in with his twin and ultimately travel around the country, if his health improved. I knew that I liked him and enjoyed his company, but I didn’t know very much about who he was.
Through the stories, I learned that the Donald I didn’t know, I would have liked even better than the Donald I already liked. I learned he loved critters, bugs, amphibians, mammals, all animals intrigued and fascinated Donald. He had a peace and gentleness about him that comforted animals so they didn’t fear him. He had joined the airforce for four years, mudlogged in Alaska, and his last position was a supervisor at a Metal health facility. One co-worker showed, and told stories about Donald as a professional. She said he was the most patient man she had ever encountered. The patients often cursed and fought with the supervisors, but Donald always kept his cool and didn’t take his frustration out on the patients. He was a favorite among the nurses because of his sweet nature.
I have now attended several funerals, experienced many deaths, and each time I come away thinking, I wish I knew them better. How is it that these people that have died before me, whom I have spent a great deal of time with, slip away without me really knowing who they are. My great uncle Vance, my great uncle Floyd, my great grandma, and my grandpa are all loved ones who have died recently. They are family but somehow I missed something. I missed their life history, what made them tick, how they came to be who they were in life. I know that it is hard to get to know people fully, but maybe we should try harder, maybe I should try harder. Their lives are important and should be preserved if not on paper but in our memories and actions. We are all connected to one another, and the more we know and share about one another the more enriched our lives will be.