Save the Date

I wrote this memoir when I was 21, shortly after the death of my grandmother. I have not shared it with many people. Here goes!

Save the Date

          Very few people choose the date on which they will die. It isn’t something we think about or even plan. In almost every case, we have no choice at all- death sneaks up on us without warning or even care as to what the date is. My grandmother, however, chose to die on February 29, 2008. 

          There are 365 dates in a year.  Except once, every four years, there is an extra date- February 29- leap day.  She may have done it so that we would only have to remember the day she died once every four years.  At least, this is what my mother told me.  But I know better.  My grandmother died on that day to be different.   She wanted to stand out.

          Not that she needed anything extra to help her stand out.  With her giraffe necklaces, her big straw hats, and her bright pink stilettos- she always stood out.  She never wore the same thing as anyone else, she never did exactly what anyone else was doing, and likewise, she would want to even choose a unique day to leave this life. 

          We put a great deal of emphasis on dates.  We celebrate our anniversaries of important events, and the date of our birth. We sometimes remember the dates of things such as: when we met our best friend, or the date of a first date.  It is even one of the first things we do after a man proposes- we set a date. Some dates are easy to remember, like, November 10, 2002, the date on which a tornado destroyed my town.  Some dates are easy to forget.  Like April 21, 1993- I have no idea what happened that day.  There are dates we will never forget, and then, there are dates which we would love to forget. 

          February 13, 2008 is one of those dates I would love to erase from my memory.  Like any devoted Flyer fan, I had just attended my school’s basketball game.  We won, and as I walked back with all my friends in the cool crisp air, I was excited to see my mother calling when I looked at the vibrating phone.  She did not sound as excited to talk to me, as she told me that she and dad would not be visiting me that weekend.  I was instantly devastated as this was the third time they had tried to visit me this year.  Her reason this time though hit me like a bulldozer to a pile.  “Sarah” she began, “Grandma Prudy is in the hospital.  She is doing really bad.  You should probably come home- just in case.”

          Do you know what happens when you put an ice cube into boiling water?  Or what happens when you take a burning hot skillet off the stove and run cold water over it?  It’s the same thing that happens when you go from a high on life to feeling like its crashing down like cans off the grocery store shelf.  A reaction happens. The ice cube crackles and evaporates; the pan screams and lets off steam.  In those seconds, my heart jumped out of my chest and into my throat, sending a similar reaction burning out of my eyes and a roller coaster drop down to my stomach. 

          I don’t really remember the rest of our conversation, but I remember crying- almost like a child- and Julie handing me the roll of toilet paper for the river coming out of my eyes and nose.  I knew then, that this is a date that I would not forget:  the date in which I learned I was losing one of my best friends. 

          That Saturday morning, February 15, 2008, my fiancé drove me home. When I walked into her hospital room she was calm and asleep, an unusual contrast to her typical exclamations such as, YIPEE!  I had never seen her like this: dull gray hospital gown replacing her bright yellow flowered hat, and her crazy neon sweaters with fireworks.  I wish she had been awake to see her entire family- cousins from Seattle and all- surrounded by her bed, looking at the woman who was the center of our entire family. 

          We didn’t talk much in the 30 hours I was home.  I held her hand a lot and smoothed back her dry uncombed hair.  I read to her and watched as my aunt and mother administered the water cup to her. When we were alone, I myself tried to feed her the water cup.  I held it to her lips so she could drink.   She started coughing very badly, and something was beeping.  A nurse ran in and checked her vitals.  All the while, I am standing in the background, praying to God not to take her now- not to let me be the reason she died right there.  But then, just like that it was over.  One of the scariest moments of my life was over and she was back asleep again, breathing heavier this time and looking more run down than I had ever seen her. 

          The next day came.  It was the 16^th, another date which would not so soon be forgotten.  I knew that today would be the day I had to say goodbye. I had to go back to school.  My life had to continue. I went to the hospital unwilling to affirm what I knew would be true:  this would be our very last goodbye.

          She said more to me then, than she had my entire visit. 

“Grandma Prudy- I am leaving now.  I have to go back to school.”

          She turned her eyes to me and said, “Sarah... good.” She smiled.

I kissed her forehead, It was cold and clammy, and I ran my finger through her straw-like hair.  “I love you.”

          She took a deep breath, and with large watery eyes full of love, she looked deep at me.  “Okay.” Deep breath.  “mmm, I love you.” The words rang through my ears as Matt helped me move away from the bed.  They played in the air as I walked out the door.  They screamed in the corridor as I walked down the hallway.  Those words will forever ring- her last words- her last I love you.

          Yes, dates are very important.  Which is why, that September 4th, I addressed and sent out save the date cards for my wedding.  As my pen wrote the names of all those I loved the most, I couldn’t help but address one to Mrs. Prudence Hering.  She deserved to know the date of my wedding- July 11^th, an important date- the same date of her birth. 

          October 18^th, June 21^st, May 28^th, March 17^th.  They just dates.  We watch them pass by each and every day. Some of them we celebrate, some of them we let slip away without so much as of a glance at the actual number.  But one thing I learned from my grandmother was to cherish the date that is today.  Today is not just another number, it is someone’s birthday, the day we met our best friend, the date we make an important decision, a day we may never forget.  Each day, just like my grandmother, is unique.  Cherish this date and every date.  Save it in your heart, and one day when you need to remember – you can. 

Beautiful words and Beautiful GP

It was on this day three years ago that I got the phone call that my grandmother had passed.  Let me rephrase this. It was on this day three years ago that one of the most influential people of my life, and one of the best friends I have ever had, passed.  That's better. Because when we think of "Grandma" we think of someone who knits sweaters and bakes chicken noodle soup, and whose house smells like mothballs. This is was not my grandmother.

Beautiful Grandma Prudy she was to me for 21 years. She didn't really cook a whole lot, but she was awesome at playing Polly Pockets. She didn't knit me anything, but she was great for a tacky gift here and there. She rode bikes with me, and we went on adventures, and she hosted parades, and tea parties, and she ALWAYS dressed up. Luckily, her house did not smell of mothballs, but it did smell like flowers. Every kind of flower imaginable. She had a garden that the entire street knew about. That was probably because it was visible from the end of the street. It was gorgeous, and it reflected her beauty and the beauty of so many quiet, unique, and simple things.  I could write a novel about her and everything about her. 

The day after her death, I went home to be with my family. My mother had gone to her house to pick up a few things and arrange them for the funeral. My grandmother had been hospitalized for some time, so the mail was piled up and the papers on the table had not been touched for awhile.  But as she went through them, my mother found a small clipping my grandmother had clipped from the newspaper before she went away.  On top of the clipping was a post-it-note that read, "to Sarah, love BGP".  It was for me. 

The quote that she had clipped was one of the most beautiful things I had ever read. I read it at her gravestone. Did she leave them behind knowing that I may read them at her graveside? It's debatable. Did she leave them to me so that I may live by them? Most definitely.  Did the quote match her life perfectly? Every. Last. Word. It encompassed so much of who she was and what she believed. 

As I read these words at her grave, I wept not for her loss, but because I was so blessed to have had her for the time I did.   I love you and I miss you. 

"To laugh often and much; To win the respect of intelligent people and the affection of children; To earn the appreciation of honest critics and endure the betrayal of false friends; To appreciate beauty, to find the best in others; To leave the world a bit better, whether by a healthy child, a garden patch, or a redeemed social condition; To know even one life has breathed easier because you have lived. This is to have succeeded. "

- Ralph Waldo Emerson

Dreams

The birth of this blog stems from the outstanding dreams I have had lately. Mainly, due to the dreams I have been having about my children. 


No, I do not have children. Yet. 


But I have been dreaming of them.  And in thinking more and more about them and my desire for them I have started a blog because as soon as I have children, I know I will want a blog. 


So for now you will see my thoughts on the world and the beautiful things I find each day.  Hopefully one day soon I can fill it with the beautiful words about and pictures of my children. 


Sarah

Book Critique: Outliers by Malcolm Gladwell

Summary

            In his book, Outliers, Malcolm Gladwell explores certain success stories and how those successful few have been fortunate to come across their achievements. Gladwell’s overall argument is that although a great deal of determination and effort needed are needed to be successful, it is one’s opportunities, experiences, and even background that ultimately determine our success. Outliers, as Gladwell defines them, are those whose achievements stand out from others, and are in some way different from the normal expected success story. Gladwell shares experiences of success stories and confirms that opportunities such as the date or year you were born, your family background, your father and/or mother’s choices, or even your heritage can all affect your opportunities and hereafter your successes. Using shocking statistics and research, Gladwell makes a great argument for success being completely situational; you were there at the right time, and right place, and you seized the opportunity that presented itself to you.

Critique

            I am an avid reader.  However, I do not normally explore non-fiction.  I prefer the American classics, and modern-day novels and fiction.  Yet, Malcolm Gladwell’s Outliers grabbed my attention instantly. He opened with a story of an Italian community in Pennsylvania who were consistently living an unusually long life, and then dying only of their old age. What made this interesting was all the medical research that went in to determine how these people managed to live so long. The only conclusion that doctors could reach was that these Italian Americans were living so long because they were happy, and the community and interactions they kept with each other allowed their lives to prosper. It is stories like these that really strike me because it shows that happiness plays a great role in success, something I have always believed. If one is truly happy with their work and their life, then no matter what level of status, recognition, or money we achieve, we can consider ourselves successful because we are doing what we love. I am in education because I have a passion for it, and this passion drives me and makes me feel successful.

            Another interesting thing about Outliers was that it did not share what I would call “normal” success stories.  I expected Gladwell to go into detail about individuals who rose from nothing and poverty, and with hard work they found their success.  This was not the case at all.  In fact, in a few of his examples, Gladwell shared stories of children who succeeded more in school because their parents had more money, and were able to give them better opportunities. Gladwell’s main emphasis for success was the circumstantial opportunities. He leads us to believe that at times, our success is out of our control.  Just like the hockey players who were better mainly because of what time of year they were born; this in turn led them to mature earlier, be picked for better teams, and have more athletic success.  Overall, I enjoyed Gladwell and his writing style, and I have chosen to pursue more of his works.