my jealousy has come again
As she lay there, begging for death
A promise made with a last breath
to hold him close, and think of me
and tell him of my love
As banjos, cameras, and people alike
remind me of what I'm missing
This very woman, she gave me him
now is passing back
Away from us, and toward him
now is passing back
O Heavenly Father, give her peace, and let her pass...
My mind has been in a whirlwind of emotions recently. It always seems that everything "heavy" always happens all at once. Like they were always meant to be connected. "When it rains, it pours" is a true statement for me, however... I love rain, especially when it pours. Shoot, I get out and dance in it, excited children following me, all for the splendor of one of my favorite creations, and then when we are good and wet, dry up and cuddling under blankets until we're warm again... I guess you have to be careful what you wish for.
I just received a banjo that belonged to my dad. The moment it was in my house, I opened the case, and couldn't help but touch the neck of it and imagine my dad's very fingers holding that very spot. He played when he was young, younger than I am now. Then he sold it to his brother in law shortly after he and mom got married to get much needed cash at the time. When Dad died, our uncle gave it back to us, and it's been with my brother ever since, until now that is :) I have a friend, who eerily reminds me of Dad, also a banjo player, that's going to help me get Jimmy (the name given to the banjo) playing again. Having that banjo has brought me joy and grief, all at the same time. I can't wait to play him, I'm excited about it, excited to learn and do something my dad always wanted to do. But hunting down the history is disheartening... because in a perfect world... I shouldn't have to hunt. I should be able to just call Dad up and (after begging him to let me have his banjo) ask him about it and he tell me, gladly.
At the same time, I get a visit from my uncle (my dad's brother) who sat with us, counseling us about our current situation with me coming off of my depression and my husband coming off from all the stress that created these twitches... to which I loving refer to him as "Twitchy"...... :) My uncle also brought news that Grandma was dying. The very woman that brought Dad into this world, the very woman whose mental illness has been pretty entertaining, especially among us grandchildren, the very woman that I get all my humor, wit, spunky-ness, my art abilities from, all my Norse roots.... She is dying.
Unfortunately, I haven't been very close to her in these recent years. So visiting her yesterday in the hospital, before she was moved to hospice was hard for my heart. I went into her room to find that the nurses hadn't been taking the best care of her, so that was disturbing me. I walked up to her and held her hand, she asked, "Who are you?"
I answered, "It's Kailan."
She responded, "Oh" with a deep sigh "I thought that was you!"
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| Grandpa and Grandma Ruppert the day they were married. |
I sat with her and talked with her. Half of our conversation was about normal things.. how all the kids are, that kind of stuff. She asked about my brothers 3 times, called me my sister's name once, and kept saying to me, "that's a good girl, you've always been a good girl."
I ran my fingers though her thinned out hair, whirling my finger through her naturally curled bangs as they swooped upward like all those vintage styles you see. :) I felt her head and exclaimed, "My! Naomi does have your round head!" She smiled. I told her how much Naomi looked like her as I've always thought so, always proud of having my Norwegian baby... (finally!)... I told Grandma that Noami was the only one that really looked Norwegian and that the rest all have so much of my husband in them. She quickly responded, "So you only have one beautiful one then!" She smirked and I laughed, and said, "yeah, the rest are ok, but my, she's beautiful!" hahaha... oh Grandma.... always being arnry... (can't imagine where I get it from, can you?)
She consistently broke the conversations with her soft and genuine voice, saying, "I just want to go home. I just want to go home."
She had asked me at one point, "Do you miss your dad?"
After immediately bursting into tears, I said, "Desperately." I sat for a moment and continued, "I've been thinking about him even more lately. I just got his banjo and I'm gonna get it fixed up to play it."
She said with her weak voice and a smile on her face, "Oh good. I'll be sure to tell him about that when I see him soon." I wept bitterly after that as she rested her eyes and said, "I'll hold you to that!" totally joking, but she got it, of course, and gave another smile. I also, made her promise to give Sarah a kiss for me too, and she promised. I always make dying people promise me that.. can't help myself.
"I just want to go home now." she went on frowning.
"I know... you're always so eager in everything you do" got another smile...
A moment of silence fell in the room, just her and I, and I thought... I should sing to her. I racked my brain for a song, a song she would know, a song that spoke a Truth to her.... Ah! I had it... Just a Closer Walk With Thee. ( a song that was sung by an old chaplain to my Dad when he was in the hospital before he died)
I started singing with the chorus, and I could hear her humming in relief as I sang the words, "grant it Jesus, this my plea... daily walking close to Thee, let it be, dear Lord, let it be"
After I was done singing, she said, "thank you... always a good girl, always a good girl... I remember many times, when I was younger singing that song... always a good girl. I want to go home now. Just take me home."
I kept having flashbacks of my "great depression" within this last year, and begging God the same thing. I just wanted to go "home". With her eyes resting, I watched her with her pouting expression, and thought about how old I already feel and how much life I've already lived (with the circumstances) and how ultimately, we all want that same thing... to just go home.
After a while of sitting with her, going back and forth in conversation, she grew more tired, so I readied to leave so she could sleep.
I said loud, "Welp! I'll pray for you to die soon then!" She smirked and nodded her head in agreement, "Thank you so much!" I kissed her forehead probably half a dozen times, told her I loved her and that I'll see her later and meant it, either way.
On the drive back home, all these memories of her, of Dad.. kept flooding in. Such heaviness. Sometimes I pity myself about the heaviness I carry. But other times, I consider myself blessed. O the gifts I've been given to see things that not many see. O the burden that I bear because of it.
From Alfred Lord Tennyson's poem In Memoriam:27, 1850:
I hold it true, whate'er befall;
I feel it, when I sorrow most;
'Tis better to have loved and lost
Than never to have loved at all.
I love this poem, in an earthly sense. However the greater Love that is Truer is never truly lost, more so, it continues to be found. I've learned that the more you experience this Love, the more torment you are able to feel on earth. How agonizing it can be to be so in love with a husband that I will lose someday. To love children that aren't truly mine to keep. But to seek out and fall in love with the Beloved, whom you can't truly be with until "the end", but only get closer to, until then. The world is cursed, but what a blessing it is to feel it more, just so you can feel His love that much more. What a paradox. Many may not understand this, but there are some, O melancholy brothers and sisters, that will. I don't know how to explain it better at this point. Maybe some day...
for now... rest well soon Grandma. And let the banjo playing commence!
