Remembering Nana

I can't hope to have a cohesive narrative from the last week, but I wanted to at least get some things jotted down before I forgot them. Rich's mom passed on Tuesday afternoon, February 18, 2014. We were all there around her hospital bed as was the pastor from church and the sweet ICU nurse. Rich's dad tried to apologize for getting emotional and I told him, "Don't you say you're sorry or I'll get grumpy with you. When I die, I expect people to cry. It's sad and you're supposed to cry." He laughed and acquiesced.

Every funeral should have a four year old. Ian has done very well in handling Nana's death, as I knew he would. We explained that she has died but that we're going to a viewing and a funeral. We told him that the viewing would be our last chance to see her but it would just be her body. Several times he has asked, "What happened to her head?" to which I would then have to add, "No, her whole body, including her head."

We went to the viewing and Ian stayed in my arms. I asked if he wanted to touch her and at first he was adamant that he didn't. But after a few minutes he whispered, "Mommy, can we go touch Nana?" We walked over and he leaned in to pet her arm, stroke her hair and touch her face. We talked about how she was cold because she wasn't alive anymore. We then had to have a lesson on why bodies are cold and how hearts pump blood to keep us warm. For the rest of the wake, he waffled between playing with his cousin, playing on my iPhone and walking over to visit Nana. Pretty standard stuff.

The next morning at breakfast, we went to Panera. While Granddad got his coffee and Daddy paid, Ian and I went to pick out a table. He casually told me, "We only need four chairs today because Nana is dead." That then led to a brief discussion on how he didn't want Nana to die and he misses her but eventually moved on to his spinach and bacon souffle.

We explained that Saturday was another day to remember Nana and we were going to the church to talk about her. Megan is a truly amazing friend because she drove three hours from Maryland that day to watch our kid for us during the service and reception. Her comments to us were:

Moment #1

The service had just started and the minister was giving the opening prayer. Ian looked up from his toys at the minister, studied him for a minute and then turned to me and said, "Why is he talking with his eyes closed?" "Well, he is praying - talking to God - and some people like to close their eyes when they talk to God," I said. Ian turned to look at me with this frown on his face, "How do you know so much stuff about God?" It was all I could do not to snort audibly. I told him I was really not an expert on God, but I would be happy to tell him everything I know after the service was over. He found that to be an acceptable answer and went back to his toys. I'm glad he forgot about it later. :)

Moment #2

He was very concerned with you both being sad when you gave your remarks during the service. I assured him that you were both okay, just sad about Nana. As I told Genie, he LOVED the story about Nana making a WOOOHHOO noise when she heard Ian was on the way. He repeated that over and over, making the noise, and eventually made the noise whenever something happened that he liked when we were playing or just walking around. I'd love to know if he is still making that noise.

Anyway, by the time Lee got about half way through his remarks, Ian was looking glazed over. He got his blankie out and laid down on the bench with his head in my lap. I really thought he was going to doze off. Then Lee finished and Gerry went up to speak. Ian started frowning again, then squirmed up and sad (fairly loudly and rather crossly) "Why are people I don't know talking about Nana?!" It was almost possessive, as if he was fine with you all talking about her, but now he had to sit there and listen to complete strangers who clearly didn't even know his Nana! :) I explained to him that they knew his Nana before was born. He made several grumpy old man "Humph" noises and laid back down. It was really funny.

Again, thank you, Megan!

The reception was so nice. The weather was unusually warm and we all sat out in the sun while the kids ran around the playground. I dragged out some photo albums so that Gabrielle, Megan and I could peruse them. It pleases me that we could all sit together and share memories. I think someone told Rich that it was weird to see his ex-girlfriend, ex-wife and wife all together like that. Seems fine to me. We all had our time with Pat, in one way or another. Thank you, in particular, to Gabrielle for coming. I'm sorry that you didn't get to spend time with the woman we did over the last six years.

It was time to leave the church and Ian called out across the parking lot, "can we PLEASE go to Target now?!" He'd been wanting a Gordon train for days and we kept telling him we didn't have time to go yet. I turned to Rich's dad and told him, "the world moves on, Granddad."

That evening, tons of family came to the house to visit. Previously, all the Stryker men were begrudgingly saying that folks would insist on coming over and they guessed that would be okay. But then that evening, his dad turned to me and said, "This is so great. She would have loved this. I'm so glad everyone is here."

Trish is amazing because she bridges both sides of the family as Pat's step-sister and Tommy Stryker's ex-wife. She's everyone's Aunt Trish. I also loved talking with Gerry. He spent so much time with the Stryker family and had so much love from Pat in particular, I'm sure he felt like a part of their family as much as his own. I commiserated with him that I also have a kid, Regan, who is mine even though other people raise her. It takes a village. They talked about Rich Sr and Pat buying their house and as they walked through the door, Gerry was right behind them turning on lights and pointing out the various rooms. When he balked at being called a stray by the minister, Rich Sr. said, "No, Gerry came with the house." I also love that when Lee was born, Gerry stayed with them and did the laundry. Rich Sr said he knew he could go to work and everyone would be in good hands with Gerry there.

By Sunday morning, we were all worn out. We were rallying Ian to get dressed and he said, "Do we have to go talk about Nana again?!" When we told him we were just going to breakfast and wouldn't be going anywhere to talk about Nana, he blurted out, "but we can still talk about Nana, right?" Of course we can. We can talk about her as much as you want.

You can read her obituary and see a slideshow of pictures through the funeral home's website. The funeral home was very nice. I told my dad that he should have married a funeral director or at least had one as his assistant because they're the only people I've seen who have to read minds for a living.

The minister said something in particular that I found very fitting. He read 1 Corinthians 13, which was engraved inside her wedding band. But later, he said that "real love is fierce." Lee said that while his dad may have taught him how to fight, his mom taught him how to be a fighter. And in her way, she was both a lover and a fighter, until the very end. It shaped everything she did.

The greatest of these is love.

Books and snuggles make everything better

The last few days have been hard. (Didn't I just type that a few weeks ago? It's all a blur.) Thanksgiving itself was fine except for eating too much and arguing with Rich over family traditions. The next day was okay but I never got out of my pajamas and again Rich and I had misunderstandings and miscommunications. Yesterday I was in a foul mood most of the day to the point that I skipped ice skating to go to Food Lion. I actually felt downright depressed yesterday just from feeling distant from anything fun.

And oh, the whining from our child! Ian will say he wants something (an omelet with spinach and mushrooms), perceive some slight (that I didn't put mushrooms in his omelet when I did), then make a grandiose statement that hurts my feelings despite its nonsensical basis ("I don't like these eggs, Mommy. You didn't make what I wanted. I never get eggs."). He was 7/8 through his two egg omelet when he became righteously indignant about its contents. I can only sigh and walk away so many times before I want to throw his plate of eggs in the back yard.

Today was looking up, though. After a snack, Ian had his swim lesson where he didn't require me to get in the pool with him. He did well with the timeline for leaving without pitching a fit. We had brunch at Panera where Ian happily ate his soufflé and was super sweet. Ian played on the playground while Rich and I talked in the sun. Our kid who was so nervous last year did a fantastic job with our appointment to meet Santa and have pictures taken. We all enjoyed a lovely afternoon of resting while I roasted another turkey (it's a long story why I have two more turkeys in my fridge).

Even when I cut the bejeezus out of my finger washing a plate, Ian was super helpful and hugged me sympathetically. We were doing so well (fingertip not withstanding). But Ian started getting punchy from fatigue. And my finger started throbbing. And everyone got hungry. And Ian got spun up and wild like he does when he's overtired. And everything just started to unravel.

Fussy words were exchanged with Ian, then Rich went to pick up his sub while Ian sat on the couch and I nursed my pinky at the computer.

But then I remembered the Christmas books. We were supposed to be celebrating this evening by picking out books to read as we lead up to Christmas. I ran upstairs to grab the books, found some wrapping paper, brought in the giant calendar, and turned off the TV. Ian started to whine and I felt myself tense up. But I told him I had a special plan and once I told him snuggling was part of the plan, he was intrigued. I drew a Christmas tree on the 25th box and patiently watched Ian count each day ("and then this day, and then this day, and then this day") from 1 to 25. I showed him how to cross off a day when we were done with it. Then I dragged over the giant crate of books. I told him this first night we could read as many as he wanted. His eyes got wide with joy and we both started to feel a lot better.

We only made it through three books. Ian asked a million questions about "The Night Before Christmas". There are lots of strange terms in that book like kerchiefs and coursers and peddlers. We also had a lengthy discussion about who St. Nicholas is versus Santa and if Nicholas is his last name or first. Complicated stuff. For our last book, we picked out The Mitten. It is the best book ever and a favorite for us both. We'd barely gotten to the owl page before Ian's eyes were drooping and I read the last five pages with him probably asleep. Then Rich kept me company while I sorted and wrapped 23 other books for the rest of the month.

My finger still hurts. Our kid will still probably be a spaz at some point tomorrow. I still have a pot full of turkey stock to process before bed. But snuggling on the couch with Ian having him tell me that he loves reading books with me made things better. Here's to the next 23 days of anticipation and snuggling.

How my cat teaches me to be a better parent

The elder statescat Isis is now officially back in her cat jail. Finding her occasionally on the dining room table was super annoying, but finding her curled up on the stove several times in a row today after swatting her off was the last straw.

I don't want to be that lady who killed her cat swatting her for getting on the stove and the poor thing weighs a mere seven pounds on a good day. So she's back in the crate. She doesn't seem to mind really. The other cats seemed interested in being near her which at first I thought was sweet. Then I realized they were just trying to figure out how to get to her food that was inside the cage. There's a reason they each weigh twice what she does.

Having a 17 year old cat is an exercise is learning what you can and cannot control. She is underfoot, into places and things she shouldn't, really loud for no good reason at times, extremely fragile yet also incredibly determined to do things beyond her supposed capabilities. You know, just like our kid.

I know there are people who would put a pet like this to sleep. The cat has reached the phase of her life where she is equal parts sweet and irritating. Ian is in one of those phases too right now so it's good practice. While I can't crate my kid, I will take full advantage of that option for the cat to keep her out of trouble. And regardless of her frustrations, she is family just like Ian. So we sigh and make accommodations and move on until we get to the next phase.

What you can't see in the pictures is she's purring in her little cage. She does enjoy not having to share her resources with the other cats.