The word "Grace" can be used in a variety of ways. One
may say "grace" at the table as a gesture of gratitude. A person may
move or dance in a "graceful" manner. And some are saved by the
"grace" or mercy of God alone. I can't think of any better use of the
word, however, than when it is used to describe one of my grandmothers,
Grandma "Grace".
Recently, I had the wonderful opportunity
to accompany Grandma Grace on a 12-day trip to Ireland, one of the
major dreams or items left of on her "bucket list" (defined as things
you wish to do before you kick the bucket, or pass on). To say the
least, it was a real dream come true. We left with several new-found
friends, stories, and over 100gb of video and pictures of our
adventure.
We'd like to share with you an adventure that will have you laughing, and maybe
even tearing up a bit. But not everyone can handle a journey like
this. So first, we better start with a little back story to help you
understand who we are and why this adventure means so much to us. If
after reading it, you still want to join the journey, you will be given
the opportunity to do so. We'd love to have you along!
Cheers!
- Grandma Grace and Aaron
P.S. The back story is below, followed by a button to "join us". : )
The Back Story...
Here we go to Ireland! (Attempt 1)
(August, 2010) How many pairs of pants does one 24 year-old male really need during a 12-day trip overseas? Seems like it would be a simple enough decision for most, but all of the excitement welled up within me was really taking a toll on my packing sensibilities. Of course, the fact that I had left my overseas packing chore to be completed the day before flying overseas for 12-days certainly didn't help. "I think two: one pair of jeans for the grit, and one pair of slacks for the grace. That should do the trick!"
Through some artful packing, I was able to fit all of my essentials into a single carry-on bag. Knowing Grandma Grace, she would likely have plenty of baggage for me to help out with, so there really wasn't much need for any overzealous packing on my part.
"I can't believe we are really doing this!"
I thought to myself as I reflected back on when I had first come to stay with Grandma Grace. The time when I had come to know her as more than just the kind, lovely lady that made us grilled cheese sandwiches after we returned from a trim (haircut) and a movie with Grandpa.
It was the summer of 2008, and I had just graduated magna cum laude from a wonderful private college with a major in Communication Arts and minors in Spanish and Unemployment. Turns out that, like many college graduates at that time, I was magna cum jobless. Though I had applied to several listings and even considered graduate school, nothing seemed especially appetizing to me. All I really wanted to do was to get back down to Roseburg to help out Grandma and Grandpa Grit.
At that time, Grandpa Grit was living as a survivor of a massive stroke that left the right side of his body and speaking abilities paralyzed. Fortunately, soon after I graduated I received a call from a mentor of mine who hooked me up with a position based in Eugene, which was an hour's drive from Roseburg, and also the hometown of Grandma Grace.
Naturally, given my financial situation, the thought of staying with Grandma until I "got on my feet" was quite appealing, and so I asked her if it was alright. She was more than welcome to the idea, and I soon found myself staying in the guest bedroom of my Grandma Grace. During that year, we shared many adventures, much too many to include in this writing. We went to dinner often where we had our long chats about life and family history. We developed a love for Celtic Thunder, a wonderful Irish singing group. We began to bond.
I taught her to text and she taught me how to relax. I got to know my Grandma on a more human level; which in my opinion, is the richest, most pure level there is. While there were several significant memories we shared, there is one that particularly stood out among the rest. One night while...oh, wait, I have a text from Grandma...
"In hospital. I'm okay. Call ASAP. Luv gma."
Rushing to the phone, I called her cell. When she picked up, I could hear the devastation in her voice. She told me that she had a major heart episode the night before and had to go to the Emergency Room that morning for help. They were running some tests and checking with the cardiologist to see if it was safe to fly out the next morning for our adventure. I told her, "I'm on my way," grabbed my carry-on and headed to the hospital.
After setting a new land-speed record, I arrived at the hospital and doggedly walked through the door. Much to my dismay, I had grown quite accustomed to hospitals over the last year during Grandpa Grit's final months. It was not a place I was particularly interested in re-visiting. After stopping by the front desk I was promptly escorted to her bed. I pulled open the curtain to reveal a woman I had never seen before.
My Grandma Grace always kept her pure white, soft-serve style hair, in a tightly wrapped bun; this lady's hair flayed about in sorrow. The Grandma Grace I knew had a soft face, lit with bright, knowing eyes and a contagious smile; this lady's face was dark, flushed with tears and forlorn. It wasn't until I held her hand and kissed her head, that her smile re-emerged and I knew that it really was Grandma Grace in that bed after all.
Sobbing, she uttered her first words to me, "I'm so sorry!" My heart shattered. As was typical of Grandma Grace, she never wanted to burden anyone. Before I could respond, she followed in fine Grandma Grace-style humor with, "I feel like a blubbering idiot! I'm such a mess!" It was her keen sense of humor that I had come to love about Grandma Grace. I met her eyes and sincerely told her, "You have nothing to be sorry for." and added with a chuckle, "But you are a mess!"
After a good laugh, we settled back down again and focused on the matter at hand. Despite her threatening to rip off the attached monitors and devices and walk out the door to catch the plane, Grandma Grace and I had little idea as to whether or not we would make it to Ireland.
Time was running out.
The plane was leaving early the next morning, and they don't wait for anyone. Grandma felt terrible for being in this situation. She had several dear friends that were also planning on going, and she didn't want to put a damper on their trip. I was also feeling a bit disappointed.
After several long months of living with and helping care for Grandpa Grit, and after his passing at home a few months previous, I felt like I needed a refresher. It was one of the most difficult and rewarding experiences of my life, and I would never take it back for the world. But I needed some time to put the pieces back together. The added stress of cancelling this trip was certainly not helpful. Fortunately, we had an awesome travel agent who had our backs if this trip didn't happen today. Thank you, Demer!
Sitting next to Grandma's hospital bed, I asked her if there was anything I could do to help while we waited for the cardiologist. She requested that I pick up some of her things at home so she could properly put herself together. She was also a bit hungry. I asked what she would like me to pick up for her. To which she smiled and replied, "A cheeseburger, French fries, and a milkshake".
I felt a bit odd about bringing back fast food to someone who had just endured a heart-related episode, but sometimes we do odd things for those we love.
When I walked outside towards my car, I couldn't help but notice how strange it felt to go pick up food without Grandma with me. Going out to eat with Grandma Grace had become one of my favorite pastimes. We took particular pleasure in the looks we received from strangers when they saw me, a tall young man, dining with this much shorter, and sweeter, white-haired lady.
She was often quick to point out that we made "quite the odd couple". Much to our delight, however, we came to find that restaurant employees (especially waitresses) seemed to be extra attentive and kind when I was by her side. And it wasn't just the restaurant staff.
I will never forget the evening when one unexpected act of kindness and three simple words forever clarified and strengthened my philosophy on how to care for those you love.
It was a typical Wednesday night. Grandma and I went out to dinner at Red Robin's (affectionately known by us as the "Bobbin'") before heading out to St. Mary's for our weekly choir practice. We sat down in a small two-person booth. Apparently it was too small, because when Grandma sat down she was crushed against the seat. We laughed and adjusted the table.
As we had done a hundred times before, we began our casual yet interesting dialogue about all things life-related. The topic of the night was Celtic Thunder, a music group introduced to me by Grandma, that we had both grown to love. A waitress came to take our drink order. She was a gorgeous young woman with a mouth of white pearls and skin kissed by the sun.
Grandma was lost in the menu, I was lost in love.
I ordered a water, subtly demonstrating to this young beauty my commitment to a healthy body. Grandma, naturally much less concerned about the woman's impressions of her and her body, ordered a soda. As the beautiful woman left the table with our order, Grandma continued, without hesitation, our conversation about family history, lineage, traits, and genes.
It didn't take too many empty nods and grunts, however, before Grandma, with a snap of her fingers and a loud clearing of her throat, snatched back my attention from a different type of jeans (filled quite nicely, I might add) which had quite obviously commandeered my eyes and the better half of my mind. I have found that my Grandparents seem to have a knack for mind reading.
My heart rate began to return to normal as Grandma and I carried on about music and our favorite group, Celtic Thunder. While we were humming together a favorite tune, a large family entered the room and sat down near us.
I couldn't believe my eyes.
Suddenly, out from the kitchen, bearing our drinks came the gorgeous waitress's gorgeous trainee! It must be my lucky night! Grandma ordered a soup and salad. She rolled her eyes as I picked up my jaw from the table and smoothly requested a salmon burger. Grandma and I continued our conversation. She began to explain to me how much she disliked salad, saying she only ate it because she felt "obligated." Grandma isn't much for greens.
As we were discussing lettuce, the gorgeous waitress walked by, hijacking my focus, once again. And a new mission was born: find out this woman's relationship status through any means necessary. I prefer to start with subtle, undercover agent, sort of means. So I looked for a ring. After glancing away several times, I discovered, to my great disappointment, that she did in fact have a ring. Always the optimist, I asked myself, "But which hand is it on?" After noting which hand it was on, a flash of panic set in as I realized that I had forgotten the meaning of which hand it was on. Is it the right hand that signifies marriage or the left? A flare of hope sparked in my heart only to be swiftly extinguished by the sight of Grandma bearing a ring on the same hand as the waitress. She was taken. Shoot!
The other gorgeous trainee brought the food and asked, "Who had the salad?" To which neither of us replied. We stared at each other blankly. Finally, after an awkward amount of time passed, Grandma laughed and exclaimed loudly, "Oh, it's mine!" Apparently she had talked so much about how she disliked salad that she had convinced herself that she couldn't have possibly ordered it. Or maybe it was denial. We laughed loudly together and started to eat. The conversation took a smoke break as we stuffed our faces with delicious food. Very tasty.
About midway through the meal, both waitresses approached the table, and I thought I was in heaven. Clearly they had received the hint when I ordered the glass of water. Smart move on my part. It was obvious by their smiles that they were intrigued by my charm and were ready to ride off into the sunset with me.
My excitement grew as they stepped closer.
The gorgeous trainee extended her hand, I extended mine.
Time stood still as I closed my eyes until the moment we touched. Her skin, like soft, crinkly,....PAPER?!
My eyes shot open and my cheeks burned bright red as I realized I had just been handed the bill. I was to say the very least disappointed, but nothing could have prepared me for what happened next.
The gorgeous waitress stared deeply in my eyes, stepped back, pointed towards the large family seated in the middle of the room and said, "Your bill has been picked up by the man at that table". Shocked beyond belief, Grandma and I looked at each other and then squinted towards the table, trying to determine the identity of this benevolent man.
I asked the waitress who he was. "You mean you don't know him?" she replied, equally shocked. "No." Grandma didn't know him either. My view of the man was blocked by the waitress. I made eye contact with his presumed spouse and mouthed a "thank you".
Grandma and I looked at each other, both filled with a mix of confusion/shock/and joy. We tried to pick up our conversation where it had left off, but frequently found ourselves glancing over towards the large table with wonder. Little time had passed before we had met our fill of food and curiosity.
It was time to meet this benevolent stranger.
Casually I walked over to the large table to thank the man for generously picking up the tab for Grandma and me. Touching the man on the shoulder, I asked "Excuse me, sir. Do I know you?"
Turning to face me was a silver haired man in his early 60's. His arctic blue eyes met mine as he replied in a sharp New England accent, "No."
Wasting no time, he said sternly,
"Listen, my mother passed away yesterday in New York, and there's no way I can go see her again today. I wanted to do this for you and your Grandma."
His jaw clenched and brow furrowed, the man was giving all he had to keep a strong and solid demeanor. But despite his efforts, he could not hide the deep love and pain inside. It was quickly revealed by the fluid gradually filling his bright blue eyes, submerging them like glaciers in an arctic sea. I was at a loss for words. This man was torn inside. Yet it was clear that the relationship I had with my Grandma had somehow struck a chord within this man's heart. A warm, loving chord that resounded harmoniously with his relationship he had shared with his mother.
Somehow, amidst the emotion, I had managed to deliver a thank you in appreciation for his generosity. But as I turned away from him, I couldn't help but feel that something had been left unresolved. I turned back towards the benevolent stranger who had somehow anticipated my return. And he said three little words that forever fortified my relationship with my Grandmother.
"Just love her." he instructed.
JUST...LOVE...HER. Three simple words packed with enough love and wisdom to last a lifetime. Our eyes locked, I nodded and confirmed, "I will."
As I walked through the Cardiology Wing of the hospital, greasy cheeseburger in hand, I couldn't help but chuckle to myself. Who could have imagined at that time that what I was doing would be considered an act of "just loving her"? That we would even be in this odd situation. Certainly not me. And probably not the heart patients I was passing by on my delivery. But, in this unique set of circumstances, a greasy cheeseburger was just what the Granny ordered. And as evidenced by the smile on her face, it was just what she needed.
JUST LOVE HER.
Much later we were told by the cardiologist that it was unsafe for Grandma Grace to fly. We contemplated going anyway, but decided that it would be a huge hassle trying to get her back from Ireland in a box, especially with the new carry-on luggage policy. We were devastated to say the least, but we hadn't lost our sense of humor. : )
Whether we were to be granted the opportunity to accomplish Grandma's dream of Ireland hinged on several factors: health, finances, my geographic location in the next year, etc. We can only continue to hope, dream, and live each day. We can JUST LOVE. The rest is out of our hands.
Click the button above to join us on Day 1 of our Irish Adventure!