And she lives on...

Ten years ago on this day, Bill and I held our little Samuel John, who was 10 days old, as he left this earth.

Today, we said goodbye to my mother-in-law, Bill's mom, and the kids' grandmother, Margaret Ellen O'Neill, as she left this earth and was hopefully greeted by Big Sam, Hannah Mae, and Little Samuel John, in the place of heaven.

The odds are .3% that she would die on the same day as Sammy.  I don't even pretend to think that heaven operates on earth's calendar. I don't even pretend to think that God ordained the exact moment that all the physiological processes over the past years that have led up to her death would come to fruition to satisfy a single anniversary; in fact, I'm not even sure he plans that stuff out at all as I believe in a communion of faith and science.  However, I wouldn't put it past Margaret Ellen to wait to finally let go until Sammy's Heaven Day arrived.  She was one for dates and connections like that.  My guess it that it meant something to her.  I can imagine her recounting the scenario if she were here.

I told one of my dearest friends and co-workers this morning that I think I am becoming immune to death.  When the phone rang and Bill told me that Margaret Ellen was gone, I had no tears.  We have certainly learned that death is a part of life.  I have witnessed the deaths of all of my grandparents, whom I loved very, very dearly, after having watched them live very, full, long lives.  I have known friends and acquaintances who have lost spouses and their children's mothers far, far too soon.  I have even held two of my children as they died after being here for mere weeks instead of long years. I get that life here is such a short part of eternity.

Yet, I was foolish to think I am immune to death's weight.

As a sat down to tell Jack today, watching tears roll down his face, tears streamed down my own, and I  felt the heaviness of grief…a grief that speaks of selfishly wanting to keep Margaret Ellen here to watch my kids grow and to keep me aging honestly and wisely.  But she was ready to let go…and she had never been quite ready before...so I know it was time.

On Sunday, she spoke of a place where she was with her husband Sam and my Sam and Hannah were with her; I think it involved golfing and happiness and peace.  She didn't want to come back to earth, and for one who held on so long because she loved her family so much, this says a lot about her pull towards heaven.   Regardless of whether it was a dream, a premonition, or a place she was able to experience briefly, it was a testament to her faith, and ultimately, that is all that matters.  It gives me hope for what is to come.

A couple of weeks ago, in the days surrounding Camille's 10th birthday, we were watching home videos. Bill's brother, PJ, caught Margaret Ellen's face on video as she held Camille for the first time; it was a time in which she knew that Camille was "out of the woods" and would make it out of the NICU to our home on earth.  To explain it best, I will say her face was one of giddy-ness, a face of pure joy, a "kid-in-a-candy-shop" face.  I have seen her wear it when holding all of my kids and watching her grandchildren.  I suspect that she is wearing that face today, as she meets Sam and Sam and Hannah in heaven.

When I first met Margaret Ellen I was 21,  and she was well into her 60's.  I went quite a long time feeling the weight of her living example.  The woman sure seemed a lot like Mother Theresa…extremely faithful, always volunteering, committing random acts of kindness, helping those in need, making the human connection, beloved by all.  I was marrying this woman's BABY…the last of seven kids who she birthed at the age of 40…her surprise after 9 years of being baby-less.  She worked hard for him. She was all of 4'10", but she had big shoes to fill in my mind.  I still have a greeting card from her where she inscribed it, "To Jen, our "gem."  I remember being so touched, but felt a bit unworthy.  Perhaps she saw me a little unflawed, too.

I look back now and think of where our lives have traveled since then, and know quite honestly that she has seen me at my best, but also at my worst…in times of great joy, but also in times of deep despair, grief, and depression where I wasn't very life-giving to anybody. And I wonder if I let her down, if I could have lived up to her example in a more fitting way.  And then…somewhere along the way, I remember feeling soooooo relieved when I learned she had a nemesis on earth, that people did indeed get under her skin, and that she yelled at her kids sometimes when they were in trouble.  She was human, there was still hope for me, and hopefully, she understood my faults and loved me anyway.

I read a novel once where the main character lost her husband prematurely.  She reflected that there were many things she loved about him genuinely, but there were also things about him that drove her nuts that she realized she loved, too, and would miss.  That is how she knew her love for him was unconditional.

To that tune, here's just a few of my loves:

• I love Margaret Ellen's heart.
• I love her faith.
• I love the way she loved her family.
• I love the way she adored my kids.
• I love the way she lived for her grandchildren.
• I love the way she kept club crackers in a jar on her counter.
• I love the way that she kept cinnamon brown sugar pop tarts in her kitchen drawer for Bill when he visited.
• I love the way she allowed herself to eat chocolate during Lent on Sundays.
• I love the way she kept quarters in old prescription bottles for the grandkids to use for the video games at Tub's.  
• I love the way she would come to my house to visit, always carrying a ziploc sack full of homemade banana bread (always mini-loaves), and either a gas station donut or sack of candy from along the way.
• I love her way of telling me she disapproved of something, but then adding, "well, whatever," at the end, so as to make it seem less disapproving.
• I loved that she would talk to me for hours about people whom I'd never met as though I'd met them.
• I loved that she talked to me nonstop for hours, even after I stopped responding, which is what an introvert does.
• I love that she gave us something Irish every year for Christmas, even though I still ponder what to do with two identical Irish Santa Clauses, two Irish blessing plaques, and more sham-rocked items that I can count. 
• I equally love that every time she travelled, she brought us a small statuette, collectible plate or other random trinket that I have no idea what to do with, but lets me know she was thinking of us while she was gone, which was the whole point.
• I love that I woke up every morning at her house to the sound of her winding the cuckoo clock.
• I love that my kids' visits to her house involved methodical visits to the bank, the post office, and Tub's pub.
• I love that she bought me Tub's Pub ranch for Christmas because she knows it is my favorite.
• I love that, even though I thought it was an absolutely terrible idea in the name of quality sleep, she always wanted multiple grandchildren to sleep in her bed with her so they could chat themselves to sleep.  
• I love her matter-of-fact finger wave; we all know what that meant. 
• I love that she never forgot Sam and Hannah.
• I love that when they died and I was not strong enough, she quietly took care of arranging for their funerals to be in Eddyville, and contacted the cemetery so that their plots would be next to hers and Sam's.
• I loved that she walked out of the room and gave us the silent treatment when we spoke to her about moving to Assisted Living.
• I love that the reason she was so stubborn about moving to Assisted Living was because she said it would change everything, and we assured her that it wouldn't, and that she was right (she would love that I was admitting that she was right),
• I love that my kids love her so much.
• I love that Livvy has the texture of her hair underneath her top layer…all kinked up with a mind of its own.  I love that every time I would mention the similarity to Margaret Ellen, she would tell me what people disrespectfully called it when she herself was little, and every time, it made me mad.
• I loved getting random mail from her; namely, a sock, ponytail holders, or a bib of the kids' that we left behind at her house and could have survived without.
• I love that the moment the triplets were born, she raced down to buy them gifts from Methodist's gift shop. Many were too afraid to buy them gifts for fear that they would die.  She and I both knew that it didn't matter.  
• I love that I loved her so dearly that her absence causes a deep pit in my stomach.
• I love that because of her, I have an extended family that is part of me.
• I love that because of her, I have Bill and my five beautiful children.  Without her, I would not have them.  Her DNA is part of them, and because of that, she lives on.