Living Adventurously, Dying Bravely
Despite my promises to post more, I went offline yet again. Don't judge me too quickly; my grandmother died. {Awkward silence.} Yeah, way to judge the poor girl whose grandma died. Jerk.
Just kidding.
Seriously, though....
My Grandma Pat was this awesomely strong, Germanic woman who would patiently listen to you complain, but then tell you to "suck it up and like it." She was awesome that way. She overtly displayed tough love, but inconspiciously covered you in her sweet, unconditional care in a way that you'd never really notice until years later in grateful retrospect. To me, she was an unexpected rock in life.
I grew up in a semi-normal but very unstable world by childhood standards. My parents divorced so early in my life that I couldn't even imagine them together. Even though I was loved, I felt like I was swapped around between families, step-families and pretend-families like a re-gifted Christmas fruit cake that everyone wanted to like, but just couldn't get themselves to embrace fully. When my Mom showed up to her new fiance's parents' house for a first visit with a two-year old precocious blonde in tow, her future mother-in-law Pat didn't bat an eye. She totally played it off as if her eldest heir-prince marrying a divorcee with actual living baggage was totally normal. That's what I loved about her. She accepted me from the very beginning without making a big deal about it -- without pretending that she was this super gracious person to deign to accept me into her family as Grand Matriarch. Never once in my life did I question that I belonged to her the way I always otherwise questioned my place in the world.
Grandma Pat also did me a great service by applauding and fostering any displays of courage in my life. To the very end, she still told the story of my very first visit to her house at age two.
"Little Lisa told her Mom that she wanted something from upstairs in that old, big house, and her Mom told her to go fetch it herself. So she did. Just marched on up those big old scary stairs in that strange house without batting an eye. I was so impressed with such an early show of bravery."
Little did she know then, I was never fearless -- simply independent. In fact, I have always been a very anxious creature full of all sorts of imagined fears. My high-strung nature is the byproduct of living every day nervously fortifying myself against the world -- lifting my chin high as I uneasily plowed my way through a very scary universe. It was the constant but subtle encouragement from Grandma that enabled me to endure it and to live adventurously in the end. She helped me to find the courage that I needed.
I still remember one summer in Michigan when she talked me into swimming across the entire lake behind the house I was about 10 or so, I think, and terribly uncomfortable in water, unlike all of the fish-people of her family. I thought the water a very romantic concept, but the idea of swimming where I couldn't see the bottom and then squishing my toes through a nasty, muddy leech-ridden loamy floor terrifying. Still, I did it for Grandma because she never even presented the opportunity for me to resist. Half-way through the swim my imagination got the best of me, and I became convinced that there were giant piranhas swimming unseen in circles below me (I read far too many books as a kid). I told Grandma so. "That is the most ridiculous thing I have ever heard," she refuted matter-of-factly and kept swimming forward next to my sad flapping attempt at a swim stroke like a beautifully aged mermaid.
And so I swam the breadth of Pettibone Lake that summer. Twice.
As an adult, this water-logged land lubber joined the Navy and became an Oceanographer. It never occurred to me then what influences may have guided me there, but now I am sure that her gentle prodding helped me to find joy in exploring the mystery of my fears and finding great adventure in the process.
And I am forever thankful.
Just kidding.
Seriously, though....
My Grandma Pat was this awesomely strong, Germanic woman who would patiently listen to you complain, but then tell you to "suck it up and like it." She was awesome that way. She overtly displayed tough love, but inconspiciously covered you in her sweet, unconditional care in a way that you'd never really notice until years later in grateful retrospect. To me, she was an unexpected rock in life.
I grew up in a semi-normal but very unstable world by childhood standards. My parents divorced so early in my life that I couldn't even imagine them together. Even though I was loved, I felt like I was swapped around between families, step-families and pretend-families like a re-gifted Christmas fruit cake that everyone wanted to like, but just couldn't get themselves to embrace fully. When my Mom showed up to her new fiance's parents' house for a first visit with a two-year old precocious blonde in tow, her future mother-in-law Pat didn't bat an eye. She totally played it off as if her eldest heir-prince marrying a divorcee with actual living baggage was totally normal. That's what I loved about her. She accepted me from the very beginning without making a big deal about it -- without pretending that she was this super gracious person to deign to accept me into her family as Grand Matriarch. Never once in my life did I question that I belonged to her the way I always otherwise questioned my place in the world.
Grandma Pat also did me a great service by applauding and fostering any displays of courage in my life. To the very end, she still told the story of my very first visit to her house at age two.
"Little Lisa told her Mom that she wanted something from upstairs in that old, big house, and her Mom told her to go fetch it herself. So she did. Just marched on up those big old scary stairs in that strange house without batting an eye. I was so impressed with such an early show of bravery."
Little did she know then, I was never fearless -- simply independent. In fact, I have always been a very anxious creature full of all sorts of imagined fears. My high-strung nature is the byproduct of living every day nervously fortifying myself against the world -- lifting my chin high as I uneasily plowed my way through a very scary universe. It was the constant but subtle encouragement from Grandma that enabled me to endure it and to live adventurously in the end. She helped me to find the courage that I needed.
I still remember one summer in Michigan when she talked me into swimming across the entire lake behind the house I was about 10 or so, I think, and terribly uncomfortable in water, unlike all of the fish-people of her family. I thought the water a very romantic concept, but the idea of swimming where I couldn't see the bottom and then squishing my toes through a nasty, muddy leech-ridden loamy floor terrifying. Still, I did it for Grandma because she never even presented the opportunity for me to resist. Half-way through the swim my imagination got the best of me, and I became convinced that there were giant piranhas swimming unseen in circles below me (I read far too many books as a kid). I told Grandma so. "That is the most ridiculous thing I have ever heard," she refuted matter-of-factly and kept swimming forward next to my sad flapping attempt at a swim stroke like a beautifully aged mermaid.
And so I swam the breadth of Pettibone Lake that summer. Twice.
As an adult, this water-logged land lubber joined the Navy and became an Oceanographer. It never occurred to me then what influences may have guided me there, but now I am sure that her gentle prodding helped me to find joy in exploring the mystery of my fears and finding great adventure in the process.
And I am forever thankful.
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