Family

Daddy on a Plane

~ Amelia ~ 1 Comment

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If you tilt your head back and look way high up to the sky, you might see a plane, it may be hidden by the dreary February clouds.

There may be all kinds of different people on that plane including a daddy. He hugged each child tightly before he said goodbye. Then, he leaned into the car and gave his wife one of those good kind of kisses. He carried his guitar on his back as he walked away inside to the airport terminal.

You may get to sit next to this daddy. He may ask if you need help getting your bag into the overhead compartment. He’s a helpful guy but he’s also a little worried about his guitar. He will ask if you would prefer the window seat, he usually likes to sit on the outside. If you seem friendly, he may talk to you about where you’re from or where you’re going. He will listen to you and make you feel like you’re the most important person. When it’s time for a drink, he will kindly ask the flight attendant for the whole Coke, not just the tiny airplane cup full.  He will probably listen to his music and he may sing, but you shouldn’t mind because he has a beautiful voice.

You may notice that he is different. He possesses this rare, endangered species kind of energy, love and passion for people and life. He will probably fidget or pull down the tray table or tap his foot or his leg. He doesn’t realize that he does this. It’s hard for him to sit still. He will pull out the in-flight magazine and laugh at the ridiculous things or find others that he needs to make or buy. If he has to go to the bathroom, he may see a guy who looks a lot like somebody he knows or he may make friends with random people in the aisles along the way.

If you sit next to this daddy, you’re lucky. I just thought you would want to know. Most nights, when he walks in the door, three boys run to him, pile on him, hug him and get as close as physically possible to him. They are so happy he’s home that they won’t stop touching him. He’s a bit of a celebrity. In his household. And while he’s away, he will be missed in both small ways, like taking out the garbage, and enormous, like offering endless support and counsel to his wife, kind of ways while he’s on that plane.

If you notice he seems a little sad, it’s probably because he wishes his family could be sitting next to him. Or he might be replaying last night’s dart game, where his wife beat him by one bullseye. Either way, please be kind to him. He’s one in a million.

 

Fragile

~ Amelia ~ Leave a comment

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I woke up doing good. I got the kids off to school. Then, something changed. I started thinking about the time when I told my 93 year old grandma that I had to do jury duty. She responded by saying, “Well, that’s an honor.” She may be the only person that could have said that to me and made me completely change my perspective. After all, she knew what it was like to be a woman and not have rights. The right to vote. The right to speak up and be heard. The right to sit as a juror.

I started to tear up, thinking she’s not going to be around forever. Then, I had an urgent feeling to put on my shoes, get in the car and go visit with her. I would drop by McDonalds and get her a coffee. She loves McDonalds coffee. I felt grateful that she was alive, and that I could drive 15 minutes and be in the same room with her. I had gone upstairs to change clothes and I came back down. My husband asked, “What happened?” when he saw my splotchy face. I’ve always suffered from the puffy, snotty, splotchy outward signs of crying.

“I have to go see my grandma.”

Then, I started off with my youngest boy in the car, headed to the McDonalds drive through. When I got trapped in the drive through, I was a sobbing mess. I couldn’t back up or pull around and I could barely say the words, “Two coffees and a milk.” I handed the woman my debit card and she could tell something was wrong. She could have charged me a hundred dollars and never given me my card back and I would not have noticed. I knew I needed to pull myself together but I had succumbed to my fragile state. Broken. Thinking. Over Feeling.

I’m a lot sensitive when it comes to complicated issues where people are being hurt, discriminated against or made to feel shame. I get emotional. Overly. And sometimes irrationally. My brain grabs my heart and it gets real messy. Real fast. Because I know that deep rooted, curled up, crying in fetal position lonesome pain that cannot be healed by even the strongest narcotics. The pain of an unfortunate circumstance. The pain caused by another. The pain caused by disappointment. Illness. A few diseases. A cruel, unfair, inexperienced, calloused, shame-inducing, want-to-change-people’s hearts right this moment kind of pain.

I was having a conversation with my mom on the phone. I got passionate, then emotional. I hurt for all kids or adults that are too scared or in too much present pain to speak up for their future. Sometimes it would be nice if my van could go into auto pilot mode for me when I’m driving and crying. Don’t honk at me. Or do. I don’t really care. Can’t you see? I’m crying in here. And trying to make a left turn. That’s hard stuff.

I got to my grandma’s place a few minutes later. I pulled myself together. You just have to when you’ve got a three year old asking you a bazillion questions. When he is unbuckled, I have no choice but to suck up the snot and get moving.

My grandma made everything disappear. She has the most peaceful, calm and uplifting disposition. I know she would rather be in the home that she spent nearly sixty years living in. But she’s always overjoyed to see us walk through her door. And she happily takes ahold of that McDonalds coffee in her arthritic hands and sips it like it’s pure heaven.

She constantly unknowingly reminds me to cherish the simple things in life. Like a boy climbing onto my lap in a room full of empty chairs. “Your mama needs a bigger lap.” She always says. Every time. She has lived an abundantly full life. I get all choked up knowing my boys won’t jump out of the elevator, run down the long hall and barge into her room much longer.

I’m so grateful that they have had the chance to get to know their sweet great Grandma Fritzy. She possesses a gentle power and strength like no other, the power to ease another’s deep rooted pain with her sole existence. Her peaceful, grateful 93 year old disposition has rescued me from my overthinking, overfeeling self several times this week. And to think that she always genuinely thanks me for coming.

“I know you’re busy, Amelia.” She says.

Yes. Never too busy for her. She has helped me realize that people heal other people. Love heals hearts. My grandma has taught me that brokenness is beautiful and inspiring and strong. But it also makes us fragile. Which is not a bad thing.

I’m grateful for a grandma who instinctively knows how to love on me and handle me with care. Always. Unintentionally. It’s just who she is. Her body is fragile but her spirit is strong. Relentless. And selfishly, I wish she could live forever.

October 11

~ Amelia ~ 3 Comments

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His passion and genuine love for people wherever he goes is inspiring. And humbling. His generosity and willingness to always include others, no matter what the circumstances are, baffles me. To know him or to have met him is to have been excitedly told, “We gotta have you over for dinner.” And he truly means it. We have a constantly growing list of future dinner guests.

His energy and enthusiasm for life rivals that of the three young boys who call him, “Daddy!” as they greet him at the door or happily pile on top of him. His sense of humor and eagerness to laugh makes life more bearable a lot of days. His creativity is limitless, whether he’s in the kitchen, in the studio, or in the backyard. If you’ve ever heard him sing, you’ve experienced the pure beauty and power in his voice. He makes you feel like you should sing too.

He never does anything without investing his whole heart into it. Like how hard he tries to beat me in basketball. It hasn’t happened yet. Although his mad skills on the tennis court repeatedly frustrate me. And silence me.

He has a knack for noticing people who are hurting. He recognizes their eyes or other subtleties. He helps people feel valued in unique small hidden ways and life-altering ways. Whether you’re a complete stranger or a close friend, he will go to great lengths to show you that you matter. That you really matter.

And because of his passion  for others, he readily loves in a way that can sometimes lead people to use him, hurt him, and not appreciate him. But that doesn’t stop him. And it never will. He forgives others in a way that sometimes, quite frankly, pisses me off because I’m a little protective of him. Except when he’s forgiving me, which he does often, thankfully.

To know him and love him is to hold and joyfully unwrap an intangible gift of the greatest kind. It is to somehow grasp and hold a glimpse of God’s all-encompassing, inclusive, forgiving love, beauty and sacrifice. All in a gentle, humble hat-wearing, constantly moving, singing, beer drinking, genuinely caring human form. To walk away from him is to feel a rare sense. To be pulled away like a magnet. It’s the sense of feeling and knowing that you’ve just been with one of the best people this world has to offer. And you want to be near him again.

Today, October 11, it’s his birthday. He was so excited to get here thirty-eight years ago that he scared the heck out of his parents and arrived several months early. Only a few pounds big. He loves telling a good story. So, I assume that’s why he just couldn’t wait until his due date, you know to be a full term big baby. If you know him, you should take a minute and tell him something meaningful today. Or some day soon. Maybe why you’re happy he was born today or how he has impacted your life for the better. It’s the best gift you could give him. That is, unless you have a four pack of Tank 7 with his name on it. Or you could always bring it when we have you over for dinner. Which will be very soon.

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