It's Not Easy Being Green. A Note From Jan.

August 4 Lily turned sweet sixteen. Our first grandchild. The one who named us, “Popo and Momo.” Titles of great joy.

“Sunrise, Sunset Swiftly fly the years One season following another Laden with happiness and tears.”

Last year on Lily’s birthday we were at MGH. Another transfusion. Life sustaining. Appointments with Dr. Chen and nurse Judith. Being sold (it is a business, after all) and told the possibilities of extending life through a bone marrow transplant. The good, the bad, the ugly facts. Truth as best it can be known on medical matters.

We sat still, very still, like frozen. Chen talked. We heard, “Blah, blah, blah, bleak, blah, blah, incurable, blah blah.” Jud and I held hands. He, squeezing mine…signaling familiar code for, “I love you.” Love refusing to be silenced by fear.

Sometimes I still feel his hands reassuring, his calming presence. Like now, as I look back at the horrible-wonderful weeks God gave us through Jud’s brave choices.

August 5 This morning, I sit at the kitchen counter,  writing and watching people enjoying Good Harbor Beach. Remembering Father’s Day when we emptied some of Jud’s ashes into those waters. I see little Lily, first grandchild, in her Popo’s arms. She, bald and beautiful and one year old; he, tall and presidential looking as he wove through the crowd at Wilson House, introducing the trustees to his granddaughter.  In January, almost 15 years later, I watched and listened as Lily read her tenderly woven remembrance of her grandfather at his memorial service, where some of those same trustees sat to honor Jud.  She credited her Popo as her hero, her model of a love of learning, and as a loving listener.

I’ve seen some of Jud in Lily during her first year of high school. She shocked most of us by joining the mountain biking team. Friends she’d influenced nudged her to ride and she did. Grabbing fear by the nape of the neck, tearing down rugged terrain on her bike, chasing down “the thing you think you cannot do.” So like Jud. Crashing, getting up, finishing the race. She, like her hero, inspires me to do better. Stretch. Risk.

Lily, the one we cradled, now swaddling me in comfort: talking books together, movies, ideas, sharing memories of Popo, debating issues, crying with me one minute, laughing ourselves silly the next. Listening to her ideas on how I can improve a recipe. Sampling something she’s baked. Remembering how she’d crawl in with Jud and me and we’d get the giggles, while Jud pretended to sleep.  After awhile, we’d hear a familiar refrain,”  “Aww, gee, I’m gonna go sleep in the bathtub!”  Too much quiet now, especially some nights. 

Housecleaners are due to show up in a while to help me clean. Wishing I hadn’t booked them. I don’t feel like cleaning. Don’t want strangers entering this sacred place where memory shares a seat beside me.  Don’t care if the house is clean. It’s just me here.

Liked it better when Jud and I cleaned this perch together. A team. Hard to settle for what is. Some days more than others.

Hear the knock on the door. Ugh!  Right on time. Slowly opening the door with dread and smiling with my mouth only to be surprised by JOY in a green gingham shirt. Kristina! My daughter-in-love. Smiling mouth and eyes…Kristina.

She came, nudged by God and Jud, I’m confident. Bringing hugs and presence. Kindness and love. As for the cleaning team, they came an hour later than expected. Perfect timing.  God’s time.

Another day’s come and gone. Lily’s older than 16 by a couple of days. Me, by more. Gratitude grabs me, once again, back from the brink of lamenting what might have been to the joys of what was and is and is to come. Humor helps. My neighbor, Nancy, reminded me that she’s quite sure one of the raccoons pooped in one of the planters out on the deck.  She asked, ”Have you checked?” “Not too carefully,” said I, “waiting to see how green it grows.”  

“Sunrise sunset Swiftly fly the years One season following another Laden with happiness and tears.”

Whatever it takes to keep us green and growing.

“But the godly will flourish like palm trees…even in old age they will still produce fruit; they will remain vital and green. They will declare,‘The Lord is just! He is my rock! There is nothing but goodness in him!’” (Psalm 92: 12-15 NLT)

That’s my prayer.  

A prayer interrupted by Kermit the Frog’s popping up from my memory bank to sing his familiar refrain, “It’s not that easy being green.”