A Eulogy...

Holy moly. I haven't written anything in this space in nearly two years. That's a bit sad. The reason I am writing however, while a bit sad, is mostly joyful. You may or may not remember me posting occasionally about my grandmother...

Megan Ellis Probert began life on March 16, 1921 as Mary Margaret Ellis, Megan for short. She died Thursday, February 11, 2016 at the very impressive age of 94.

She fell and broke her hip, followed by more falls, hospitals stays and a downward spiral that ended in a nursing home. At some point during all of this, she fell and tapped her head hard enough to create a hematoma, resulting in gradual memory loss. For the last several years, at least 3 or more, she barely remembered any of us. Some of the time she would know my mom, Some days she would recognize me, but think I was her mother. She would often ask after her boys. Sometimes she meant her brothers, other times she meant her sons.

I think we all fell a bit more in love with her during this time. It's easy to love the vulnerable. It's easy to know how she feels about you when she no longer filters her words - and sometimes that was hard and other times it was wonderful.

I think we can all agree that Nain wasn't always easy to love. I'm not sure why that was - she was a little bit tough and a little bit hard. When we look back over the life she's lead, it is not hard to find the reasons she may have guarded her heart a bit. She was born to Welsh immigrants and her early years were during the Great Depression. While that time in her life was hard, she was the youngest of five children, the only girl and the youngest. Her older brothers doted on her. I can remember her bragging about how her brothers worked very hard but always made sure she was dressed to the nines.

Nain met PopPop and  they were married in a quick ceremony right before PopPop left for Europe to fight in World War II. He never even saw my mother until she was a year old. She loved to tell the story of  Megan's birth. The nurse carried her around the hospital so everyone could see how beautiful she was with her bright red curls. When PopPop returned they went on to have Donny, and later Jeff. Nain loved to tell stories about how troublesome they were, and they loved to tell stories about how she locked them out of the house on Wednesdays so she could scrub the kitchen floor.

Nain loved shopping, and college football  - especially Penn State, and had a penchant for a good hotdog. Nain was a fantastic teacher. She taught us all our first dirty joke, how to tell real wood from the fake wood everything is made out of nowadays, how to tell a good grain of leather and the importance of learning how to iron a man's shirt properly. She passed on her good manners, ability to charm and be the belle of the ball. She knew how to sit like a lady,  walk in heels and wear clothes beautifully. She had a wardrobe even her granddaughters loved. She was a true lady, with the killer gams to prove it. She used to tell us all the time that she wore heels because PopPop loved how her legs looked in them.

Nain was generous. She was quick to purchase Girl Scout cookies, fund major purchases and offer any help we ever needed. She shared clothes, books, purses, shoes. Even if you brought her a treat when she was in the nursing home, she couldn't enjoy it if you didn't share it with her.

All the kids have a lot of funny stories about Nain, and I am sure we will be hearing them over the next few days as we prepare to say goodbye to her, but I have a few favorite memories I'd like to share:

~Nain and my mom polishing off the last of the wine every holiday and giggling while they did the dishes.
~Nain reading "Green Eggs and Ham" to Megan #4 a thousand times one Christmas while she was visiting.
~ Mom and Nain making "Sees Candy runs" when we lived in Phoenix. They would go, buy a couple pounds and give each of us one and stash the rest.
~Nain chasing us around with a dustcloth and a bottle of Pledge when we were little, while PopPop encouraged us to touch every surface and press our noses against all the windows - just to get her goat.
~Nain telling stories about her parents, especially her mother.
~Nain promising me she would be down on her knees praying for me whenever I asked her for prayers.
~Nain loved the movies and she and I used to love to go get lunch and see a movie whenever we got the chance. I think those times were the first times I ever really got to know her. One time we went to see a group of Welsh singers at Walsh. She loved that concert and I was so glad I got to experience it with her.
~Nain's constant delight in the fact that there were three, and then four Megans. She loved any time someone would point out all the Megans and would even sign her cards to me: "To Megan #3, Love Megan #1". I loved it as much as she did.

Nain faced a lot of hardship, She lost her son, her husband, her brothers and their wives. She lived through the Great Depression, World War II, Korea and Vietnam. Her husband served in the military and reserves for over 20 years, both sons served during Vietnam. But she had three beautiful children, She has seven grandchildren and 29 great grandchildren.

While Nain may not have been overly affectionate, I think she had something even more important. She was steadfast and true. You never had to wonder where you stood with her, because she left you know up front. Uncommon integrity - you don't find a lot of that. She loved deeply, though I think it was hard for her to say, I know it was true.

One night, right after she had fallen in the hospital, I was there very late at night. She was babbling. Some of what she said made sense and some didn't, but she talked about her three kids, and how she had to make the world a really good place for them. She was concerned that they have enough vitamins and nutrients to grow up strong and healthy. Megan and Donny were big enough for chewing gum, she said. So she was going to invent a chewing gum for them and then market it so other children could also grow up strong and healthy. I tried to assure her that they had indeed grown strong and healthy. She talked about being a good mother and raising healthy children. I think she did a pretty good job.

At the end of her life, I hope she knows we loved her. I hope she saw my mother at her bedside. I hope she felt our prayers for her and our tears over her suffering. Today, we rejoice, because she has earned her heaven, at last. She is at the feet of her Savior. She has been reunited with her son who was taken far too soon, and with her husband. We are grateful to know she is at peace and her mind is whole again.

The Feminine Heart...

There is always a lot to talk about when you are with a group of women. Women tend to be highly charged, emotional, talkative (at least among our sisters/friends/moms) and easily driven to tears.

I see that this is often mistaken for weakness.  Some kind of abandonment of truth and reason. Women are "crazy" or " too emotional" or "hormonal". While we are indeed emotional, and often hormonal - that doesn't make what we say any less true. It doesn't make the way we think any less rational. I would love to believe that in 2014 we have earned enough respect among our peers, men and women alike, to be taken seriously, even if a tear falls as we speak.

I cry at Mass, almost every week. I sometimes get funny looks, though it has gone on so long that most people don't even seem to notice. But think about it for a minute. Why WOULDN'T I shed tears at the Mass? I am in the presence of Our Lord. The Blessed Mother is near - my own sweet babies in heaven are among the communion of saints. So I just let the tears flow. They are now tears of joy where once they were tears of sorrow. I used to hide behind my hands, knowing that is was pretty useless. But can you, knowing that I am allowing myself to be swept into the Mass, blame me for my tears?

Music moves me. I am no good at it. Can't sing, can't play an instrument, but I love it. So many songs hold deep meaning for me, as I am sure they do for most people. When I hear a song that takes me back to a certain time in my life, reminds me of a precious moment or allows me to feel close to someone now gone from my life, the tears will flow. Even if it is just the beauty of the music, my eyes will often well with tears.

Love for my family, my children, yes - my sweet and amazing husband - absolutely. But also for my grandmother, who is in a nursing home. I can't help but cry every time I leave her. She doesn't really know me, but I know that she would hate being there, not knowing who anyone is or why she is there. When I see a niece or nephew accomplish something - anything, great or small, my eyes fill. When I know one of my sisters or brother is in some kind of pain, I cry. My parents, who are the very center of who I am - my love for them fills me with gratitude and yes, tears.

I choke up when I think of my children and my sweet nieces and nephew who all lost much loved grandmothers this summer. The memory of these sweet ones' trembling chins will fill my eyes. The knowledge that my husband hasn't slept through the night since he lost his mother and knowing my father in law will never, ever recover from her loss will have tears falling down my cheeks.

I cry when I get mad. Anger - it's the fastest way to make me cry. Make me angry, and you will see tears. Act like my tears somehow deny the truth of my feelings or lessen my argument? Big, plopping, furious tears.

And yes, I cry at silly stuff. Commercials, current events, movies, happy thoughts and internet memes. I cry all the time - does this make me weak? Does it make me stupid? Hormonal, overly emotional, crazy?

Or does it make me a woman? Sensitive, feminine, emotional. Seeking something beyond what is in front of my eyes.  Even my kids say I over analyse - but that's what we do - that's how we problem solve, evaluate our decisions. It's how we empathize with the people in our lives and those across the globe. We lead with our hearts because our hearts are the softest place to land. As long as we always keep truth and reason, being emotional is nothing for which to be ashamed. Being emotional does not mean we are weak, it means we love. We have empathy. If we cry for you, we are sharing our love for you - for if you have the ability to make us cry, then you are important to us in some way.

"Why Women Cry"

Why Women Cry

A little boy asked his mother, "Why are you crying?" "Because I'm a woman," she told him.

"I don't understand," he said. His Mom just hugged him and said, "And you never will."

Later the little boy asked his father, "Why does mother seem to cry for no reason?"

"All women cry for no reason," was all his dad could say.

The little boy grew up and became a man, still wondering why women cry.

Finally he put in a call to God. When God got on the phone, he asked, "God, why do women cry so easily?"

God said, "When I made the woman she had to be special.

I made her shoulders strong enough to carry the weight of the world,

yet gentle enough to give comfort.

I gave her an inner strength to endure childbirth and the rejection that many times comes from her children.

I gave her a hardness that allows her to keep going when everyone else gives up, and take care of her family through sickness and fatigue without complaining.

I gave her the sensitivity to love her children under any and all circumstances, even when her child has hurt her very badly.

I gave her strength to carry her husband through his faults and fashioned her from his rib to protect his heart.

I gave her wisdom to know that a good husband never hurts his wife, but sometimes tests her strengths and her resolve to stand beside him unfalteringly.

And finally, I gave her a tear to shed. This is hers exclusively to use whenever it is needed."

"You see my son," said God, "the beauty of a woman is not in the clothes she wears, the figure that she carries, or the way she combs her hair.

The beauty of a woman must be seen in her eyes, because that is the doorway to her heart - the place where love resides."

 Author: Unknown

Megan, Mom, Nain, SupaNain, Trouble....

Megans #1 & #3 - At 90, still beautiful.

I know I already posted today, but I did not want to let a whole lot of time pass before I was able to wax poetic and get all emotional about my grandmother turning NINETY. NINE -OH. Ninety. If you've read here before, you probably know that my grandmother has had a downward spiral in the last year or so. Each member of our family has his or her own feelings about what is happening to her... I guess some of it is inevitable. Just part of aging. It's been hard for me to see her deteriorate. She used to be so full of spit and a bit of vinegar, definitely had some stories to tell. She's been through so much in her life, and we've always said we should write her stories down so they are not forgotten. I'd love to do a bit of that here, and if anyone else would like to leave a story or two she told you in the comments, that would be wonderful. Then we would have them, we would have a record.
I am having a hard time remembering the things she talked about, but I remember some of the things she lived through. Her parents were from Wales, they immigrated to this country a few years or so before she was born. She had four big brothers, two born in Wales. Her parents didn't speak English very well. She never spoke Welsh, but could understand it when it was spoken to her. She grew up in Johnstown, Pennsylvania during the Great Depression. Some of her brothers and her husband fought in WWII. My grandfather (Pop Pop) was among the US Army personnel that liberated Dachau, though he didn't like to talk about it, he did tell my brother and I some of the things he had seen there. After the Army, my grandfather was in the National Guard for 20 years, retiring a Lieutenant  Colonel, so they were a military family and Nain raised my mom alone for the first year of her life.

Both of her sons were in the Army during the Vietnam War. My Uncle Donny was a paratrooper, and was awarded several medals, including a Silver Star, and a Purple Heart with Clusters. He was released from the Army with Commendations for his bravery. Her other son, Jeff, was in Thailand for much of the war, working as a code translator for the Army. My grandmother had to have had untold stores of strength to get through both sons being oversees, but much worse was to come.

In 1979, my Uncle Donny was killed in an accident. He was only 31 years old. In later years she would survive the deaths of all her brothers, their wives who were her best friends, and her husband. She had buried one son, and the other just drifted away. We haven't heard from him in almost 15 years. I know she carried that pain with her. Through the years, all of her friends passed away, one by one. I think she is the last one of her generation in our family.

Even after Pop-Pop died, she was very independent. She survived breast cancer, but only after having a double mastectomy. She eventually moved from PA to be closer to my mom and dad, but for years she made the 7 hour drive all by herself to come for visits. I know it had to be hard for her to leave Pennsylvania, and all that was comfortable and familiar.

Ninety years can hold an awful lot of life, can't it? So, we gathered. We celebrated. And, for the gazillionth time in a week, we ate cake.

We piled all the kids; big, medium and small, into an activities room at Nain's nursing home. Four generations, all starting with this one tiny woman. She LOVED it! She always loves being the Belle of the Ball, and this birthday was no different. She loved being sung to. She loved the presents, she loved the kids running around like maniacs, having been fed cake and no supper, yet. She had some rare moments of clarity. She seems to always know my mom, and Dani's little Squishy, but she told me to go get Aunt Sadie, who's been dead for 60 years, a piece of cake. I, of course, obliged. We told her how old she was and she thought she must be much older than merely ninety. A minute later she was protesting that she was only 17. (She was hit by a car at 17, and this age and event seems to stick in her head more than most.)

Overall, I think she had a good time. She wasn't ready to quit partying when a nurse came to get her!  We tried, rather unsuccessfully to get a photo with Nain (or SupaNain, as all the great grands call her) and all the great grand children, but it wasn't to be. Meg had class, and a couple of them were rather uncooperative.

Amy, Pete and Nain

SupaNain and Baby Spencer

Nain, my mom and dad, Stacy, Amy, and babies

Kakers and Noodle - why do our nicknames so often revolve around food?

Biz and Wish

Well, we tried!

Happy Birthday, Nain. From you, all of this has come. You are the first of the Megan's, mother of three, grandmother of seven, great grandmother of at least 24! Quite a legacy, #1. Quite a legacy, indeed. I love you.