Nothing was on the radio, the XM Christmas station really sucked, and Delilah depresses me. Side note, hello, love is not depressing. Stop making it all about sadness and loss and all that. Especially at night playing Christmas music. Ok, back on topic. I found a CD in the visor case that I had burned many many years ago, Celine Dion's "These Are the Special Times". Wonderful, wonderful CD.
But what I want to talk about is the story behind why that CD was there. When I was in middle school and riding the bus to school everyday, I was having a lot of problems with my hip because of it. So, my Grandma decided that she would pick me up from school everyday so I didn't have to ride it. From then on, all the way through high school, my Grandma picked me up from school. It's one of the reasons that I didn't want to get my license (besides the whole, I could easily become paralyzed at any given time, thing). I loved spending that time with her. Just she and I. Every single day, even if it was only for a half hour. That time was ours.
She would bring me an apple and some orange juice, and I would supply the music. I've always been extremely good at finding new and exciting stuff. Norah Jones was our absolute favorite, and in fact, one of the last things she said to me, the last real conversation we had the last night she was alive, she spouted off lyrics to her favorite Norah Jones song and told me that she was glad we shared so many special songs together. For her viewing, I made a playlist, and a lot of the songs on that it were ones that she and I shared during those times. But mostly, we indulged in year-round Christmas tunes and didn't care what anybody else thought about it. We'd sing loud and proud, bumping along listening to Trans-Siberian Orchestra, Amy Grant, Kenny G, or any other wonderful holiday music we could get our hands on. Had I not had that time every day after school, I would have been miserable. She made life those four years.
Well, all the CDs that I made her are still up in the visor of her car, which is now my mother's. I looked up and grabbed the Celine Dion CD and told my mom we should listen to it. She wondered how it got there and when I told her the story, she had no idea about our little tradition. The first song that came on was this: http://blip.fm/profile/LLLEB08/blip/28661620/Celine_Dion-Dont_Save_It_All_For_Christmas_Day
(you can click on the link, press play at the top, and listen). And I'm not ashamed to admit, it made me cry. The lyrics are pretty powerful. And they basically explain exactly how my Grandma lived every single day of her life. Here is a link to the lyrics, I suggest you go through them, truly an inspiring message. http://tinyurl.com/y9g7hph
You know, I firmly believe we all have a soul mate. Someone who we are destined to have some unreal connection with. Not necessarily someone made just for us to spend the rest of our lives with (marriage, the whole lot), but someone who is destined to find us, share a piece of themselves with us, and whom we are destined to love. I know all of you have someone who made such an impact on your life you will never forget them. We all do. For me, that person was my Grandmother. And for her to be that person for me, recognize it, embrace it, was better than anything anybody could ever do for me ever again. Sure she was my Grandma, sure she had to love me because we're family, but that's not what our relationship was about. It was so much more.
She was my best friend. She understood me. Helped me grow. Taught me things about life, about people, about love, things that molded me into the person I am today. Not because she had to, most people's Grandma's don't really take it upon themselves to do all she did for me. She saw potential, she saw herself in my eyes, and she took it upon herself to give me the tools to become more. She raised me to go above and beyond. To love harder, care more, help more, and find the potential and the good in all people and show it to them. She did all that, for me.
When that song came up, not only did I miss the time she and I spent together in that car listening to that Christmas music, but I also missed her. I missed glancing over and smiling because I could see her singing along out of the corner of my eye. A woman who, for all intensive purposes, hated singing. She always sang with me and we both pretended like the other wasn't singing. I missed that. I miss the life I lived when she was here. I missed all the little details about the time we shared together, and I cried.
You know, it's been a little over 18 months since she died. About 556 days, to be exact. Every single one of those days has been a struggle. But of those 556 days, I've found 556 reasons to be thankful for the 7,561 days that I got to spend with her. Every time I think of a tiny detail about her, my heart swells. Not out of pain, but out of pride and thankfulness. Sure, it hurts like hell to be without her. It hurts every second. But it would have hurt even worse to never have had her. And until the day I die, I will give thanks for that time.
People always say that another person will never fill a void in your heart. That searching for someone to love you will never fill it, and you will search for more things to ease that void. In fact, we had a sermon about that on Thanksgiving Eve. But you know, when she was alive, I was whole. I never felt a void, I never felt like something was missing. Until she died. And then the void was there. But you know, I'm not searching to fill it. Because that void reminds me how much I lost. In a good way, not a bad. By remembering how much I lost, I am remembering how much I had. Not a day goes by I don't smile remembering her. Not a day goes by I wish I could crawl up next to her on the couch with my head on her lap and just be. Not one single day goes by I don't long for one of her hugs. And not one second goes by that I don't miss her.
I know a lot of my posts pertain to her death, or my sadness because of her death. But let me tell you something, those things are relevant to who I am. You may or may not care about that stuff in my life, you may think it's dramatic, boring, etc. But her life shaped who I became and who I am becoming every day. For that, I'm thankful. Sure, I talk about her death a lot. But not because I'm lingering in the past. But more because I'm holding onto that for the future. Thinking about her life is different than thinking about her death. Her death reminds me that her legacy lives on in me. I only hope that I am worthy of that legacy and that I am doing her proud. So yes, my Grandma died, and yes I'm going to talk about it, but my Grandma also lives, she lives on in me.
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