Dear Grandma,
It's been three years.
Three years.
Ugh.

My girls are getting so big.
I am working on the East Coast.
Wearing fancy clothes that I know you would like.

Three years.

I would have stayed longer that Tuesday.
If I could have a do-over I would have stayed until midnight.
To hear your voice one last time.
Had I known.
I would have stayed longer, if I had known.
I wouldn't have hurried off.
I know you would say "Oh, Kate, don't worry about it".
But I do.
I would have stayed longer.
I'm sorry.

I think about you every day.
I think about you when the girls get presents in the mail.
I think about all of the birthdays in Albuquerque.
I think about when I was little, and you would send a box full of gifts.
Shirts that said "Someone in Kansas City Loves Me".
I think about you ALL the time.

I know you are still here.
I see you in my hands, they look a lot like yours.
I see you in my girls and their determination.
I see you in my dreams sometimes and I like that a lot.

I can't believe it's been three years.

I miss you.
Ugh.
I miss you.

And I love you,
Katie Beth

memories from our beach vacation
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Children are little theologians. Not just my children, all children. They all wonder (some out loud) where Grandma went when she died, or how God can be in Kansas City and China at the same time. They all have big questions, valid and challenging questions that many adults still grapple with.
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Tonight Julia described a recent eschatological debate she had with a group of children about coming back from the dead, an argument that ended with her pronouncement that she was right and that was that (she's passionate, though not too humble just yet). Carolyn wondered whether we would all have bones when we got to Heaven. Then they both hypothesized what Heaven might be like, and how they can't wait to see Grandma again.
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I try to stay on the side-lines of these discussions, careful not to burden them with too much of my own understanding. I answer their questions simply, the way my dad used to patiently do for me night after night, car ride after car ride. It is enough for me to simply enjoy listening to their questions and the spiritual wrestling that is happening inside of their growing minds.

Fall used to be my favorite season, I'm starting to reconsider.
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From November 6th through the 10th, right over my precious girly's birthday, I have a heavy heart. My sleep is tormented, my memory flooded, my emotions raw. There are many injustices in the world, and this is one of them.
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I never got to say goodbye.
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I am missing my Grandma tonight, I wonder if November 10th will always be like this?

I always give my mom a hard time for putting so much emotional attachment on things, like baby clothes or old school papers or every toy we ever owned. But tonight, as I relinquished my Verizon phone of four years I did get a little (*sniff*) sentimental.

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The first photos on this old, beatup, worn-out clamshell were of a bald little smiley baby. Well, a few smiles and lots of her sleeping. I must have been fascinated with her sleeping. And I remember those days of not working and napping alongside my sleeping beauty, and those were good days.

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And there are pictures of a little blondie, same size as now essentially, but younger in the face and less serious about the world. So much spunk, even through the crappy picture quality, just beam out of the screen. And she's two, then three, and now four but somehow I think she's captured inside my little time capsule... but not forever.

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And there was that night in September when it was stormy and I took the last picture of Grandma before we said goodbye for a very long time. And I want to carry her around with me, and flip my phone open with her on the screen to see her smile and here I am tearing up because I guess my mom is right, there is something to sentimental attachment with metal and plastic.

Before we sat down for a burger and fries, Julia pulled out a piece of paper she had stuffed deep in her pocket. Grandpa had met us in a booth at our favorite spot, and Julia had planned for this moment for the last half-hour. She proudly asked, "Grandpa!?! Do you want to see me write my name?"
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My Grandpa, though along in years, has the same enthusiasm for his great-grandchildren that he had for his grandchildren twenty years ago. He smiled the familiar smile that I love to see, and said "Well, sure!"
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Julia, with much concentration, wrote out every letter with care as he looked over her shoulder. Then she turned, holding the paper up proudly and said "See, it says JULIA!"
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Grandpa said "Yes, very good" and then, in the characteristic fashion that inevitably shaped his four very accomplished children and eleven like-wise achievment driven grandchildren, "Now, can you write your last name?!?"
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Sometimes (everyday) I miss my Grandma. But I know her sudden passing almost two years ago has given me a much bigger appreciation for every moment my girls get with my Grandpa, and my other two Grandparents as well. Every moment together is a blessing, not to be taken for granted.

We are in wedding countdown mode yet again, and this time its my little brother's turn to get hitched. Part of the tasks I've been assigned is gathering wedding pictures of previous generations. This is a treat because I love photos and I love my fam!
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Top is my Grandma who passed away a few years ago and my handsome Grandpa who was on leave with the Navy over Christmas when they wed so long ago. I miss her.
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Middle is my Grandma and Grandpa in a little Catholic church in Nebraska. My Grandpa was in the Marines and they also got married in the winter, my Grandma's dress was velvet and the waist measured about 12 inches I swear (I've seen it in person, its insane).
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Probaby my favorite is below. My great grandparents looking very hip and cosmopolitan. The dress, the hat, the *glasses* and my grandfather's eyes, its all stunning.
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PS - I think its only fitting that all of the women who came before me wore glasses. This explains the nerdiness of me and my lovely little sister Anna who continue the tradition even today.

The girls made me a "Mother's Day Crown" of a child-sized plastic headband and bits of yarn. It made me happy and I wore it, gladly. They helped me put roses on Grandma's grave before church, and then they picked their own dandelions to add to the growing assortment of flowers - I could only imagine it made her smile, gladly as well.

Four years ago we sent out Valentine's to our family. Nothing too exciting, just photo cards from shutterfly or the like.

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This was the photo. C was smaller then, life was different. We lived in another state, we didn't know there was a Julia, there was no blog to share our dailys.

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Four years ago I sat in my Grandma's kitchen chatting over a box of chocolates and the $10 bill she always gave each of us on Valentines Day (except the year we all got tickets to the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles concert... I was probably 12, and at that moment I thought my Grandma was a serious contender for Sainthood).

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On the Valentine's Day when this picture hung on her fridge, and she went on-and-on about Carolyn's expressions, I sat in the kitchen. In walked my Grandpa who quietly handed a Hallmark card sealed up in an envelope to my Grandma.

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She looked surprised and said, "But you already gave me a Valentine's card!?!"

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"I know" he smiled, "But I really liked this one, too"

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I miss my Grandma - And I know he misses her so much more. What an incredible relationship they shared for so many years.

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Honestly, I just hope, after 52 years of marriage, Brandon is still wanting to buy me one Valentine, let alone two!

In Finland, on Christmas Eve, everyone goes to the cemetery to light candles on the graves of their loved ones. Isn't it beautiful...the idea and the picture?

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Our friends living in Finland (who blog about it HERE) shared this and I've been thinking about next year and doing something similar, maybe a battery-operated tea-light so as not to break any cemetery rules, supposing there are such rules.

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Its probably a bit morbid to some, but I think its sacred. I don't believe the candles are lit for the dead, but a rememberance for the living. A rememberane that there is hope beyond death, the hope that is born on Christmas.

Even more fun than I had hoped.
See all the photos HERE.
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We played three rounds: family trivia, puzzle building and photo quiz
Team Gold were the victors - and they will proudly hold the title until next year!

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My Grandma would have had a cool blog.

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Just imagine what she could have told you about this moment.

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What was it that had Jill in stitches? And clearly my dad was enjoying himself alongside his giddy girly cousins. Not to mention Uncle Jim's cigarette perilously close to these precious little lungs...she might have had something say about that, too.

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And in the other room... she'd have a beautiful Christmas tree fit for blogging, and delicious food fit for sharing, too. And then she'd tell you how handsome my Grandpa was (see)...

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...or at least I think that's what she would do.

Sometimes she prays for Mommy. Sometimes she prays for a Barbie House from Santa. Sometimes she prays for snow. Sometimes she prays for her friends. Sometimes she prays about Grandma Allen in Heaven. Sometimes she prays that Mommy will get an iPhone so her in-the-moment photos don't look so grainy. But last night, when she prayed for her "prince", that was priceless.

There was this moment when I was about twelve. I said to my Grandma as she and I drove down a quiet road "I hope things are always like this." She was silent and just smiled a little, but drove on. I remember it sort of bothered me, not knowing then what I know now.

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Last year, on this night, I stood in a hospital room watching things change. Grandma knew that day fifteen years ago that this would happen eventually. That things never stay the same, and it could not always be "like this". That one day her time on Earth would be over, and we'd say goodbye to phone calls and hugs and dinners and card games. One day things would not be "like this" at all.

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However.

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It was not until I held her hand for the last time, whispered "I love you" for the last time, and had to finally let go of "this" that I finally thought about a truth I had always known but never understood. The truth, or the hope of Everlasting.

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The previously longed for aspects of Heaven, like seeing loved ones again, being with our savior, and never having another medical condition empty my savings (which will consequently be worthless anyway, hallelujah!) is all surrounded by the bigger truth, a more profound hope. The wonder of 'everlasting'.

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Someday "this" will never have to end. Someday "this" will be forever. Someday "this" will be better than we ever comprehended or experienced as we were together on Earth - and the new-and-improved "this" will be everlasting.

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Praise be to God.

A recent stormy wind had knocked down many of the flowers and decorations at the cemetary. We stopped by to visit Grandma's peaceful grave, at sunset, it was beautiful. The girls knew right were to find the handsome stone etched with Grandma's name - they ran right up and said hello as though she was standing there. After a few minutes of ensuring her flowers were all arranged nicely, C began to notice other less-cared-for monuments and began to prop up the vases, gingerly replace the flowers, and gently wipe away the freshly mowed grass trimmings. We held hands and walked around for a while, reading the names aloud of the strangers who now share a resting place with our beloved. The girls talked about the day when we will all be together again, and I was amazed by how easily children embrace complex concepts - as though they are really not too complex at all. They bear the message of hopefulness and trust in a way adults simply cannot.

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We took roses to Grandma's grave today. The girls and I made tags to put on each rose, maybe it seems weird, but it was therapeutic for me (don't judge). I 'laminated' them with packing tape (an old trick I devised back in junior high when I wanted to laminate the world). There was a substantial pile of flowers gathering by 9:30 this morning, which made me smile because I know that would make Grandma happy, to be remembered and cared for and loved. The girls frolicked as reverently as you can expect two preschoolers to do, and I knew that would make Grandma happy, too. I wish like crazy she could see them growing. Hear Julia talk, see Carolyn's toddlerhood fading away into a 'big girl' look that is stunning (at least she would think so). Perhaps she has the best seats in the house, perhaps she sneaks a peak every night while they sleep (when they look the most angelic). x

I hadn't thought much about tombstones, what they say, or how they look - until my Grandpa asked me to help with my Grandma's. We walked through two cemeteries one evening several months ago. He explained the quality of the different stones, the size of the lettering, and the placement. He knew what he wanted for her, but he didn't have the words. He asked me to come up with a nice saying. Sure. I looked around the cemetery and saw a lot of common sayings "The Lord is my shepherd" "The Lord bless you and keep you". It was all very nice, but I wanted something no one else had. I wanted words that would encourage those who grieve, those whose heart aches for a love lost, those who never got to say goodbye, for Grandpa, for me, for all of my family. At last I found the prose that would become my Grandma's eternal etched message:

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"In our hearts there is a promise that says death can never win.

And a hope that will sustain us until we meet again."

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Death did not win, Grandma and I will meet again.

The night we drove to the hospital, after receiving the call that something had happened with Grandma, I cried. "She never taught me to make her vegetable soup" I eeked out through my tears. It sounds trite, but it represented many things left undone or unsaid, not just a bowl of hearty-delicious soup.

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I decided to ask around and see if I might be able to find the recipe, and I was so thankful when my aunt sent me step-by-step instructions. Last night as I stood at the counter cutting the veggies, browning the meat and pouring in the copious amounts of V-8 I felt a little healing happening in my soul.

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And tonight, as our friends dished up bowl after bowl and said "This is delicious" I knew Grandma would be pleased. It made the experience all the better that I could say "That's my Grandma's recipe, I have always loved her soup."

The Easter grass is growing. But I had sad dreams last night. So my day was off to a rocky start. We slept-in, too, so it was hurried as well. Without a drop, or dab, or pat of makeup I hurried out the door to take C to school, scary. She dressed herself, she LOVES to dress herself. J wouldn't put on pants, insisting on a skirt, so the 30-degree weather met her legs with a bite, and made me feel/look like a delinquent mother. C went merrily on her way. J and I headed to the cemetary to put flowers on Grandma's grave, something about my dreams and the budding springtime has me in a sad place, missing her, really regressing on the whole grieving process...or progressing, not sure. In search of a present for a certian brother, well my only, led me to the antique mall (he likes old religious art, it's an antique market niche), nothing to be found (sorry Brother) well except a totally adorable $5 table cloth that fits my table perfectly. A few more items needed at the grocery, and a video for Jules as a reward for five nights in her own bed - hip-hip-hurray! Home, warm shower (exhale), makeup application (less scary now) and then back to school. Happy C, happy J, happy me. Lunch of tuna fish and 'healthy-ish' Pringles, happy C again. Long naps, and lots of housework. Broke out the spray cleaners, that's rare. Made the house feel presentable, naps ended, presentable no more. Ran a few packages to the UPS Store, best customer service in town, home for dinner. Yummy cheesey chicken dinner over rice. Cuddle on the couch with anyone willing. Princess Memory game at the table, talk to my mom. Cry a little, missing Grandma tonight. Blog. Work a little. Sleep (but no dreams, I hope).

C realized about a month ago that Grandma's body had to be somewhere. As she inquired I saw two paths before me...to change the subject and leave her in the dark and perplexed, vulnerable to the first outlandish story she'd be exposed to having to do with death and dying - or tell her the truth. I opted for the very awkward to explain truth. Oddly her four-year-old innocence doesn't think it awkward at all. She is perfectly happy with the Heaven/grave concept and now insists on a visit before school almost weekly. Today was no different, and while we usually stay in the car for a quiet observance she decided today she would get out. She gently laid her silk rose from Valentine's day and then smiled at me and said "I bet she said 'Thank you' bery quietly". I hope I'm not completely messing her up, driving her to the cemetary to walk through the fog amongst the tombstones (certainly sounds harmless, right?)

I would have gone to your house tonight - had November passed without notice, and you were still here. I would have called you when I knew we had the seven o'clock hour unplanned and the girls were in especially good moods. You would have sounded happy to hear my voice. I would have asked if we could run by for a few minutes, and you would have said "Sure! Come on over!" We would have been greeted with your happy smile and an invitation to "Come! Sit down" You would have asked Carolyn all about her Valentine's Day, how school was going, and how she liked her acting class. She would have twirled for you and you would look at Grandpa with a smirk and say, "Does she remind you of someone we used to know!?!" You wouldn't believe how much Julia was talking now, and you would engage her in conversation like she was the most important person in the world at that moment. She would beam to see the love in your eyes, and you'd beam back. You would ask me about work, and be interested in hearing whatever was on my mind. I would feel cared for, and loved. We wouldn't stay long - the girls can wear a person out - you'd tell me not to worry about it, and we'd stay a few minutes more. When it was time to go you'd give them big hugs and a wet kiss on the cheek. You and Grandpa would walk us to the door for more hugs, then stand on the porch to watch us load up and wave goodbye as we drove away. Had November passed without notice, I would have taken for granted just another night of dropping in on my Grandparents. Taken for granted that we could do it again, soon - Had November passed without notice.