Homage to Grandparents

Today is the anniversary of a very special day; on this day a year ago, my grandma passed away. Surrounded by family and friends singing “Jesus Loves Me”, she opened her eyes and smiled. That was just the kind of person she was: she was going to go with a smile.

I was in Guatemala, with plans to be home for good in four days. I couldn’t imagine that we weren’t meant to see each other. She has always felt like a physical part of me.  From day one I was the “spitting image” of her, and I know she gave me more than genes: so much of my natural optimism, love for people, desire for kindness.

Over the past year, I've felt her presence so keenly: when I smile at a stranger; when I share something I’d like to hoard; when I let my cat on the table [she loved to spoil her dogs!]. Her passing has really made me cherish all of my grandparents and the role they’ve had in my life.

Here they are:

Gramom (far left) and Gramps (far right) are still around and active! Pop-pop (left) passed away in July 2010. I had a good 24 years with all of them, though, something for which I’m really grateful. They didn’t always color-coordinate their outfits, but the photo above was taken at Thanksgiving. Gramom always has enthusiastically festive outfits.

With them there were many zoo visits, many Cheetos, many back rubs and mall trips, games of pool and gin rummy, breakfasts on the patio, pool swims, bucketloads of Peanut Butter Captain Crunch, café lunches and holiday dinners together as a family. And hugs. So many hugs!

Thanks for everything, grandparents. Thanks for everything, Grams. You're always with us.

The Spider and the Broom

It's been seven months since I've written and there are a lot of confused, joyful, stressful, perfect moments in that gap. For awhile I was busy adapting to being back in the US.  It takes a long time; maybe more so for me because a close family member passed away right before I came back. The process feels more complete now as I write up my Master's project -- every day the maps and data seem to chisel some new splinter of memory off into my new (old) life.

When my mind wanders to my experience in Guatemala, I think of sweeping the dusty corners of my house in my last days in town. Grandma had just passed away, and sweeping was a welcome respite from thinking.  There was one stairwell corner that had been particularly neglected, and in my sweep of the house I battered it hastily, sending a spider skittering out of her web and into a hole in the corner.

I remembered her then; that spider had lived there for nearly a year. In that moment my power to upend an entire existence with a thoughtless broom-sweep seemed really profound. I bore no malicious intention -- I had just come along doing what I thought I needed to do.

It was clear in that moment that we share more with the spider than I thought. Some days will be ours to tend our webs in peace, with the flies cursing us. Some days will be ours to scurry from the sweeper, cursing the broom, while the flies move on in peace. As we go about our business, we're all vulnerable to a variety of forces, and any appearance to the contrary is a question of scale and magnitude. While scale and magnitude are highly significant, I think a lot of the injustice in the world is born of denial of the simple reality that we are all vulnerable.

Some day I would like come back to this blog and fill in the substantial holes left here by my experience. I think in some ways I didn't do much justice to the general panorama of Peace Corps, or development, or especially the stories of the people I met in the highlands of Guatemala. For now I'll leave it at that, though: the spider and the broom.