History

This last week I had the opportunity to spend a little time with all my grandparents. As has been our April tradition for the past few years, I spent a few hours with my Grandpa Reid earlier in the week preparing his tax return. He only lives a couple of streets away, so I get to see him often. He and Easton are great pals and so comfortable together despite their vast age difference (Grandpa is 87 and Easton is 4). Easton knows his way all around the house, knows where the snacks are, where the toys live. When we got there, Easton gave Grandpa a quick hug then made a bee-line for the basement where he hung out most of the morning. While I was there, Grandpa shared a few stories with me about his younger days and his investment club and his old friendships. He got a little emotional when he talked about my sweet Grandma Sue, his wife, who passed on nearly three years ago. We talked about Krissie and life and family. It was a good day.

(My cousin, Heather, & I with Grandpa Reid when we were just little girls)

Then last night, I took Barrett & Rowan with me to visit my Grandpa Harry & Grandma Rita for a while. We needed to stop in and say hi and let them know we loved them. We told them about the goings on of our lives – ball games, kids, races, business, life. It had been a month since my last visit. Too long for sure. My grandpa shared a sweet story about his mother who has long since left this life. He’s seen his mother in dreams on many occasions and has shared some special things about her and her life. Every time that I bring Rowan over to visit, he shares the same story with us about how his mother appeared to him in a dream when I was pregnant with Rowan, and reassured my grandpa that everything was going to be all right (Rowan had been diagnosed with Gastroschesis at 17 weeks gestation). My Great Grandma told my Grandpa Harry that she had picked Rowan especially for our family, and that Rowan would not only be a blessing to Ryan and I, but also a blessing to our whole family. I smile every time I hear that story. I know she was right. It will be some reunion one day when we all meet together again in the next life.

Both my Grandpa Harry and my Grandma Rita are getting pretty up there in years (94 and 92 years old, respectively) and have feeble bodies, but their minds still seem sharp and they can hear all that we say with relative ease. They are always glad that we stopped by and always leave us with a kiss.

This morning I got up early to kick off my week with a run. The sun was already coming up from the horizon and the weather was just perfect. A little breeze, birds chirping, trees whishing. Picturesque actually. It was the first time in a long time that I’ve run without an iPod. So I listened to everything, soaking it all in. I only saw a handful of cars out while I ran through the neighborhood streets. The peace was overwhelming. I listened to my feet hit the pavement over and over and heard myself breathing more evenly than I expected. My mind, free of the music that usually fills it when I run, raced with thoughts all over the map, but I kept coming back to my grandparents.

As I pondered my recent visits, I couldn’t help but think that I might not have too much more time with my grandparents before they move on. Not that any of them are really ill or threatening to go anytime soon, but they’re all getting older. I wondered last night as I got ready for bed how much longer my grandpa Harry, in particular, would be with us. And I had that same thought over and over as I ran today. He hadn’t been feeling very well yesterday evening, so my dad and Bishop Uncle Jim gave him a blessing. He seemed pretty good when we got there not too long afterwards. Then I thought about all the giant pictures of my G&G that I have stored in my food storage room - pictures that we used to decorate for his 90th birthday shindig. I thought about his life. I wondered if he had taken the opportunity to write about growing up in the early 1900’s with all his siblings. About meeting my grandma and falling in love. About his career as a high school teacher and baseball coach. About life on the farm. About raising kids. About owing a DQ. About being a temple sealer. About his mission in Chile. About his testimony. Does he have a journal? Is his life history documented? Are the stories of his youth kept somewhere where we can read them after he’s gone?

(Grandpa Harry's school teaching days at Mesa High)

In the natural evolution of thought, my thoughts then shifted to the carefully organized piles of scrapbook pages presently spread across my living room floor. Chronologically ordered pages, categorized by child or placed in the “family album” section, ready to be inserted into books. I started the organization project yesterday morning. I was a little over-ambitious, I suppose, in thinking that I’d get them all placed before church. Still, I made good progress and plan to finish it up by tomorrow. But those pages represent countless hours enjoyed in the preserving of my family history - pictures of my kids, my family, my loves. Documentation of our travels, sports, triumphs, memories, and everyday life. But most important to me is the journaling on all those pages. There are letters I’ve written to each of my children, thoughts I’ve shared about my hopes and dreams for them. I’ve kept track of birthdays and holidays, beach vacations galore. I’ve captured the non-events of daily living and the little thoughts that triggered memories from my youth. It’s all part of my history. My family history.

But…the point that really hit home in the midst of all this reverie and reflection was that I had scrapbooked very little about ME. I haven’t missed a school year or a birthday for any of my kids, but there are only three or four pages about me in all the volumes of albums in our house. If I left this earth tomorrow, would my history be written? Would my kids know all they should or all they may want to know someday about my childhood, my school years, my career, my testimony, my love of motherhood, my passion for their daddy, my life? Would they remember that story I’ve told them at bedtime about how their daddy and I met and how long it took him to kiss me for the very first time? I am grateful that I have kept a journal on and off for years, and have quite a bit written down about my life since marrying Ryan. But there is so much more I need to document. So much more to my personal history.

I’m glad that I decided to start blogging last year as it has given me incentive to be diligent about writing. I’ve seized the opportunity to write about my life a little more regularly and share some thoughts that might have otherwise gone undocumented. I can’t wait to publish my first blog book and go back and read my posts. I’m sure they’re all over the map, but that’s OK. It’s my blog. It’s my life. And it’s not going to go unwritten.