Remembering

Tangible memories mean a lot to me  Or maybe I just want remnants of a moment, or a person, or a place. I'm not only referring to physical objects. As an example, every year Hannah and I make a shared Google album of our adventures and experiences together. Even when I don't actually order photo prints or a photo book, I really appreciate having the opportunity to scroll down memory lane sometimes.

I just. . .

I forget so easily.

I still have a notebook somewhere that I never want to get rid of. It's mostly empty, but on just a few pages there are memories I wrote down of my grandparents. I did that soon after they died, because I didn't want to lose them again later. It's not just a fear that their faces would get fuzzy over time, or that I would get some details wrong. . . . If I don't practice remembering something, it disappears completely.

Usually that's not a huge deal. I text Zeb the things I need to keep track of, and then scroll back through the conversation to view my notes. I put almost everything in my phone calendar. I set alarms on my phone to call the pharmacy for a prescription refill 7 minutes after they open. (5 minutes just feels too conspicuous.) I text Hannah sometimes when I have specific meal plans so I don't get to lunch or supper time and panic. I put everyone's birthdays in my phone as soon as I find out what the day is.

Etc.

Not everything quite works that way, though.

There isn't a good way to really schedule grief. Or joy. So I try to surround myself with opportunities to feel those things.

Almost an entire wall of our living room is covered in pictures. Me and Zeb. Moments with friends. A piece of artwork our friend Maggie made for one of my birthdays. A few engagement pictures. Wedding pictures, along with pieces from our wedding outfits, and our vows from the wedding ceremony. Opportunities for joy. I might soon add a new picture to the wall, to remember someone very specific.

Ms. Joanie was very special. If you go to my past few blog posts, you'll see some very sweet comments, full of praise and encouragement, and signed, "love, Joanie." At church every week she would write down the name of each person who walked through the door, because she wanted to remember these things. She sent out birthday cards to people, and at Christmas time she would bring a whole box of cards and envelopes to church, to make sure no one was forgotten. It's easier to make sure you're remembering everybody when they're right in front of you! 

Ms. Joanie loved people. 

Especially Zeb.

Sure, she may have called him "Jeb" for a year or two... but she viewed him as a surrogate son. I know she loved me too; I would sit and chat with her on many Sunday mornings before the church service started. But I also remember her very distinctly informing me that Zeb was her favorite. She never forgot how he helped her with her purse and maybe cane, before her husband Mr. Gary started coming to church. Zeb does not remember any of this, I think because none of it was significant to him. It's just how he is, and Ms. Joanie loved him for it.

As I told her on a few occasions, I agree with her that he's pretty great. We even had a joke that his good looks came from her side.

This past Mother's Day, we had the sudden thought to get something for Zeb's self-appointed church mom. Of course, this idea came to us on the way to church. 😅

I dropped Zeb off to start setting up tech, and drove across JC looking for the perfect bouquet.

Ms. Joanie asked for a picture together, and as we dispersed afterwards, she pulled me into a hug and whispered through tears, "This means more than you know."

A month-and-a-half later, she was scheduled to have a surgery that would hopefully help eliminate some of the extreme pain that she constantly lived with. She responded to my texts for a week or two after the procedure, and then just stopped. She wasn't at church, either. I tried not to worry, knowing that recovery is long and difficult sometimes, but something felt wrong.

I didn't know she was sick.

Two Sundays ago was Zeb's non-tech-volunteering week, so we went to a little church that's within walking distance of our apartment. That afternoon I got a call from our pastor.

"You guys weren't here this morning, and I thought you would want to hear it directly from me and not through the grapevine. . ."

"Joanie passed away yesterday. . ."

"I'm so sorry. . ."

I cried, hung up, and relayed the message to Zeb. The rest of that day was rough, and it's not the only hard day I've had as I've continued to process the news. It just comes up again sometimes. Sometimes with a harsh bit of shock, and other times with a quiet heaviness or some tears. Sometimes it mingles with other bits of fear and loss. My grandparents. Family members with current life-threatening or terminal conditions.

Death hurts. And that's just life.

The day we got that phone call from our pastor, I sent Ms. Joanie a final text.

Hi, I'm sorry I never checked in again. 

I love you so much, and I've been missing you. I guess I'll have to keep missing you a little while longer, but I'm so glad you're feeling better now. Thank you for always being ready to chat, for the sweet messages you've sent me, and for the love that you always showed for me and especially for Zeb.

We love you too, and we'll see you soon enough, when it's our turns.

-Dolly

I'm so glad we had that Mother's Day, and so grateful to Ms. Joanie's stepdaughter Leslie, for tracking down the picture for me. It's such a precious thing, to know that we meant something to Ms. Joanie: She meant something to us as well. That's what I most want to hang onto.

I think this picture will be the next one on our wall.

Thanks for reading.

~Dolly