Stay at home gals

We got the chance during Thanksgiving week to take care of our girls. It was physically exhausting for two old grandparents, (I can't think how we managed to raise our own kids, sometimes) but we loved every minute of it.

Our girls love to be at home in their playroom. We took them to the mall to ride the merry-go-round and the train. They had a blast. We took them to the McWane Science Center and they had a great time. But they are just as content to be at home playing "school" with Mimi in the playroom.

Rosie loves to be the teacher, and Viv and I just let her. Viv, of course, needs to also have a role to play, so right now I tell her she is the classroom leader and she seems content with that. I follow behind her and let her lead me through our "classroom" chores that our lovely teacher Miss Rosie gives us. Everybody is happy! (Usually)

I'm sure when she is bit bigger, she might insist on being the teacher. We will deal with that when it happens! I am just a student, because they teach me something every time I get the chance to spend time with them.

The two of them are just amazing to me. (Yes, I know-everyone feels the same way about their own grandchildren and that is ok.) I've said before that they bring us untold joy and they are medicine for our weary, wounded souls. But it is true. They do bring us joy and they do help our grieving hearts more than I can even say.

It was really good for us to be with them like that this year before Lauren's birthday arrived. It helped me get through that day.

14 years is a long time to miss your child, and I am just sure that no matter how many years it ends up being it will be a "long" time.  One minute is a long time to miss your child, and at any given moment, 14 years later even, you can be taken right back to that first minute you realized your child was gone.

One day, the time will mean nothing, but today it still does, and I am grateful for this time with my grandchildren. It helps make this time of missing my child a lot easier.

Two sweet girls on a train in the mall. 

His loss, our loss

I did not know him very well, but Jason was one of those people who was bigger than life. His stature alone could have seemed imposing, yet he had an innocent quality about him that would make you stop and take notice.

I first encountered Jason when he taught English at a local high school and was named 'Teacher of the Month." I took his photo along with the students of the month for the local Rotary club.

Here was this tall guy with dark curly hair topped off by a black kippah (or yarmulke, if you like) – not a sight you usually see in a small Southern town.  I thought, "What an interesting young man! How in the world did an Orthodox Jew end up here?" (It's just the journalistic curiosity in me, I suppose.)

Of course, living in the "politically correct, everything can be offensive, so watch what you say" climate we currently abide in, I would never had asked him about his journey to Judaism.  Thinking back, I'll bet Jason would have shared it with me in the blink of an eye, though.

Jason came to our college to head up our Writing Center a couple of years later, and I can count on my hands the times I actually got to talk with him. When I did come into contact with him, I was impressed with his enthusiasm for the job he had taken on.  I sensed that he wanted to help students with navigating the world through the written word, and although I have only read one thing Jason actually wrote, I can guess he would have been good at it.

I took his photo at several events, and actually sat down at a table with a few other folks and had a nice discussion with him one day. The last photo I took of Jason was at a retirement reception for our Foundation director. Jason and a fellow instructor (who happens to be the minister of a local church) and I were making a joke about a Jew, a Catholic and a Baptist walking into a bar. Not so politically correct, but funny to us. Jason had a beautiful smile on his face that day.

He called me at 3 pm that last Friday to inquire about taking a photo at an event he was involved in for the Writing Center at a local church the next day.  None of our staff was available to  go that Saturday, so I did what I could to encourage him to just get someone to snap a photo with his phone. He seemed ok with that, and I told him I would see him Monday- he and I had an appointment for me to interview him about another project he was working on. I was really looking forward to talking with him one on one, and hopefully getting to know him a little better. I could see bright things for Jason, and I wanted to help him along the way if I could.

Jason passed away that evening at his home.  I have not been this devastated over something in a long time. I wish I could have had that time with him on Monday afternoon. I wish I could have gotten to know this interesting young man better. Fellow writers would have had a lot to talk about.

Rest in peace, Jason. You made a big impact on a lot of people.