Home is where the heart is

Ugh. I am such a butthole sometimes. Yesterday I yelled at my mom-- yes, she yelled at me first, but that's really no excuse-- and pushed past her to get up the stairs. We were talking about taking our cars in to be fixed because they've been recalled again. It's starting to freak me out, the number of ways they're discovering that this car could accidentally kill me.

Regardless, I was asking why my mom couldn't pick me up and take me back to my car so I wouldn't have to wait there (since I do most of my work between 10am-2pm and 10pm-2am). And all of a sudden she brings up about how she is paying my rent and my car insurance. So of course I say, um, you're paying my rent? "No, but I've paid your car insurance." Okay, that made me a bit upset. Because 1) I was willing to pay my car insurance but was told that until I was out of school it was fine, and 2) by not paying my car insurance am I now allowing this to be held over my head any single time we disagree? So I yelled something about how it was all about money with her and she could take all the money in my checking account because I want a mother not a banker. And then I wrote her a check.

Then I went outside and called my otter because my heart was pounding and I don't really remember the last time I yelled like that. So then I went and apologized and we talked about what I could do around the house to keep my mom from being stressed.

That's about all. I hate that I'm so ungrateful sometimes. I mean, not that I agree with my mother's actions at all, but that really has nothing to do with my behavior. I know they are trying and that this is hard for everyone. And while I know I don't ever see myself chasing after the dollar, I really wish sometimes that I didn't have to grow up on the "poor bubble," teetering all the time between being just fine and really struggling. I'm sure there is a point to all of it, maybe that I don't think money is all that important. But that doesn't stop me from wishing I had it, just so my parents wouldn't be so stressed all the time.

In other news, fourth of July was good and sad all at the same time. It was Granny's birthday and we went to the cemetery. No one warned me, and the mere thought made me well with tears. But my sister and I made pretty arrangements with her hydrangeas and lilies and roses, put them in mason jars with river stones and water, and set them at Granny and Pop's grave site. And my banana pudding seemed to be a pretty big hit at the cookout. My cousin (who is like, 50. My dad got a late start on having kids compared to his back country relatives) asked me who taught me how to make it, and when I said "Granny," he said "okay then, I'll give it a try." One thing I've realized now is that getting closer to Granny last summer gave me a chance to get closer with that whole side of the family. And they're rednecks, lemme tell you. And pretty hilarious.

Thoughts on Granny

There’s something interesting about grief. The death of Granny is an event that I like to call “rock bottom,” but it was really just the opposite. I don’t even know if I’m ready to write about it, because she had such an impact on my life that even now I’m still discovering. She will get (another) short story dedicated to her eventually. But for now I’ll give a basic overview.

It’s not the death of Granny, really, but the life of Mrs. Daisy Huffstickler Hudgens that changed me. For the nine months I spent abroad, updates on family would stress and frustrate me. I felt helpless to change it. I felt guilty I wasn’t there.

Then the summer came, which provided me with the chance to spend three months with Granny. I lived with her and took care of her, including but not limited to dressing, bathing, feeding, and administering pills. But the times in between all of that—all of the conversations and silences—were the life-changing part. I felt helpless and unprepared. I felt stressed and frustrated, and then guilty for being stressed and frustrated. I felt like I was going crazy. I was in back woods North Carolina with no friends, no real civilization, and what felt like no freedom.

We almost lost her at the beginning of the summer. She had a few heart attacks and had luckily not yet signed a DNR order, so she spent weeks in the hospital, in ICU, and then another month in a rehab facility. So I spent my days there. And held her hand, and listened to her complain about doctors’ cold hands (“your fingers are like ice!”) and how the nurses were too rough with her (“ohhh foot, your tryin’a keel me.”). And she was adorable. Like, really, really adorable. Especially when she would talk without her dentures.

And she loved to hear stories about the family. Paul and the wedding that May (“that’s Paul? He’s got hair like a girl!”) and Jessica finally discovering that Granny wore a prosthetic breast (“what did Jessie say about my boob?”). And talking about how she didn’t know what she was going to do without her nurse. Me. Sometimes when I would get her undressed for bed, she would say (with no teeth in, of course), “Johanner, what are you going to do when you don’t have a Granny to look after?” And I would always say, “I don’t know, Granny, I just don’t know.”

And the truth is, I didn’t. I grew to love her, beyond the love that is automatically reserved for family members. It was that generous, selfless love that comes from loving someone’s soul and being beyond the limitations and faults. Of which she had few, minus perhaps the forgetfulness and inability to walk.

But she was so strong. That’s what I’ll remember most. Her brother, Max, would come by once a week or so to visit, and he would say that her will to live was the only thing keeping her alive. “When the Good Lord is ready to take her,” he’d say, “the Good Lord himself is gunna hafta come n’ drag her to heaven.” She made it through two types of cancer, disease and infection, and you couldn’t tell from the level of her spirit. I learned what joy looked like.

And it was true, she wasn’t going anywhere until she was good and ready, and that applied to things beyond heaven. On the flip side, when she was ready to go somewhere, there was really no way to stop her. We had to check her out of the rehab facility early because she would get up and push her way to the door. And oh man, the physical strength that woman could muster when it meant going home and getting back to her cat. That cat. Jesus. Tinker didn’t like anyone but Granny, and she would stay up for hours at night either fussing at or fussing over him.

So I still wonder what to do without Granny around. But I do know that I am so grateful she was a part of my life. I spent nine months abroad learning about other cultures, other people, other ways of knowing. But it took me those three months of being in the sticks of North Carolina to learn what love was. Going back to school that semester was a time of purging my life of the bad, the negative, the hurtful. But after Granny died, this semester was spent reeling in the good, the positive, the joyful. Soaking up every moment and appreciating them in all their beauty. And I know that she was a big part of that.

There's a lesson I learned from Granny that I always say, but never fully understood until last summer. Love isn’t something you feel, it’s something you do.

And I hope I can live up to how well she did that.

Gah!

I've noticed that all of my recent blog posts have been titled with some kind of noise, so I'm just going with the flow this time.

I am so pissed I don't have pictures from this weekend. It was fabulous. Saw some great people, did some great things, and can't wait to do it all again soon. <3

Next weekend I'll either be in NYC or at home, depending on Granny. My dad called this morning to say that she was out of it since talking to me yesterday afternoon on the phone, and is probably not going to pull through this time. I feel weird writing about it because she's so unpredictable, and I honestly said this six months ago and she's still here. Oh boy. One day at a time.

I've applied for a couple of positions, just submitting resumes. I don't want to be working twelve hours a day, seven days a week, so I'm trying to start early. I even made an excel sheet with job info and their deadlines. I haven't looked at it since, but at least I made it. And I'll probably still end up working "campaign hours" at whatever crappy, have-to-apply-for-food-stamps job I get, but then I will just have to stick it out. Not much else to do. But until I have that crappy job, I will apply for everything. The real world is only six months away!

Hrm

Last day in Charlotte and I am definitely not motivated to do laundry, pack, or anything else that preparing to leave for another six months would require. Eh.

Also, I watched P.S. I Love You a couple of nights ago and it got me thinking about what I really want... suspenders. I really want some suspenders. I don't know what I would wear with them, or on what occasion, but they're just so fun!

Also, Tonya's dad now thinks I'm 1) delusional, and 2) wayyy too into Tonya's sex life. Kind of hilarious. I'm not going to go into details except to say it involved a hoop skirt. Trust me, you had to be there.

I went to my granny's a couple days ago to spend some time with her (probably the last time, but I don't want to think about that) and two preachers stopped by to see her. They prayed with her and for her, and for me, oddly. One of them was talking with me about what I wanted to do after graduation and he said, "just keeping praying and the Lord will lead you in the right direction." I wanted to say, "yeah, I'm praying to every god out there-- hell, I'll pray to this two-liter Dr. Pepper bottle if it'll get me a job." But I kept my mouth shut; perhaps a Southern Baptist preacher wouldn't find it all that funny.

Leaving tomorrow at dark thirty. Ugh. I told my family I was going to sleep in the car tonight to make sure I'm ready to leave at 5am, but something tells me I'll be up that long trying to get my stuff together. I should know never to pack a full suitcase when I come home for the holidays.

Ugh. I need to get a job lined up. Everyone cross your fingers that I don't have to move back home after graduation. My soul will suffocate.