Musts and Wants

2.22.12 Agnes Elizabeth Beggs Irby & Papa. The sentimental post.

Last night at around 8, my Granny Irby passed. She was 98 and, ironically, had a total of 98 children, grandchildren, great grandchildren, and great great grandchildren. I'm sure her reunion was very joyous and long awaited for a woman who was so good, so kind, and so in love with the Lord. Here she is with my great grandfather, Pete, whom I never knew. They had 11 kids. They named one after a movie star, Alice Faye (who is and is married to a Holiness preacher and loves to remind you that she is named after a celebrity). Also, the one I've always known as "Uncle Pete" is actually not named Pete or Peter; His name is James Carey. I don't know the exact order and I can't remember all of the names, but my Meme' and her living sisters and brothers visited Granny at least once a week for the past few years. They had a beautiful sunroom where they hung out and rolled her in there.

It reminds me of how the last few weeks with my Papa were. The whole family hung out at the hospice house and just loved each other, enjoyed each other's company, and laughed and cried. A few times we laughed too loud and recieved several nasty glares. But it wasn't out of disrepect, it was out of the joy and humor of memories and of stories of my Papa. I think he would have loved it. Had he been able, he would have been the one telling the most stories in a most theatrical way. There are a few things that stick out in my mind about the last moments with my Papa:

1) The last moment I had alone with Papa he was breathing very hard and was pretty unresponsive. However, he knew I was there and managed to smile because of me. Mama said, "Ali, did you see that? He smiled. You could always make him smile." We always had a very special bond, I think more so than the rest of my cousins because I was at their house every day and every night during most of my high school years. I never doubted that he loved me, he was proud of me, and that in his eyes, I was something precious.
2) When we knew the end was near, everyone circled around his bed and held hands. It was a tight fit and some of us were sitting on top of others. We each went around the circle and said something to him. But I couldn't. I was afraid, I was shy, I wanted it to be just me and him, but mostly, I didn't want to let go. My cousin Tif said, "Thank you for being the father to those of us that didn't have a good one." That's how I felt and I needed him to stay with me because of how much I loved him in that way.
3) My Papa had been in a wheelchair for about 9 or 11 years. He was an extremely active man before that and it killed him to be in that chair. However, it was a blessing because otherwise I might not have ever known him. He always worked and the only time I remember him when I was small was when he would come in late for dinner and I'd still be at the table (I've always been a slow eater) while everyone else had moved in to the sitting room. He and I would eat (he put chowchow on everything he ate), we would talk, I would laugh and look at the dirt under his nails. Which today I constantly find under my own nails and it sort of makes me happy.
The night after he died I had this dream. I was in Meme and Papa's bedroom. It was cluttered and I knew he was there but couldn't find him. He was in the corner beside the dresser they kept (which was full of McDonald's toys that Papa hoarded because "they'll be worth something one day!") but I wasn't sure if it was him. I kept yelling for him and finally, he stood up. He stood up, he smiled at me as if to say, "I'm fine, I'm happy", and I cried. I think I awoke crying. And it was the most beautiful dream because I knew it was more than a dream. It was another one of those Holy moments where it's all connected and everything is good and as it should be in the world.
I don't mean to take away from my Granny's death by talking about my Papa. But it's all one. It is family, it is your past and your present, it is a part of who we all are. And I think the best way to honor those who we have loved and lost is to let them know how well we are doing and to carry on their stories. And to be thankful that we got to use them, to love them for just a little while.

I'm pretty sure Uncle Robbie is responsible for this.

Aunt J, the roomate, Granny, Mama, and their childhood friend Tina.

And lastly, a picture of the Papa Mawmaw of the famed Hippy Hippy Go Massey Show:

Something bigger is happening here.

The good news about feeling crummy on this beautiful day is that I got to read more of Velvet Elvis. I found this passage particularly striking because I know this feeling that Bell is talking about. That exhilarating, refreshing moment where you feel so high and so right with the world. I have felt it at concerts, at a mountain top in Panama overlooking a waterfall, at a rush of green mountains and valleys in Ireland last summer, at a parking lot in Saluda crying my eyes out thinking that I couldn't bear living in my own mind, and just last weekend when I put Mayson to sleep beside me and heard her little baby breaths. Even just talking about it makes my eyes burn a little! (Sap.) It's not all just the scenery or people that create this wave of ecstasy. It's knowing where it all came from and knowing that you've got something special, something that is all powerful, all forgiving, and all loving even when you aren't those things.

When I wake up in the morning I lounge for about 5-10 minutes then I get in the shower. When I'm in the shower, I pray. Mostly I pray for other people, Mama, my beloved, my family, my friends. Then I pray that I will have a good day, that I'll be kind, and that I will pick the right choice, His way instead of my way. I'm sure you know what I mean. Whenever I am affected by something, anything from turning left to head to school to how I'm going to handle people that can get under my skin, I have a choice on how to handle it. It's either going to be my way (and my way usually involves some cussing and rolling on the ground in a tantrum fit...not really, I embellish...a little) or God's way. Which is comforting, it's mellow, it's accepting and tolerant. It's the attributes I strive to maintain.

I also pray on the way to school, and selfishly, it's usually for a good parking spot.

That's one of my favorite things about serving such an incredible God; He gives you indelible moments to remind you that it's all connected, that He is always there and doesn't just "show up" when you need Him. The land, the creatures, the people, and the experiences that make you, the "truth" as Rob Bell describes it are all strategically placed for you to experience Him. As a Christian, I know I am supposed to speak out the word of God to nonbelievers, and frankly, it's something that I don't do. It seems very personal to me and I don't know how to go about it. In the past, I've suggested or let friends read Blue Like Jazz. Don Miller should probably send me a thank you card for how many copies I've purchased over the years. But he tells a better story than I do. If I did share about my belief, I would speak of those said pivotal moments of crying, of seeing beauty, of hearing life. It makes worldly things look so trivial and it allows you to let yourself go in to something that you want to consume you, even if you aren't sure what it is. It's impulsive, it's scary, but it's something worth living for.

Going to take my philosophizing to the sculpture room now to work on a stomach...

But I leave you with a picture of the fat boy:

Necessary Rainy Sunday

This past week was exhausting. I've been in a terrible routine of staying up late working on my sculpture and therefore have been having such a hard time sleeping or waking up. Now that it's finished I plan on being in bed at my usual time of 9. The finished piece did not turn out 100% how I imagined so I'm a little bummed that it's not perfect. To give myself some credit, I usually feel that way about any piece I do. The good news is that I can always go back and make it better.

My Granny Irby isn't expected to live much longer. She's 98 and has been in a nursing home for a few years. Last weekend they predicted Wednesday but she's still going strong, eating ice cream. Which I think would be a pretty great way to pass: Lying comfortably in bed eating ice cream with your children and grandchildren around you. When I was little, I remember going to her house with my Meme' and cousins. She lived in a trailer next to my great Aunt Diane's out in the country. We used to color in coloring books and play Uno. She didn't have the normal crayola size crayons, she had the bigger ones that were thick and impossible to break. You could competition color with those things. Her house was warm and it always seemed like it rained when we were there. I don't remember too much about her personality, but I do remember there being a lot of laughter in that trailer.

Saturday morning I went to the hometown for an online baby shower for cousin Jaime in CO. We sent all the gifts to her mom's house so Jaime came over and, "Surprise!" there we were on the computer and her gifts wrapped in the room.

Later at lunch, Aunt J said, "So, you think you'll be getting a ring and a baby next? It's about time." So I poured tea all over her head and walked out of the restaraunt.

Not really. But in my Ally McBeal mind I did.

Still Searching

Daniel and I visited another church this Sunday, a Presbyterian this time. The church folks were oh so friendly, the pastor invited us to Santa Fe for lunch. Which would have been extremely awkward. He said, "Don't book out of here! Stick around and think about it!" So what did we do? Booked it out of there and had leftovers for lunch.

I've learned that finding a church is not easy. It would be fine to choose somewhere that made me content, but I'm looking for a little more than that. Daniel says I'm looking for the perfect place with the perfect people and the perfect message and it just doesn't exist. He might be the realist but I'm willing to try out a different church every Sunday until I find one that meets my needs. I also do not believe there is such a thing as the perfect anything. However, I'm hoping and praying to find a church that still uses a hymnal, has people around my age that meet during the week, and preaches a message that isn't redundant of the scripture that's read before the message. Maybe a contemporary sermon in a traditional service. Something like that.

The past weekend

My darling Cate came to visit and I got to have lunch with Ziva, Mama, and Darron. Look at me fulfilling resolutions.