Growing Old

Age is such an intriguing idea to me. There is a saying. "only the good die young." I have a few questions about such a statement. What of those who live a long life? What do you consider long? Or full? 70s? 80s? 100? My brother Luke, died when he was 16. Some would say that is young. Cut short. Ah, but what of my recent Grandma's passing? 94 years in her span. She lived the long life people would say was "full, complete." Growing old is a thing of beauty. A gift. An opportunity many do not get. However it is bittersweet. With old age comes many hardships. Your health peaks and you start to slow down. You are more frail and subject to unbalance and falls. You are more vulnerable towards cancers and other diseases. Does this diminish a persons 'fullness' of said life if they are subject to one of these evils? Sometimes growing old is hard and messy. It can take a toll on families and friends. So the goal is to live a long and fufilled life right? What of the end of your life though? What if the end isn't the "way to go out" you had planned. We think our purpose is to be remembered for greatness. What does it look like to change that focus? Maybe... Just maybe, and bear with me here. Maybe it looks like viewing life as a simple instrument. An instrument in the masterpiece of the earth. When we are no longer needed, we are put away. Sometimes we re only needed for 16 years. Others, 94. Just a thought. Life and growing old is hard for me. It's something I have tried to not focus too much on because there isn't a good answer, really. The only conclusion I can draw is it being one more reminder of the brokenness this world possesses. It's poetic almost how beautiful it is to see someone live long to leave a legacy. Yet those who die young also have touched this world. I encourage you in this.

Even if you feel invisible.. Know you are here for a purpose and will not be put away until your job is done. You are not invisible. You are alive and that in itself could be one good reason to keep on breathing. Blessings to all of you today. And Happy Birthday to my big brother, Luke. 

My Very Favorite Thing of All

I have started half a dozen posts in the past month trying to put into writing what was occurring. I would sit down to type and none of it made sense. It was me just babbling on about incoherent thoughts and crisis. Some of them were sad, some happy, some angry. They definitely covered all the stages of grief, which what was happening. I was grieving. I lost my best friend almost two weeks ago. She was 94 years old, sharp as a tack and had enough sass to live on for another 50 years. Margaret Mary Theresea O'day Dahlke. One heck of a name for one heck of a lady. Margaret was my grandmother. Oh but she was so so much for than that. She was my friend. My mentor. My comic relief. My confidant. My biggest fan. My pen pal... We wrote letters. Hundreds of letters to each other the past 6+ years. As soon as I moved away, I was added to her list and she wrote me almost every week. Letters came in the form of newspaper clippings, cards, stickers(so many rooster stickers...vixen), Irish knick-knacks, and even once I received a letter on a roll of toilet paper. I told you, sass for days. It still doesn't seem quite real. I find myself not truly believing I will never again receive one of her letters. I had been mentally bracing myself for this time for the past couple years, knowing it would come eventually. The last letter came a week before her fall. We would sometimes write on cute, fun paper with flowers or bugs on it and always send extra for the other to use at a later time. This time it was lighthouses. It was a short letter, nothing of sustenance. It was still from her, which was all that mattered. I remember the night she died, I went downstairs for bed, opened the letter and took the extra pages out. I sat there and I wrote one final letter. I figured originally it would be full of woes and the pain of losing her and how life would be so dull without her in it. All very true, but that isn't what I wrote. I thanked her. I thanked her for always seeing my ugly corners and loving me more for them. I thanked her for keeping my secrets in all those letters. I thanked her for teaching me about myself in ways only she truly understood since they were inheritances I received from her. I praised God for the time He gave her to me. The words I wrote were joyous ones. And the reality is, I was joyous. Oh, what a beautiful end for her. On this earth, the end was horrifying. She did not die well. What a humble reminder that even to the most faithful of servants, we still remain on a broken and sinful earth. Yet, when I sat there thinking of her and the beautiful place where she is spending her eternity, I smiled. I cried tears of joy and happiness thinking of her seeing her ever loved husband again.... her daughter.... my brother... That my friends, I am jealous of her for. Some of you don't believe in a heaven or a hell or even any sort of afterlife. Here is my peace in that. I am okay looking like a fool at the end of the world if I am wrong about God. I would much rather be a fool and wrong than to live in this world having something as horrifying as my Grandma's fall and death happen and to not feel the endless joy for her afterlife. If we go through this broken, broken world and can somehow find joy and peace in it through the name of God, Im there. Every. Single. Time. So I praised her death and I praise the one whose death saved the world.
Margaret Mary Theresea O'day Dahlke is one of my favorite things. She is my very favorite of all.

                                             June 30th, 1920-October 21st 2014