Refugees

On our way home from the funeral last week we took an early flight out of Abbotsford.  I had plans with girlfriends that night and we were eager to get home from the exhaustion of the happenings of the last few days.  My cousin Syd was on our flight, his second flight ever so Emily was showing him the ropes.  Our dads were anxious that we would make it on time which is a bit funny for anyone who has seen the postage stamp that is the Abbotsford airport.  We had lots of time to play tag in the airport parking lot with Great uncle Garry and Aunty Toby and to eat funeral danishes out of the back of the car.  Once we were through security Emily made fast friends with another boy in the waiting area.  Before we knew it we were at our departure time and we still hadn't boarded.  I had thought about the fog as we had driven through it to get to the airport but there was no mention of delays so I wasn't worried.  Then they got on the intercom and canceled the flight - the pilots couldn't land.

You have to love Canadians for not making a fuss.  We all went back to the ticket area, all of us grateful that the pilots had made the harder but safer choice.  No one was yelling.  Some were stressed about getting to their destinations but were happy with the Westjet employees for their assistance.  Even though we were displaced from our original plans all seemed to be well and I ended up getting Emily and I on the next flight going to Edmonton which my parents and brother were on.  The fog hadn't seemed to abate yet though so I was skeptical that we would actually leave on that flight.  And as we lined up for security the second time my questions were answered - our second flight was also canceled.

Back on the phone with Westjet who was thoroughly apologetic because they knew we were flying for bereavement (not that fog is their fault).  I decided we should fly out of Vancouver and booked an afternoon flight out of Vancouver and so did my dad and my mom rented a car and we drove to the Vancouver airport.  All in all it was pretty easy to do but I was struck by all the people in the airport on their cell phones trying to get home to their safe spaces.  It was striking to hear so much about refugees over the last few weeks and to be stranded with a bunch of Canadians with luggage and altered plans trying to get home or to loved ones.  This is even more striking when I had just said goodbye to one of the most important people in my life who also came to this country as a refugee.

My grandparents on both sides were refugees.  They had been persecuted in Russia for being Mennonite and were conscripted to the war or worked gruelling conscientious objector duty.  My grandmother talked to us as children about how people came and took everything from the farm - they found every sac of flour - they looked in between door jams and took it all.  She watched my son run around with bittersweet happiness remembering that she had been so malnourished that she didn't walk until she was 4.  I remember the stories of the soldiers coming to rape my great aunts and how my grandmothers siblings all held hands to keep them at bay in the middle of the night.  I know the stories of how my Uncle almost didn't make the train to escape Russia with my Oma.  I watched my great aunt shake my whole life for how hard she'd been worked in Siberia.  I heard only a fraction of the stories and I know that they all suffered.  Making it to Canada was always a part of the prayer over an evening meal together - the blessing of security was not lost on them.

I think about that as I watch the Syrian refugee crisis and the Canadian response to it.  We have so much in this beautiful country and most of us came from somewhere else.  Fear is not the appropriate response.  I'm not a political science person but for the people that are afraid that accepting refugees will threaten our national security - don't you think that pouring love into people who have lost everything will return love for our country one hundred fold?  I think most Canadians believe that we can do better and I truly hope that's reflected in how we vote for the country we want moving forward.  I want to be proud of our country again.  Canadians are amazing people and our leadership should reflect that.

So it goes. Returning violence for violence multiplies violence, adding deeper darkness to a night already devoid of stars. Darkness cannot drive out darkness, only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate, only love can do that.” ~Martin Luther King, Jr.

Grandpa's Funeral

We said goodbye to my definition of the "best man" (Note: Keith is a close second and my dad is pretty great too).  Nonetheless, my grandpa was the man I compared all men to.  It's hard when the immortal in your mind succumb to their mortality.

My parents, Emily and I flew in the day before the funeral to get things ready. I had the music and we had to ensure that the technology of the seemingly stuck in time Mennonite church would be compatible with all my Apple gear.  We met the pastor of the church who I have known since we were young at camp and who we have met with as each of my grandparents have passed over the last few years.  He had gone to see my grandfather the day he died and although Grandpa struggled for words under his dementia and delirium he managed an "Amen" for Pastor Brown.

We finally figured the technology (it took a bit of work) and went back to the hotel.  I had shown my parents the slideshow before we went to the church. They both liked it which was a relief because it's hard to do something so personal on behalf of your family. My mom loved the songs too which seemed to fit perfectly in my 2am decision-making stupor but were still meaningful for her in the light of the day.  My brother came that night and watched it and my grandpa's tag phrase "well there you go" is written at the end and my brother burst into tears. The grief comes in waves.

The next morning we met up with family over breakfast and got ready for the graveside.  My "baby cousins" and I had only seen each other 3 weeks ago and this was far different circumstances.  The tears bubbled up and wouldn't be denied.  I met my cousin Kelly's boyfriend Kyle and went to shake his hand and he hugged me.  I told him that I had been waiting to meet him - he was the sunshine of my day.  Emily and I had a big talk about how she had to be quiet at the graveside.  Her tante Betty gave her a flower and she was very good.  She was quiet for the prayers and put her gerbera daisy on the casket in her bobby socks and Mary Jane shoes.  I told Em to go and hug Uncle Brandon's hand and she went up to him and said "Boo!"  I promptly shushed her but then realized that is exactly what my grandpa would have said. There in the hot midday sun I stood arm in arm with my Aunt Betty and at the same time we said how Grandpa would have loved that sunny day - he would have been outside not wearing a shirt.  Great minds think alike and speak aloud at the same time.

We had a quick trip to Starbucks before the church service.  Emily entertained with her strawberry milkshake and her singing and giggles.  Before we headed to the church I walked her around the pond behind the hotel.  A middle-aged Aboriginal lady asked the time and since my cell phone was at the church for the music it was the first time I hadn't known in a really long time.  Lily talked to Emily and asked her how she was and Emily went and held her hand for a minute.  The man sitting with Lily asked how "mom" (that's me) was doing because "they cared about mom too"  - it was so reminiscent of the walks I used to make with my grandfather.  People would always come up to him and talk about anything and soon it felt like they had known each other forever.  Everyone was a friend for Grandpa - just waiting to be discovered. 

The music at the church wasn't the orchestra I would have wanted for him but it was the familiar songs that he would have played loudly on the record player.  We walked in to "Shall we gather at the River" and I can hear him singing it.  Aunty Betty went first with the Eulogy. She referenced how my grandpa used to always have a quote when he would write cards to us and he did.  I treasured those cards and the thoughtfulness he put into the words he chose.  Bets settled on Winnie-the-Pooh and friends to help weave her story about the man my grandfather was.  She talked about how he was a wealthy man - not in money perhaps but in all the ways that truly count.  I think of how some of my medical colleagues talk about how they can't afford things and I am baffled that I had a childhood where I felt like I wanted for nothing on a far more meager salary in my grandparents' home.  She talked about his faith, his work ethic, his love of music and his gratitude.  That he certainly has instilled in all of us - we can credit him for that.  How thankful he was for everything he had here in Canada, all the people he met, the food on his table and the faith in his heart.  Bets did such a good job or representing what Grandpa meant to her and in turn what he meant to all of us.  My dad read a piece that he had written a few months ago about my Grandpa and how he was preparing for his chapter beyond this life.  It centred around the hymn Blessed Assurance which we sang subsequent to that and all of us were holding hands and bawling.  The soprano just couldn't do it on that one - the music caught in my throat. 

My cousin Syd, who seems to have grown up suddenly into a man and a dad, read my grandpa's favourite scripture reading and we all watched the slideshow together, again in tears.  My second cousins on my Grandpa's side laughed about how my aunties on my grandma's side cooed at my grandpa's picture from younger days but you can't blame them - he was a looker.  At the end the pastor spoke and shared some personal stories about Grandpa where he also got choked up and had a hard time getting his words out too.  That is how beloved my grandfather was - not just by his family but by everyone that knew him.  The pastors words meant a lot to all of us.   

After the service we had some refreshments downstairs at Eden church which feels the same as when I was a little girl.  My dad's siblings had come to pay their respects as well as other people I had meant through a lifetime of loving my grandparents - neighbours, fellow residents at the senior estates, quilters, church workers and extended family.  It was nice to be around people who knew what a gem of a person we had lost.  After the service Emily was so hyper after hours of being quiet (and she did it - Hallelujah!)  She ran around the hall downstairs and my second cousin lifted her high to touch the ceiling just like I remember his dad doing to us when we were small.  Kyle (Kelly's boyfriend) dared Emily to get a pickle from the kitchen after they were put away and darned if she wasn't all up for a dare (she nailed it - did I mention this Kyle guy seems great).  She then helped the old guys stack the chairs and rolled each circular table to its place with a different Henry at Eden but I felt the Henry I knew smiling in approval - cleaning up after services like that was often his job and seeing Emily take that torch with such gusto was very heartwarming.   

We went back to the hotel exhausted and ate in a haphazard grazing-type fashion at the hotel restaurant and they lovingly accomodated us.  It was nice to be together after such an exhausting heart-heavy day.  Even though we don't see each other often it was nice to so easily take comfort in each other.  That is again the legacy of love that my grandparents left.  Despite all the hardship that they saw in their life they poured love into us til our cups runneth over.    How blessed I was to love them both so much and be loved so completely.  How thankful I am for having them in my life, for having them at my wedding, for their love of my husband, for their cuddles of my children.  How brave they were to take the lives that were handed them and mould it into something so beautiful and kind and generous.  I have a different knowledge of grief now as I have had such a loss in my life - but how lucky I am to feel this loss because I was loved and loved so much.

Grandpa's Memorial

My Grandpa

My grandfather passed away this past week.  He had just turned 90. 

I told Keith several years ago that when my grandfather passes away I will be a mess.  True to form – I did not disappoint.  Keith will turn in a corner in our house and I will be at the computer with tears streaming down my face.  Emily told me “Mom, I’m a little sad about your grandpa too – you can share my grandpa if you want.” And Cian slept on the floor beside my bed the night I found out and when I got up and went downstairs when I couldn’t sleep he woke up and followed me.  Despite my Grandpa reaching his milestone birthday a few weeks ago and having the opportunity to spend time with him just a short time before he passed away I can’t help feeling a little lost without him.

Losing my grandpa feels different than when we lost my grandma a few years ago.  We all stood at her grave wounded like we had witnessed a trauma.   Even though she died of cancer in her 80s it was shocking and felt unfair to lose her so quickly and violently.  My grandpa has faded without her.  In some ways we lost them together and now I just feel the aching pain of the finality of it all.  The two people that cradled my childhood are gone.   Despite watching them age in front of me I have never seen them as old.  They are still in their 50s in my head; strong and working in the garden.  My grandfather chasing me around with his shirt off – hanging me upside down as I shove raspberries or a plum in my mouth.  I think of our long walks as he bestowed the wisdom of a lifetime of hardship and adversity which never hardened him.  No matter where we walked someone would come up to him and be touched by his kind spirit –it was infectious. 

I have been planning some of the music for his funeral this week and I keep being drawn to songs from the Muppet Show, which seemed so strange and inappropriate but they kept coming up nonetheless.  Then I finally realized that we used to watch the Muppet Show after Wheel of Fortune.  I have memories of being fresh from the bath and sitting on his lap as the opening song would come on the TV in the little TV room- cosied up all together.  How lucky I was to have a childhood full of cosy memories and feelings like that.

Grandpa always had music playing in the house; usually loud hymns on the record player in the living room.  He usually made a joyful noise J.  When my mom called to tell me he passed away that’s exactly what I did – loud hymns and baking – it was like they were with me.  Poor Keith when I woke him up at 0730am insisting I was in desperate need of more eggs.

When I was a little girl my Grandpa used to get up really early to go work at the hospital and would be back mid-afternoon for tea time with my Grandma and I in the backyard garden.  When I would visit him at the hospital everyone clearly loved and respected him very much.  When I would get hurt, as children are wont to do – especially me, he would put his glasses on and sit me up on the bathroom counter, take out the hydrogen peroxide and the Q-tips and clean whatever wound I had gotten myself into.  So, of course, as a child I thought my grandpa was a doctor.  And I wanted to grow up to be everything he was.  I work at the operating room table instead of cleaning the operating room floor and I am liked in my job but I hope that one day I have the love and respect that my grandfather had in the hospital – by the doctors, nurses, everyone.  That kind of reverence comes from a lifetime of character and I hope to keep plugging away at it.  Mostly I want to do him proud.  The opportunities provided to me that he couldn’t even dream about – the divide is not lost on me and I am so very thankful for every opportunity as a grandchild of refugees.

Character is the defining feature of my grandfather.  He knew who he was and he made deliberate choices to be the kind of man that we all loved and respected.  He did not take the easy road.  He cultivated his faith and it truly was his foundation.  So much of my faith in God is because of how I watched God move in him.  He had tremendous compassion for all people.  He was Christ’s example in my life.  He was the example of a loving family man I searched for and found in a life partner.  He was my hero and I miss him terribly and I am so thankful to have had him in my life for 35 years. 

Rest in Peace Grandpa.  Picturing you and Grandma in Heaven together gives me such comfort.  We all love and miss you very much.