Hey Dad, Let's Talk 2| One Whole Winter to Go |
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The majority of the letter is about her back problems (due to a break she had a few years prior) and how because an acquaintance with a similar surgery had fully recovered, she hoped to recover in the same amount of time as he. This despite the fact that he was a middle-aged man and she is elderly. She ended the letter with the following statement of exclamation: "If I make it, I should be better by next spring! One whole winter to go!" I immediately choked up as I read that. She wished away the last year of her life. That entire year she spent just waiting to be rid of her walker (which she was loath to use), longing insatiably to be strong again. Most of the time she leaned on Grandpa's arm everywhere they went instead of using the walker, which was physically taxing for him. She obsessed about her health and talked incessantly about it to her children and grandchildren; each time as though it was the first time she'd ever mentioned it to anyone. But I quickly grew to know it all by heart. I missed the days when she had new stories to share with me, when her letters had held new information about her life. I missed her. See, I love my grandma dearly; adore her. She was my spiritual mentor growing up and to this day I continue to strive to be like her in many ways: she read the Bible faithfully every day, spent great amounts of time in prayer, lips always full of hymns and praise for the Lord, meditative thoughts about God always on the tip of her tongue. And she never hestitated to share the Gospel with complete strangers on the street either, something I seldom have the courage to do. But in these latter years she became more and more obsessed about her failing health and her gradual loss of self-sufficiency. No doubt a natural grieving process for anyone. But she just could not and would not accept it. Despite being in her early eighties, she thought (hoped) she would stop needing the walker by the end of that winter; that she would be able to start up a home daycare again (something she had done for many many years until her mid-seventies); that she would be young again, essentially. She kept thinking, as soon as my back is healed and I can walk, I can enjoy life again. But by the end of the following year, (just over a year and a half since she wrote that letter to me), she was admitted into a nursing home, in a wheelchair, in the throes of dementia. In the movie "Click " with Adam Sandler, a poignant example of the consequences of fast-forwarding your life is portrayed. The protagonist, Sandler, was so obsessed with climbing the corporate ladder to riches and fame that he became a workaholic and unwittingly sacrificed his family in the process. A mad scientist of sorts named Morty, gives him a universal remote which enables him to fast-forward his life to get to where he dreams of being. At first he uses it to skip through drawn-out family dinners and get-togethers so that he can get back to work; but soon the remote takes over without his consent and begins fast-forwarding through the majority of his days, through months and then shockingly through entire years. Despite his panic at this, he is unable to stop the fast-forwarding. He pleads with Morty, saying, (and I paraphrase), "Why would you curse me with this remote? I can't make it stop!" The response was simple yet profound: "You were fast-forwarding your life long before I gave you the remote." In the end he gained all the riches and fame he'd coveted and longed for obsessively, but his neglected wife eventually divorced him and his children became complete strangers. Even as I write this I realize how insidious the fast-forwarding mindset really is. It takes a different form with each unique person and I am no exception. For one it might be longing for a particular career or success; for another, a happy marriage or starting a family; for another health, recognition or validation, weight-loss, or a vacation. It could be anything in the near or distant future which we believe we can't be happy without; or can't be happy until. I remember once as a kid innocently remarking during the cold months of winter, "I can't wait for summer!" My dad responded with, "Don't wish your life away." It has stuck with me ever since. I can't count the number of times I've begun to say, "I can't wait until--" only to be reminded of his words. I think we all more or less struggle with this at some point in our lives; or even regularly throughout our lives. And like my grandmother, it doesn't usually imprison us overnight. It's not like one day she was full of the joy of the Lord, and the next full of unhappiness. It was very gradual, so gradual as to be imperceptible until it was full-blown. She put her life on hold and was unable to redeem it. Sadly, we often aren't aware of discontentment until we're already submerged in it. Usually there is a string of justifications along the way. But how does this even happen to an intelligent and faithful Christian? It's the indulging of one little discontent thought here, then another there, until they compound over time into an overwhelming feeling of limbo. Paralyzed in the present; grasping at (what we hope to be) the better future. This is why we must be conscious of holding every thought captive to the obedience of Christ (2 Corinthians 10:5) and giving thanks in all circumstances (1 Thessalonians 5:18). King David said in Psalm 19:14, "May the words of my mouth and the meditations of my heart be pleasing in your sight, O Lord, my Rock and my Redeemer." There was one particular line in the movie Click which really resonated with me. It was in reference to the Lucky Charms leprechaun and I'll share it in closing: "He's always chasing the pot of gold, but when he gets there, at the end of the day, it's just corn flakes." RELATED ARTICLES:
(c) 2011 - Bekah Ferguson Permissions: By all means, you are welcome to reproduce and distribute my articles in excerpts or complete format as long as you don't change any of the wording. If you do reproduce any part of my articles, please include the following information: by Bekah Ferguson, Ontario, Canada. www.bekahferguson.com Licensed under Creative Commons.
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The other day I was putting away some cards and letters in my "sentimental box" and it happened to be too full, so I flipped through some stacks to see what was all there. I noticed a letter from my grandmother and decided to read it because she stopped writing letters to me a couple years ago and I missed them. It turns out this particular letter was the last letter she ever wrote to me.
