I Never Want to Forget

  It is late and my house is still. I am overcome at this moment with such strong reminders of my grandmothers because of a movie I just finished.

  As time goes on and our world shifts from one generation to the next everything slowly or quickly changes ~ sort of. In some ways things never change. There is always war, famine, grief, loss, crime. There is always people who want more, people who want power, people who are so incredibly evil. There are also babies born ready for love, there is overflowing joy, there are men and woman who work hard every day, day in and day out, doing the mundane, the tedious, to provide for their families and their hearts are always hope filled. They instill beauty and the light of dreams in their children's hearts because the light of hopes, and dreams, is how we keep on.

 I never want to forget where I have come from.

    I remember my great grandfather clearly. He died when I was about five or maybe six but I remember how handsome and elegant and kind I thought he was. I felt a certain awe around him. I remember his voice on the phone and the view from his living room window. I remember sitting at his dining room table and eating lunch. He fought in the First World War but in the Second World War he was in parliament. His sons fought in the Second World War ~ well his oldest son did. His youngest son (for he had just the two sons), my grandfather, went from Vancouver to Winnipeg to train for the Navy, but the war ended just before he was shipped out. While there however, at the tender age of eighteen or nineteen, he met my grandmother at a canteen and they were married. The war brought them together. They would have never met if not for that. This was my mother's parents.

  I did not meet my father's father ~ my grandfather. He was eighteen when he left Canada for Europe to fight. He fought through the entire war for our freedom. When he arrived home he married my granny who had been faithfully waiting for him. They went on to have eight living children. My grandfather died before I was born. He suffered because of his experiences. His heart was hurt I think from the pain and trauma of his war experiences and he died of a heart attack when his youngest son was just eleven. My great grandfather on my father's side I also did not get to meet but he also fought in World War One.

  My maternal grandmother grew up on a farm that was lost during The Great Depression. She grew up without electricity and her father drove a horse and buggy to town. When their farm was auctioned off and they had to move they took their radio cabinet and a mirror as reminders. I have the radio cabinet in my house today. I can imagine they must have spent hours gathered around it during the war listening to all the sadness and horror going on in the world and yet holding onto hope. One of my grandmother's wishes she told me one special day, was that she would not be forgotten, that somehow she would remain in our hearts after she was gone. She wanted to be remembered.

 My paternal grandmother grew up in the very town I live in now. She went to elementary school just down the road from the last house I lived in. She wanted to be a nurse and started pursuing that, however her mother became ill and so she went home to take care of her. She never got to be a nurse. She was a woman of incredible strength of spirit. She gave and gave and gave of herself. She was creative and kind and yet fierce. She went through much loss, sadness, and I imagine her marriage hurt her deeply as her husband was so wounded inside. Yet she remained faithful to the end and never remarried.

 I feel like deep down I always knew what treasures my grandmothers were. I spent many hours with them growing up. I could see how they struggled, how their lives were, and I saw their choices to remind strong, to remain vibrant, to give of themselves, to serve. I saw their hearts to love even when loving was hard or they did not receive love in return. I saw them live simply, creatively, using their talents and gifts. I saw them cook, bake, can, preserve. I saw them sew, knit, serve the public. Each of them was known by name in their town by almost every one on the streets when we went for walks. I am so thankful that inside of me I feel their love still because I really do.

  I want to challenge you to look back to your history. Not all of mine is good, not at all. There is much abuse, sadness, trauma, anxiety and the list is quite endless. However I want to choose to be gracious with myself in regards to the struggles I face because of my history and also focus on the ones who went before me, fought for my freedom, loved me before they knew me, and who loved me beautifully while they were with me. I also want to remember that all those parts of those people, both good and bad, are in me! I want to give the best parts of them to my children. Lately in my struggles I have been forgetting who I truly am and who has gone before me.

I write this because I miss them, I remember them, I hold them before me as a reminder that no matter how I feel inside, now matter how hard I think things are, they hold me up as they are my foundation. They are why I am here and I am grateful to be here. My job is as theirs was ~ to love, to serve, to give, to be creative, to stand for freedom, justice, to hold fast to my faith, and to not give up. They showed this to me clearly and I will not forget.



xo