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For Grandma

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Ruth-2

We lost my Grandma, Ruth Intagliata, on January 2, 2015. She was just shy of her 91st birthday.

At her funeral, we gathered together, to mourn, of course, but also to celebrate a larger-than-life life. She was surrounded by family, friends and beautiful flowers. We sang her favorite songs and told our favorite stories. She was laid to rest amidst rolling hills, grand trees and a perfect sense of peace.

In tribute to this life well lived and loved, and in honor of all grandmas everywhere, I raise my glass and my heart in gratitude.

Thank you for ice packs and boo kisses.
Thank you for extra frosting.
Thank you for horsey rides.
Thank you for toys and tea parties.
Thank you for saving our letters and artwork.
Thank you for being the extra cheerleader on the sideline and the extra seat at graduation.
Thank you for zoo days and movie nights.
Thank you for sleepovers and negotiable bedtimes.
Thank you for backyard adventures.
Thank you for being gentle.
Thank you for extra hugs and extra cookies.
Thank you for patty cakes and itsy bitsy spiders.
Thank you for holding our tiny hands, even when they weren’t so tiny anymore.
Thank you for teaching us how to be elegant.
Thank you for uniting cousins.
Thank you for desserts for dinner.
Thank you for not being afraid to be silly.
Thank you for taking all of those pictures.
Thank you for praising our successes and encouraging our dreams.
Thank you for loving us even when we weren’t so lovable.
Thank you for your devotion.
Thank you for extra loud renditions of Happy Birthday.
Thank you for reminding us of our roots.
Thank you for boasting.
Thank you for helping us learn new things, like how to bake.
Thank you for helping us learn important things, like how to be kind.
Thank you for your patience.
Thank you for reminding us that unconditional love makes a family.
Thank you for helping us put on our capes.
Thank you for believing in our brilliance.

KID

A Grandparent’s Time

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This past weekend I had the chance to visit my three grandparents.

Lucky me to be 38 years old and still have three grandparents to visit.

It was a quick but concentrated 36 hours of surprise, serenity and sweet moments.

My Grandpa, Grandma and Granny are 92, 90 and 84 respectively. The life in those years is truly without measure.

During these visits we sat, we held hands and we talked. There weren’t distractions or responsibilities. All I wanted was to see them and spend time with them. Our time together wasn’t anything more than sitting on the couch, across a table, or in a chair next to the bed. We talked about the past, we talked about my family and I showed them a lot of photos that were met with smiles and wonder.

The last few years have been tough on each of them in unique ways. Certainly the challenges that come along for our loved ones late in their lives often command the rest of us to soften toward them and appreciate them in new ways.

In my moments and conversations with my grandparents this weekend I made a few observations.

I noticed that time seemed to slow way, way down, almost to the point of standing still. And I wanted it that way.

Our words were chosen very carefully, but also very easily and honestly. I found myself yearning to remember every single word that was exchanged.

I appreciated how patient we were with each other. Questions that were misunderstood were repeated and extra time was given for consideration and answer.

And the answers themselves were interesting and, more importantly, valuable.

I noticed that our hugs were longer and tighter.

We unabashedly stared into each other’s eyes.

I was overwhelmed with nostalgia and memories.

There was a heartwarming tenderness that blanketed these moments. It felt like sunshine on my face.

My grandparents have given me so much of their lives over the course of mine. But in this visit they gave me the best gift of all—their time.

The real kind of time.

The kind of time that is slow and patient. The kind of time that calls for longer and tighter hugs. The kind of time in which we look at each other, really look at each other. The handholding kind of time. The tender kind of time. The kind of time without distraction or to-dos or frenzy. The kind of time that beckons us to never, ever forget the moment.

It’s the only kind of time that truly matters. And it’s the kind of time we all deserve, especially by those who love us the most.

We live in a crazy world. Our conversations are harried and hurried. We interrupt, we talk over each other, and we ask questions without sometimes even wanting to know the answers. We listen with one ear, but with the other ear we strain to hear the beep of our phones, the cries of our kids or the conversations around us. We look beyond each other, rather than at each other. We have one step in and one step out. We divide and conquer. We multitask in our days, in our relationships and in our moments with each other.

So, in honor and in thanks to my grandparents, I promise to try to be better with my time. I promise to try to be more present. I promise to try to slow down. I promise less distraction. I promise to try for more patience. And more tenderness.

I promise to try to be better at giving a better kind of time.

It’s the least, but also the very best, I can do.

KID

The heart of a lion, the heart of a mom

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A lion sleeps in the heart of every brave man. –Turkish Proverb

Thirteen years ago, my mom and I participated in a three-day walk from Fort Collins to Boulder, Colorado, in support of breast cancer awareness. The total route was sixty miles, averaging around twenty miles a day. We walked in the very hot and sunny days of August and we camped in tents each night. It was more grueling and demanding than I ever imagined it would be and many of the participants had trouble even completing each day.

My mom and I trekked along our journey with determination and resilience. Or, I should say, my mom trekked along our journey with determination and resilience. I was 24 and believed I was invincible.

Unfortunately, on Day 3, my mom injured her foot and had difficulty putting weight on it. The twenty miles ahead of us seemed at the least, daunting, and at the most, impossible. But my mom was steadfast in her determination to finish what we started months before in preparation and fundraising efforts. She decided she was going to cross that finish line and nothing stood in the way of her grit and resolve. One foot in front of the other. Step by step. For the last couple of miles I held her arm and bore some of her weight as the pain began to overwhelm her.

But we forged ahead, both of us reduced to tears, and eventually we crossed the finish line together. It was an incredible moment and a day I will never, ever forget. It was a genuine triumph earned in a genuine way—with hard work and fortitude of body, mind and character.

Almost exactly ten years later to the day, my mom was diagnosed with ovarian cancer. She has since undergone multiple surgeries, hospital stays and four rounds of chemotherapy. She has lost her hair twice. She has endured an emotional and physical roller coaster of good news and bad news, of good days and bad days.

Since her diagnosis, I’ve often thought about the day we walked.

I remember it as her lion heart day.

I saw first hand her incredible fighting spirit. I watched her dig deep, hold her head high and keep on keeping on. I remember being so proud of her and so impressed by her and so wishful that I had a little of that lion heart somewhere inside of me.

Today she is on a different kind of a walk. A longer and harder walk. The hills are steeper and the terrain is rougher.

But that same lion heart is there.

I see that fighting spirit and resolve and determination. I see her dig deep, hold her head high and keep on keeping on. She has been put to test upon test upon test and she always comes out standing, ready to forge ahead. One foot in front of the other. One step at a time.

On this Mother’s Day, I celebrate that fighting spirit that I see in my mom. I celebrate the lion heart in her and the lion heart that she’s helped me find in me.

Whenever I’m put to the test, whenever I know I have to dig deep and find reserves I didn’t even know I had, I thank my mom. It’s one of the best gifts she’s ever given me. And it’s one of the reasons why it is such an honor to have shared every day of my life with her.

Today I raise a glass to my mom and to all of the lion hearted moms out there.

I applaud your fighting spirit, your resolve and your grace. For it’s not the snuggles or the soccer games that band us together. It’s the times when Life brings us to our knees but we stand up and start again. It’s the time when our strong, brave hearts help us to forge ahead even though it feels like we need to surrender.

Today I celebrate that resilience and strength and having the know how to know how.

A lion sleeps in the heart of every brave man. And every mother.

Happy Mother’s Day, Mom. I love you.

K

An Ode to a Grandma

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Today is my Grandma’s 90th birthday. And today, I raise a glass to her and to grandmas everywhere.

2013 MomandDad Xmas

God bless grandmas. There is no love like a grandma’s love. No flair like a grandma’s flair. And there is no genius like her genius. Every grandma has a unique and brilliant recipe for life. And if you’re lucky like me, she passes a little bit of that wisdom down the line.

Ruth Vassel was born on February 15, 1924, in St. Louis, Missouri. She was one of five children. She married my Grandpa, Frank Intagliata, on April 22, 1944. They will be married 70 years this year. They have three children, five grandchildren and four great grandchildren.

Ruth

My Grandma is a true gem for countless reasons. But here are my favorites:

She loves to dance. Anytime. Anywhere. And with anyone. Or with no one at all. When I think of her, I think of her dancing. We all could use a little more dancing.

She makes the world’s best bottomless ice cream sodas.

I wrote a silly poem for her when I was young. She framed it and displayed it in her family room.

A great portion of my childhood was spent posing for pictures for her camera, much to my chagrin (as is shown in many of the pictures). Today, those pictures are some of my most prized possessions. She knew exactly what she was doing and that some day I’d thank her for it. And I did. And I do every time I look through those albums.

She sent the very best care packages to me when I was in college. Always at the time I needed them most–not for the items but for a reminder that someone far away was thinking of me. And she never forgot my roommates.

I once told her I loved Mike and Ikes and green Extra gum. For years, I received regular shipments of Costco-sized portions of both.

She sent me rolls of quarters for laundry even after I graduated from law school.

She always made sure that my letters addressed to “G & G” were to be interpreted as being addressed to “Grandma & Grandpa,” and not the other way around.

She has been a huge part of my life, at every turn. At every birthday, at every swim meet, at every graduation. There are few life events I can remember without her.

I feel so supremely blessed to know that she has met all three of my boys.

She always says I am her favorite granddaughter. Never mind I am her only granddaughter.

She calls me her angel. And she makes me feel like I really am one. But if you met her, she’d call you an angel too. Because that’s the kind of person she is.

She sees an angel in everyone.

How lucky I am to have a grandma like that.

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God bless all grandmas. But on this day, especially mine. She’s the very best kind of a one of a kind.

Happy Birthday Gram. I love you.

K