Holding on

I've sat down to write this post a few times and I walk away. Sometimes I walk away because I don't have the right words. Sometimes I walk away because I can't see the screen through the tears.  
My Grandma Dahlke took a terrible fall. Down a flight of stairs. It was traumatic, to say the least.  She is banged up, to say the least. The decision was made to put her on hospice care. She is 94 and not in a condition that would warrant surgeries or additional interventions.  
Behind the facts of the situation is a sadness that is so deep.  I can't really describe the loss.  I don't know that any words can really express the breadth of influence she has had on me, personally. It is too far and too deep.  I love her dearly and I know she loves me because she has said it over and and over and shown it in a million different ways over my life.  She is a constant presence, my cheerleader, the best story teller, and wise. Oh so wise.  Nothing has been off the table to talk about and you don't go 94 years without learning a few things.

I spent last weekend at home with her and some other family members.  As she laid in her bed in the living room, she reached for hands to hold.  Her hands fascinated me.  They have done so much over 94 years.  I thought about all the times they cared for me.  The times she took my hands in hers to reassure me, to grab me and hug me, to help me.  And as she grabbed onto each persons' hand as they sat with her, I needed to preserve those hands.  

My mom, mine and Autumn's hands.

My Grandma Koller.

My dad's huge hand holding on to his momma.

My mom, who has cared for her for so many years, caring still.

Dan

Karen

Me.

Gabe

Seth

Grace.

Cory Luke

Autumn

Liz

We are all having a hard time with the thought of her not being with us anymore.  When someone is so deeply woven into the fabric of your years, those threads don't want to let go.  

I don't want to let her go.  

The best kind of strong.

I was talking with my little sister the other day and we were talking about how hard it is to really share what has caused us pain either in our past or currently.  She is part of a really awesome church and has an awesome small group she is getting to know.  Part of having a group of people you trust and care for is really knowing each other, which often means letting them in on our life experiences. The life experiences that hurt us and inevitably shaped us.
It's just hard, we said.  Hard to trust people with those feelings. My rockstar sister is the "I'm good" girl.  She makes me look like a pansy.  She will carry on and mosey from day to day without letting on that she may be wrecked inside.  No one will know she is weighed down with this or that.  She feels guilty letting people in on her pain.  She doesn't want to bother anyone.  Some would say she is strong and she is, but learning to trust takes a whole other level of strong.
As a child, she was labeled as dramatic, and for years, was not able to shake that.  She believed she was, but in reality, and what we can see now, is her feelings outweighed her ability to manage them. Which, shockingly, is normal.  She still struggles with that label though and rather than share real, valuable emotions and feelings, it seems safer to keep those to herself.  
I think we all do that to some degree.  Not everyone gets let in and I think that's ok, but guilt that we don't want others to be bothered with it isn't the thing that should be holding us back from sharing.  She is learning to let go of that label now.  And it's beautiful to watch.   Being dramatic invokes thoughts of acting or stages or pretend emotions.  Nothing about this is pretend.  She and I, both, FEEL.  ALOT. We can't undo that part of ourselves, but learning how to manage those and share those are a struggle and a necessity.  I'm so proud of her.  Being ten years apart did not give us a childhood together, but I can say that having her as a friend as an adult is such a gift.  She is the best kind of strong.