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Sweet Reunions

We coined it the “German Invasion”. My Mom’s brother has been here for the last week with his daughter, her fourth child, his son and daughter in law and their twin daughters. They were all here from Germany for the youngest children to become American citizens.

I can now update my Grandmother’s yellow notepad where she listed all her great-grandchildren and their citizenship status. It was always important to her that all her great-grandchildren obtain their American citizenship duly awarded to them by my Uncle’s natural born citizenship and 30+ years living here before moving to Germany to pursue his career. Though they have lived across the pond we are connected by blood and now we are all American citizens. My Grandmother would have celebrated this rite of passage with her forth, fifth and sixth great-grandchildren born in Germany.

Aside from my Uncle, this has been the first visit for the rest of my family from Germany since my Grandmother died. We were anxious, to put it mildly. How would this feel without our matriarch? Can my Mother and my Uncle carry on their Mother’s legacy the way she would want? Can they keep the bow tied, beautifully bonding this family that has been parted by the Atlantic for so many years? This visit had a purpose; citizenship. But even more personally we each needed to know that the ties that bind go far beyond a grave.

I cannot imagine the difficult and emotional choices my Uncle and my Grandparents made years ago when he moved to Germany for what has proven to be a wise decision as he achieved world wide success. We are now spoiled by free email, Facebook and Skype that keeps us all connected. Over the years as long distance became affordable my Grandmother spoke to her son almost daily and she looked forward to his calls, receiving updates on the day to day life of her grandchildren and her great-grandchildren. One week before she died we had arranged a surprise Skype with my cousin, his wife and her 11month old twin great-grandchildren. It was the first and last time she saw them in anything more than still pictures. She barely spoke. She just smiled and stared with happiness that lit up the room. I remember my cousin asking if she could hear them speaking and see the girls. I reassured him that she was watching the screen and was simply speechless in her joy. I will never forget sitting beside her in front of the computer screen that Tuesday morning.

Her presence has been with us over the last couple of weeks. We have laughed at things she would have said. We have tearfully noted her absence and joyfully relished in the knowledge that family remains family, no matter the distance. She formed bonds that will withstand the forces of any tide. We found healing with each other.

She would be happy. She would be beyond happy to see her family together, celebrating another generation, celebrating American citizenship for her great-grandchildren. She would be beyond happy watching her grandchildren and her great-grandchildren getting reacquainted with each other and fall in love with family. She would be beyond happy to see that we are living out love the way she taught us, not letting water separate the love that she bore.

It makes me happy, that in her absence, she is still calling the shots in this family.

© Gatewood Campbell, July 2013

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About Me

It has taken me a long time to find the strength to update my bio without including my role as a granddaughter. I grasp the concept that my Grandmother no longer answers the phone when I call, but her voice, her wit, her style and her legacy are with me each day. My days with her changed my life forever and she would want me to use that for good, for myself and for others. So, here it is….the updated bio about me…

Call me a wife, call me a mom, call me a daughter and call me a friend. I’m closing in on 40 and have reached that point in life where we look back at where we thought life would take us, compare that to where we are and focus our sights on what is next. My future holds the fast paced life with a high schooler and a high energy elementary student. Our boys keep us expecting the unexpected with their love of life and desire to divert from the crowd and be themselves. I am one proud mama!

I’m self-sufficient, independent and I don’t like change. I prefer the organized to the unorganized and I like to have a plan. Ten years ago, with 2 beautiful boys, our family was complete. I was ready to take on the next chapter in my life. I made my health a priority and rid my body of an unnecessary 75 lbs. I had a goal, I had a plan and I lost the weight…and I have kept it off for 9 years. After that, I decided to run a half marathon. I had a goal, I had a plan, and I ran 13.1 miles. Ready for more of a challenge, I decided to run a full marathon. Goal, plan, 26.2 miles; done. Clearly there was a consistency in my approach to life. I moved on in my career too. I was finally developing and running my own programs. I felt like I was on the verge of really blossoming in every area of my life. And then…I had to run an errand for a project at work. I walked into Target, and was later taken out on a gurney. I slipped and fell in the store. My head suffered the impact of my fall. I woke up in the hospital. That was the first of several ambulance rides that year. That fall was over 8 years ago. The results of my errand to Target will stay with me for the rest of my life. I was diagnosed with a Mild Traumatic Brain Injury and eventually developed Post Traumatic Epilepsy, both due to a simple fall in the trashcan aisle.

Since then I have learned to live without a plan. I have learned to live with the unexpected. I have learned there is power in asking for help and there is power in accepting help. There is a greater power in taking the difficult experiences, turning them right side up and paying it forward in a positive way. I’ve learned that adjustment is a necessity. Since that day in Target, I walked away from my career and embraced a life that is full of all that matters most. I flow freely between wife, mom and daughter. I have completed 9 half marathons and 4 full marathons. Through many of those races I raised thousands of dollars to benefit the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society and the Epilepsy Therapy Project. I’m evolving into an advocate for epilepsy awareness by sharing my own experiences and learning from those who have been where I am.

I have a brain injury and I have epilepsy but they will never define me and they will not limit me from setting big goals. I have learned to adjust and I have learned to change. Change can be eternalIy powerful if we use it correctly. I have learned the positive value of embracing change and remind myself to be thankful everyday for the gift of seeing the sun in the sky and walking (even running) on my own two feet.

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© Gatewood Campbell, July 2013

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What Are We Wading For?

Our family was on vacation recently on the Gulf Coast of Florida. I love the beach, but I particularly love the Gulf Coast. The powder white sand is as gentle as snow flurries and the clear blue water takes my breath away. North Carolina beaches are fun for body surfing and boogie boarding, but the Gulf Coast waters just scream out “come in for a swim.” Why? Because the water is calm and clear so we can see what we are getting ourselves into.

We have all said to ourselves at one time or another that if we only knew what to expect next or what the future holds, life would be easier. The age old questions of what next and when next? The Gulf Coast clear blue water invites us to dive deep with all our might. I watched people kayak out so far they were barely larger than ants to the naked eye. People swam out farther than they could stand, climbed on floats and drifted gently with the surf. Carefree; because they knew what the immediate future held. They could see it before it came. They could retreat or remain adrift. In North Carolina most people stay about waist deep in the water, if that far. We have all stepped on too many fish, been tangled in seaweed or fishing line, and had too many “who knows what in the world that was” nip at our legs in the dark pounding surf to wade out very far. The North Carolina coastal waters hold secrets. It could be the desired fish lingering near bait we have cast into the waves or it could be the stingray we have seen pictures of and never wanted to see in person. It might be the perfect safe water we want, but we only wade in knee deep just because we see a reflection of what might be or might have been.

I began to see a striking parallel in life as I watched people along the Gulf Coast. The water that reaches the sand in North Carolina and the panhandle of Florida ultimately all comes from the same source, yet our approach is entirely different. In life we often timidly face our future based on our past. We’ve all been hurt at an unexpected time in an unexpected way and our defenses stay in protective mode for far too long. We’ve experienced losses of people, of jobs, of homes, of friendships or of our health and unconsciously we retreat. If our future was clear, clean and transparent, we would sprint forward and dive in, head first.

The source of life is always the same. God allows our first breath and He remains the source of our breath until He doesn’t allow it anymore. Yet we want to take control. Our instinct is to insist on holding the reigns and steering into a known path. In the same beautiful vision of our toes in the water on the Gulf Coast, God sees our toes in any water, even when they sink into the polluted muddy shores of Lake Norman. Why do we find it so hard to trust His perfect eyes and the plan that has been filtered through our Creator’s hands? How many times must He refine us before we sprint in, dive in deeper than we can stand and just float on His promises?

I don’t have the answer, but I want to be a person who can completely trust Him to guide me into waters he has cleaned for me, or promises He will cleanse for me. I want to be a person who knows it is better to give back the reigns that were never mine to try to grasp. I want to face life with the same confidence that we walk into the Gulf Coast water, knowing that the one who gave me my first breath will bring me through harsh currents and rip tides until I can carelessly remain adrift, floating on His promises from Romans 8:28 “to work everything for the good of those that love Him”.

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Copyright © Gatewood Campbell, July 2013

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Looks the same, Doesn’t work the same

Frustration. It comes and goes. It comes less frequently now, but when it arrives, its head is ugly and upsetting. My definition of a brain injury is that everything looks the same, but it doesn’t work the same.

I challenged myself this week to step outside my comfort zone and try something different. There are so many things I want to do but I know I’m not cut out for the task so I step aside. Other times I feel like I need to try, to push my limits and see where the line is drawn. I’m usually ok in a group to do just about anything. With a group, when I get confused there is always someone to help me, someone to cover for me, or someone that knows I might just need a little extra time or instruction. When I’m on my own, it’s all me.

This week I took a bold step to volunteer at church to help at VBS. Justin is working games, Hunter is helping lead worship, and the mom in me finds it hard to drop the boys off, with 300+ kids, and not try to help. Sometimes I feel guilt telling me I don’t help enough, sometimes I hear a voice just begging me to try. So this week I tried. Monday went ok. I couldn’t be there Tuesday so yesterday I was back in my assigned place. All was going fine until I was asked to change gears and help fill in a spot where more help was needed. The age group was bulging at the seams and they asked me to help with their snacks and crafts. Ah…..

Ok, to start with I simply don’t do crafts. It’s not in my genes. When I was in the Elementary church choir my mom had to make my own costume. I will never forget her telling me to lie down very still on the fabric while she traced my body on the fabric. She doubled it over and cut the fabric along the lines and sewed the two pieces together. My belt was a shoe string. I thought my costume was fantastic…until I showed up to dress rehearsal and saw everyone else’s costumes. Clearly my mother and I yielded ALL creative ability to my Uncle and his children, as they are artistically gifted in monumental portions and we are not.

Back to VBS…when I was asked to help elsewhere, everything in my servant heart wanted to, but the immediate swelling in my throat and rushed heart beat was screaming NO! How do I look at someone and say “I can’t”? They won’t understand me, I look able bodied but I knew as my brain began spinning inside my head this could not end well. I explained that I would try, and a gentle but confused face met my comment. My brain kept spinning and wondering what to do. I saw Justin and asked him for help. How desperate must I be? I’m 39 years old asking my 14 year old what to do in the face of a simple request to change direction? I felt like the 3 year olds who needed more help. Justin was sincere but stern “Mom, you can’t do that. You have to tell someone you can’t.” Oh, how I hate these moments when I can sense the physical symptoms emerging from the darkness of a brain injury and I know I have met my limit. I know I look the same, but things don’t work the same anymore.

I was alone. I wasn’t with a group that could explain, I wasn’t with a group that could cover for me and I wasn’t with a group that could pick up my slack. The people around me don’t know my brain has been hurt and I hate having to say it. I had to look at someone who hardly knows me and just say “I’m sorry but I really can’t do this.” Our world doesn’t understand adults who can’t pull their load, especially when the world can’t see it. No one is at fault, no one means harm, it’s just that no one expects a capable looking adult to say “I’m sorry but no.” With all my strength I spoke up for myself and felt completely useless as I walked away knowing there was a need that I couldn’t fulfill. My heart ached that I couldn’t help but I knew the increasing stress was going to lead to the public embarrassment of a seizure. I looked around and the noise of the kids echoed, the busy adults overwhelmed me. I felt like I was in a fog at the center of a carnival ride. I felt invisible, useless and helpless in the midst of need. I couldn’t help where help was needed and feeling demoralized by admitting my inadequacies, I slipped out the side door to the safety of my car and I drove away.

I stepped outside my comfort zone this week. Some of it was successful and in other places I know where the line is drawn. I have to be proud that at least I tried. I will try again, something different, somewhere different, and hope that I will find a place were I can say “yes, I can help with that”.

Copyright © Gatewood Campbell, June 2013

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Anniversaries

Anniversaries… dates that we recall for some special reason. Typically I think we relate anniversaries to celebrations. Often they are attached to sad or traumatic events. Whether the occasion marks happiness or sadness I think it’s worthy of recognition.

As this week passed, the 5 month anniversary of my Grandmother’s death passed. As I look forward to the weekend our family will remember the 75th anniversary of my Grandparent’s wedding. For the last 17 years this date has passed and she could only look back to the years they spent together. This year, at long last, I find comfort and peace that on their Diamond Anniversary my dear Emmer and Weed are reunited. He has been gone for many years now, but she still talked of how she would awaken in the night and try to be quiet so she wouldn’t disturb Weed’s sleep. Then she would realize he wasn’t there. Night after night, month after month, for 17 long years, she never got used to living without her groom. This year, this special year, on their Diamond Anniversary, we can all celebrate that young love has been rediscovered.

After 5 months I still miss Emmer. I still think about her at 9:15 every morning and often reach for the phone to call and wake her up. Sometimes I replay saved voicemails so I can just hear her strong voice. I wonder who has taken her weekly Wednesday 10:30 hair appointment. In the same way that her daily routine revolved around what she was doing with me, my daily routine revolved around what I was doing with her.

Adjustments and a gracious learning curve…that is the gift I have given myself over the last 5 months. Emmer used to have a saying when anyone hit a bump in the road. “It’s not an arm or a leg so we move on” and she would sort of shrug her shoulders. I’ve repeated that to myself many times. I’ve wondered what she might say to me if she could speak to me now. You know, I think she would say the same exact thing. I haven’t lost an arm and I haven’t lost a leg (though sometimes it may have felt like it) so I must remain grateful in ALL things, for all that I DO have. I must remain grateful for the years and life that I had with Emmer. I must glean from those years all that I can and then press on. In her 97 years she said goodbye to a LOT of treasured and dear friends. I watched her weep in loss and heartache and then laugh and reminisce.

Memories have carried me through darker days and her unique sense of humor has carried me into brighter days. What’s next? It’s always the million dollar question no matter where you are in life. My life has already defied many odds. My Grandmother lived past 97, my Mother is a leukemia survivor and I live with epilepsy everyday. “It’s not an arm or a leg” and I can’t imagine that God has washed His hands of me yet.

Heartache is heartache, no matter the cause. In hindsight, I can share of so many things I learned through epilepsy and my brain injury. Everyone in my family experienced heartache during those first few years. I know that was part of God’s plan for gaining insight I would need later in my life as I became Emmer’s constant companion. When my injuries forced me to walk away from my career, I couldn’t imagine what God what do with me. I was heartbroken. He mended my broken heart and made me stronger. He has taught me great lessons in this heartache. He has been mending my brokenness and He will beckon me to His next purpose for my life.

“There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under the heavens:
a time to be born and a time to die,
a time to plant and a time to uproot,
a time to kill and a time to heal,
a time to tear down and a time to build,
a time to weep and a time to laugh,
a time to mourn and a time to dance,
a time to scatter stones and a time to gather them,
a time to embrace and a time to refrain from embracing,
a time to search and a time to give up,
a time to keep and a time to throw away,
a time to tear and a time to mend,
a time to be silent and a time to speak,
a time to love and a time to hate,
a time for war and a time for peace.”(Ecclesiastes 3:1-8, NIV)

So as we pass through a week marked with noteworthy anniversaries, I choose to focus on the celebration of reunions, the valuable lessons of heartache and the seasons of life God sees us through.

Copyright © Gatewood Campbell, June 2013