Category Archives: Family

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At the Cross…again

February never passes by without some introspective thoughts. FYI- Don’t look for me in Target tomorrow. I’m not very superstitious and I don’t believe that because something happens once it will happen again, but I certainly don’t push my luck when I can help it.

As upturned as my life became on February 28, 2005, I did finally settle into a happy, rewarding and satisfied new world. It took almost 2 years to sort it out and know where God wanted me. When I was brought to a crossroads, God led me to the Cross. When I chose the road less traveled I knew His blessings were on me and He would carry me into unchartered territory. He would carry my burdens and hold me in His tender care during those uncomfortable months until I became settled.

I enjoyed every moment of the next 2 years while I still had Hunter had home with me. Having been a working mom when Justin was little, I cherished the days Hunter and I had together and we anxiously awaited the big yellow bus every afternoon when Justin would get home.

When Hunter started school, I flinched momentarily, wondering what moments would take my breath away just as being at home with the boys had. The transition was short as we all realized I had been created for such a time as this. My Grandmother was well into her 90’s and though she kept a busy social schedule, it was obvious she needed a bit of help to make her day to day life a bit easier. Everyone knew, without even discussing it, that I would help fill this role in her life while my boys were in school.

It’s worth noting here that I have realized some things about my Grandparents that I had not before adequately acknowledged. Since my Grandmother’s death, I have poured over family mementos they left behind. They were smart, intuitive and wise beyond their years. Quite frankly, they just seemed to know how our roles would play out before it was even reasonable to think that far ahead.

I was reading the Workman family genealogy that my Grandfather spent his retirement researching back to the early 1700’s and when our descendants left Ireland in 1772 and arrived in America. While my Grandmother was busy as “an indefatigable worker toward establishing a Retirement Community in Davidson” (my Grandfather’s own description of his bride in our genealogy), he kept himself busy researching in grand detail our family. He then, nearly legally blind himself, painstakingly typed on an old school manual typewriter everything he had unearthed. On December 12, 1986 he gave each of us his finished work, photocopied and assembled in a simple 3 hole punched paper notebook. As I flipped through the pages I found myself, Mary Gatewood Payne (II, D, 4, c, (8) (d) 2, *b) ….I told you it is detailed! Then I read his description of me when I was only 13 years old, “Mother of us all.” My mind raced back to that moment in front of his grave when God spoke to me at a crossroads in my life and told me which direction to follow. And now here I see in black and white, I think my Grandfather knew all along which road I would take.

When my Grandmother moved into healthcare over 2 years ago we worked quickly to pack up and move all her personal belongings from her apartment. As I was cleaning out their old cedar chest from storage and packing up books, photo albums and the massive amount of things my Grandfather kept from his time serving in WWII as Chaplain on the USS Granville, I came across some books wrapped up in a white garbage bag. The label on the bag read “For Gatewood (my caretaker). My scrapbook and senior year college annual. Love, Emmer”. That cedar chest had not been opened in years and the white bag was in the very bottom. “My caretaker”, how in the world could she have known that was the role I would fill in her life? I knew she had labeled the bag long before the events in my life led me to her side. How did she know? How did he know when I was 13 that I was being molded and shaped to become a mother to more than just my own children? Wise and intuitive beyond their years!

She became more than a Grandmother over these last years. She was my friend, and we had a connection that was visible to those who saw us together. I could hear in her voice what she needed before she even told me. She knew when things were going on in our lives even when we didn’t tell her. On many occasions she would call me early in the morning because she had been awakened in the night and knew one of her children, grandchildren or great-grandchildren was in need. I learned quickly not to try to play off her instincts. She knew that she knew, and she was not one with whom you tried to sugar coat the obvious. I miss her. Her loss is huge and none of us realized the extensive impact our beloved matriarch had during her 97 years.

So here I am, 8 years after the accident that led me to her. She has finally been reunited with her groom and she has found everlasting peace. I’m fairly certain they are enjoying their afternoon cocktails and unsalted Planters peanuts (served out of old peanut jar lids so it’s portioned appropriately) together again. And, I am at another crossroads; where grief, anger and denial meet with the road that leads me into the unknown. I keep thinking I will unearth some note from years earlier where she has written what is next for me when she is gone. My role as a granddaughter has come to an end. In some ways it feels similar to the time when my role as an employee ended. But this time, even as I sit at the Cross, I haven’t heard God’s direction for this crossroad. The silence is painful, but when He has not answered then I know His answer for now is to wait.

My resumé is a little shorter now, wife, mother and daughter. Tomorrow will come and go, not without a lot of memories to pass the time, but tomorrow will end. It will mark another moment in time where I’m trying to embrace change, accept my brain injury, live with epilepsy and learn to wait.

Copyright © Gatewood Campbell, April 2013

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A Routine Without a Route

I do so like to have a routine. Even if our schedule is busy, there is some order and some routine amid the chaos. But now, there is no routine. There is no route to follow.

For so long my days were defined by halves. The afternoon and evenings were reserved for my children and my husband. My mornings became an easy blend of my own workout schedule, chores, grocery shopping, etc and whatever my grandmother needed that day. My shopping included her shopping. My laundry included her laundry. My drive to the gym included her daily wake up call. Then there were the days that I spent with her. Days I didn’t need to plan my lunch because I would she would want me to stay and split her lunch with me. Days when I knew she was over due for a haircut and I would bust out the curling iron and try desperately to make her hair curl just right over her ears. Days she was full of herself and amused by herself. Days when I filed and painted her fingernails, always in clear though, never wanting to draw attention to herself. Days when I knew I was going to end up sitting on the floor and clipping her toenails. Oh how she loved to ask me to clip her toenails and then would giggle when I put on my glasses to protect my eyes from the clippings. Days when I somehow knew her chocolate stash would be running low and I better stop and grab a bag just in case. Days when I knew her wine stash was nearing empty and I darn sure better make sure there was always an extra bottle on hand, just in case she had a guest you know. Days that her plants were watered. Days when we laughed until we cried and days when we cried because we didn’t know what else to do. That was my routine as a granddaughter. My daily route always led to her.

Now, my routine as a granddaughter has ended. Where does one travel from here? She found her destination that she wanted for so long. She knew the route she would follow from here to there and forever more. We discussed so much, but we neglected to discuss the route I would travel when our paths would split. A routine without a route is chaos. I just need to figure out how to make sense of the chaos and map my own new route, and maybe, just maybe, it will become routine.

Copyright © Gatewood Campbell, February 2013

Emmer's 95th Birthday Bash

Emmer’s 95th Birthday Bash

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The Circle is Complete

A reminder that the circle is now complete and I can look back without regret on the tough decision I made.

Embracing Change

After my accident and Epilepsy diagnosis I tried to continue working. I put every ounce of energy I had into my job. I worked in a church and I had been there 12 years. I had seen tremendous growth over those years. It was a place and a community of people that had captured a huge part of my heart and my life.  My job was people driven. My ministry was about helping people feel welcome and comfortable. It was my responsibility to guide them into the church and help them find their niche. Ironic, given that I was working so hard to make people feel comfortable, yet I felt so incredibly uncomfortable. Post injury, I was different and I knew it. My brain functioned differently. Before the injury I could look at point A, envision point Z and immediately get to work on the plan to get there, no…

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Family Knows Best

My mind has raced between grief, anger and gratitude over the last week. Much of my life is empty without Emmer. I have reached for the phone more times than I can count just to call and check in. I grieve that I can’t talk to her, I grieve that I can’t bicker with her and that she can’t argue back. I’m mad that she’s gone and that I can’t remind her that it is her shower day or her hair day. I’m angry about the lonely emptiness I feel. I’m thankful for the gracious plenty 97 years she had here and for the amazing health she experienced, almost until the very end.

In January 2007, I walked away from my 12 year career in non-profit ministry because I visited my Grandfather’s grave and I promise you, he spoke to me. In the Lord’s presence, kneeling at his grave marker (call me crazy, I don’t care) an audible voice told me to leave my job and go to my family. It didn’t make any sense to walk away from my job, but with my health failing, and a direct order from above, I obeyed. I could always argue with my Grandmother, but my Grandfather, ah, no. I walked away knowing this was right.

That was 6 years ago. That voice told me that my family needed me more than my career needed me. Hindsight is always 20/20.

I have been desperately seeking for tangible pieces of my grandparents this week, so that I can touch them, smell them, feel them and hear them. I pulled out all of my Grandfather’s Bibles and skimmed through the pages reading his notes. A piece of notebook paper fell out of one of his Bibles and on it were notes in his own handwriting where he was doing his own study in Samuel.

This caught my attention! At the top of the page my Grandfather had written The call of Samuel. Below that he wrote Samuel means “Called by God”. I continued reading through all his notes and then at the bottom in all capital letters he had written READ THE CALLS- when people need us, that can be God’s call to us. Maybe we can serve God best by meeting the needs of other people. “In as much as you have done it unto the least of these, you have done it unto me.” Judging from the quality of my Grandfather’s penmanship, these notes are at least 20 years old. He knew, even then, he knew his own bride would be cared for until she was ready to meet him again in heaven. My name may not be Samuel, but I think I was indeed called by God to fulfill a purpose much bigger than I could have ever understood as I sat in that cemetery 6 years ago.

I’m reminded today of his own life verse
“He has shown you, O man, what is good;
And what does the Lord require of you
But to do justly,
To love mercy,
And to walk humbly with your God.” Micah 6:8

Family still knows best.

Copyright © Gatewood Campbell, January 2013

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Time Among Generations – a repost

I wrote this a year and a half ago. My care for Emmer and our relationship evolved more than I could have imagined since then. One day I will have the strength to write about our family relationship that became a friendship bonded by love. For now, as we prepare to honor her final wishes and say our final goodbyes I wanted to share again some of the joys Hunter and I had with her over the last few years.

I have received so many unexpected gifts since my Epilepsy diagnosis. The biggest gift was time.

My injuries made employment difficult and I left full-time work almost 5 years ago. Several months later my Grandmother (then 91 years old) decided she should stop driving but she was still mobile and needed occasional rides. Since I was available to help, I started picking her up on Friday mornings and taking her to the grocery store while she did her shopping. It wasn’t long before I was doing all her shopping and then going to her apartment two days a week to help with various tasks that had become difficult for her. They were easy tasks for me, but for her would take all day and wear her out.

I made up the bed, watered her plants, swept the balcony, fixed her lunch, refilled the frig with Cokes for the maids who cleaned every Wednesday and her own Diet Caff Free Cokes, refilled her Hershey’s Almond and Toffee Nuggets, opened her weekly bottle of wine, opened the milk cartons, popped open the child-proof caps on everything that was unopened, painted her fingernails and even filed and painted her toenails. Each day she would have a little list of what needed to get done. We chatted the time away with current news, updates from out-of-town family, Mom’s worldwide travels and my family adventures with growing boys. We teased each other when my noon alarm rang, reminding me to take my medicine and her to take her Parkinson’s medicine. Occasionally we would argue and accuse the other of not knowing what they are talking about. I would tell her she’s old and forgetful. She would tell me I fell. Back and forth we went. Two heads are always better than one, and with loads of humor in the midst, we would eventually get there.

Hunter was not in preschool for the last nine months before he started Kindergarten. I already had my routine in place with Emmer. She counted on me being there every Tuesday and Friday. I figured he was 5 years old and could manage to occupy himself for a couple of hours when I was there. Just as Emmer and I had already established our routine, he quickly fell right into place and established his own routine. We stopped at the grocery store each day to pick up what she wanted. I carried the list and he followed behind with the small buggy. Eventually he knew exactly what supplies she would want and which aisle to find them. He helped me carry the bags to her apartment. I took the steps to the 3rd floor and he always took the elevator by himself (proving his independence at an early age). He peeked in the door each day and looked for his special treat, one Andes mint, always sitting and waiting for him on the dresser in the entry. He headed right for her as she sat seated on the far left side of her sofa sipping super hot coffee and reading the newspaper, cover to cover. They greeted each other, shared hugs, he thanked for the candy and then escaped to her bedroom to curl up in her recliner and watch cartoons. When it was time to make up her bed, he assumed his position on the right side of her bed and helped pull up the sheets and tuck them in tightly just the way she liked them. He carefully placed her two pillows on the bedspread and fluffed them, just before patting them down into place without a wrinkle to be found. When he heard me pick up the keys, he knew it was time to head to the main entrance to get her mail and stop at the bank. His job was to carry the keys and open the post office box. He sorted the junk mail and dropped it in the recycle box and put everything else in the plastic bag we carried. We stopped at the bank where the teller kept his favorite lollipops. He always took two, claiming one was for his brother, though I’m fairly certain Justin never actually got a single lollipop.

This was our routine. Day in, day out. This was what we did when we went to Emmer’s. We had tasks to accomplish and a correct order in which to do them. When I was taking too long he would get visibly antsy. Emmer always knew when she needed to step in and occupy his mind. She told him she was going to teach him something important that he would need for the rest of his life. She taught him how to count coins. He would wheel her walker to her and dump out some change onto the seat of her walker. She started with the basics showing him the coins, letting him hold them, study them, feel the weight, the sides and the see the color. She taught him how to identify the coin and then taught him the value of each coin. Eventually he understood enough that she began to teach him how to add them all together. I can see them right now. I would stand in the kitchen doing my chores and peek through the open shutters into the living room where he sat at her feet. His eyes for trained on the seat of her walker and all that bronze and silver as her petite hands would move them about as she reminded him what each coin was. When he got lazy and started guessing, she was quick to correct him. She would say “Now Hunter, you are guessing. Pay attention and tell me what this coin is.” He would refocus and follow her instructions.

Two generations apart, these two connected with each other. Hunter will carry that with him forever. Had I not had the gift of time he would never have had this gift. My injury…an unexpected gift that will last forever.

I didn’t realize the impact these times had on Hunter. This week he came home from school and told me they were learning how to count money in class. “Mom, people in my class don’t know how to count money. I know how to count money. My Great-grandmother taught me how to count money. Not my Grandmother, but my really really old Great-Grandmother. Most people don’t have a Great-grandmother, but I do and she’s really old. We used to go help her when she lived in her own apartment. She taught me how to count money. She would ask me how much an orange drink cost at Cashions. It’s always been .69 but she never remembered that. She always asked how much my favorite drink was and sometimes, if I had done well with my counting she would let me count up to .69 and take it with me to buy my own drink. But we had to get enough money without using the quarters. She kept the quarters for playing bridge with her friends, so we had to count up enough dimes, nickels and pennies. Sometimes if it was a really special day she would give us enough money to go buy Happy Meals for lunch. I loved that! Oh…..how I miss those days.” Then he smiled, propped his chin on his hand and stared out the car window.

I smiled too, knowing that he had a treasured gift. Those nine months gave him memories that will live with him forever. A life-changing injury gave all of us gifts. The gift of time for each other. The gift of time among generations. I will treasure these gifts, for generations to come.

Copyright © Gatewood Campbell, October 2011

Hunter in 2009 shopping for Emmer’s supplies