Tag: grandchildren

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I Blinked

by Donna Poole

Ten years ago, my family watched the doors leading to the neurosurgery operating room swing shut behind me. Their long prayerful vigil began.

The day before, our five-year-old grandson, Reece, had been so worried about me that he’d sobbed all day. He’d still been crying that evening when we met for food and fellowship in a friend’s home.

Reece curled up next to me in a chair, and we talked quietly. I couldn’t promise him I’d be alright; no one had assured me of that. Brain surgery is serious business. But I did try to calm his fears. He didn’t want me to be alone during surgery.

“I won’t be alone, Reece. Jesus will stay with me every minute. He’ll take care of me. And he’ll be with you too. I’ll try to come home soon, and then you can come see me, okay?”

He nodded, but he still cried.

When it came time to leave, he hugged me as tightly as little boy five-year-old arms can hug and walked me to the door.

“Come back inside, Grandma Donna,” he said, tugging my hand.

“We have to go home now, Reece,” my husband John said.

“I just need her for a minute.”

We couldn’t resist him; those blond curls, those beautiful brown eyes, that tear streaked face.

Reece pulled me back to the chair we’d just left and climbed into it with me.
“I’m going to pray for you,” he said.

He prayed. He asked God to take care of me. He told me he loved me. And then he stopped crying.

I went into surgery for a brain aneurysm surrounded by so many prayers of family and friends. One friend had played a beautiful hymn on her flute the day before at church, “His Eye is on the Sparrow.” Civilla D. Martin wrote the hymn lyrics in 1905:

Why should I feel discouraged
Why should the shadows come
Why should my heart feel lonely
And long for heaven and home
When Jesus is my portion
A constant friend is He
His eye is on the sparrow
And I know He watches over me
His eye is on the sparrow
And I know He watches me

I sing because I’m happy
I sing because I’m free
His eye is on the sparrow
And I know He watches me (He watches me)
His eye is on the sparrow
And I know He watches
I know He watches
I know He watches me

When I had to let go of John’s hand, I didn’t go into surgery alone. That song, Reece’s pray, and the love and prayers of my family and friends went with me. And Jesus? He was already there.

I woke up from surgery minus one brain aneurysm and plus one piece of artificial dura and thirteen pieces of hardware: three clips, seven screws, and three burr hole covers. Recovery wasn’t easy and some things never returned to normal. I forgot how to jump and run and still can’t do those things, but many people lose the ability to walk during that surgery, so I’m not complaining. They sent me home with a souvenir—seizures. But the experience gave me too many gifts to list. I found a new joy in living, a new compassion for people who are suffering, and made many new brain aneurysm and brain AVM friends.

In some ways the surgery seems like yesterday; in other ways it seems a lifetime ago.

Saturday was a vivid reminder of how much has changed in the decade since surgery. That little grandson Reece, the one with the tear-streaked face, came Saturday with a chain saw to help his grandpa clean up from a devastating ice storm we’d had recently. He worked hard and smart, like the wonderful young man he is.

I watched him work, and I wondered, what had happened to the little boy I’d loved so much?

I blinked. That’s what happened. I blinked, and ten years flew by.

Some things haven’t changed a bit. Reece still has curls, though they are darker now. His compassion remains; if anything, it’s stronger. He still loves his grandma. When he came to help his grandpa, I didn’t remind him it was the ten-year anniversary of my brain surgery. I didn’t mention his tears on that long ago day. I just fed him spaghetti, listened to him talk, and kept my tears to myself.

Why my tears? I love the wonderful young man, but I miss the little boy.

But isn’t it true that inside every good man the best of the little boy he once was still lives? And if Reece is anything, he’s a good young man.

When it came time for Reece to leave. I thanked him and hugged him goodbye. I wasn’t just hugging the tall fifteen-year-old young man; I was also hugging the five-year-old boy who will forever live in his grandma’s heart.

I wish I’d pulled him back inside and prayed for him like he did for me ten years ago, but I didn’t. I’ll pray for him and all my grandchildren tonight before I sleep. It’s the best way I know to say how much I love them.

Photo Credit: Kimmee Kiefer
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She Gave Me Diamonds

by Donna Poole

There she stood at my car window one Sunday, tiny and beautiful, with a smile that rivaled the sunshine for warmth that early spring day. The breeze blew her blonde hair into her face, and she brushed it back with a small hand.

“Grandma, these are for you!”

One at a time she carefully put three diamonds into my hand. I turned them this way and that, and we both admired the way they sparkled in the sunlight.

“Thank you, Ruby! I love them!”

She nodded, smiled her shy smile again, and ran off down the church sidewalk to find more adventures the way only a five-year-old can.

Did I drop the three sparkly stones back into the parking lot the minute her back was turned? I did not! I treasure the gift, given with love. Ruby seems to be continuing the heritage of others in her family, some in heaven, some still here; Ruby is a giver.

The other day I got a text from a friend. She’d been at school picking up her friend’s daughter who’s in Ruby’s class. She wrote, “I was out of my car talking to my niece whose daughter is also in Ruby’s class. Suddenly I realized I was holding up the line. When I pulled up and looked at the kids there was Ruby smiling and holding her hands in the shape of a heart. For me! It blessed me so much I wanted to get out and hug her!!! Instead, I waved so she would know I saw her! I felt so loved! And as I thought about it, I thought what a great reflection of her parents!!! With God’s help they are doing a great job. I prayed God’s wisdom and protection over them as I do my own. Anyway, can’t you just see her sweet smile.”

Yes, I could see Ruby’s sweet smile, and I smile again now just thinking about it.

So, what exactly did Ruby give that warmed my heart on a Sunday, my friend’s heart on a weekday, and Ruby’s parents’ hearts when I passed the text on to them? Three rocks and two tiny fingers and thumbs shaped into a heart, is that what she gave?

Ruby gave love. Anything given with love makes a memory, and memories are precious.

I remember well when our kids were young how wealthy we were, rich in everything but money. We were rich in friendship, and our friends sometimes ate supper with us several times a week. My friend said to me, “You’re the only person I know who can feed a dozen people with a third of a cup of hamburger.”

Our friends were rich too, the same way we were, in everything but money. Looking back, I don’t know how they managed to feed and clothe their family of four children. Yes, I do; it was the grace of God. In dry times, they sometimes didn’t have enough money to buy postage stamps.

During one of those dry times, they called and asked if they could come over for a cup of coffee.

“We’d love to have you come. Please do, but we don’t have any coffee, and John doesn’t get paid until Sunday.”

Later, our friends knocked on the door. Smiling, they held out coffee, not the generic or store brand we usually bought, but Maxwell House.

My eyes filled with tears. “Where did you find the money to buy this?”

They looked at each other and smiled. “We managed.”

Can you guess how long ago that was? I wish you could, because I can’t remember, but I know it was at least forty years.

I’ve forgotten so much of my life; it’s like a giant hand erased half the blackboard of my memories, and those of you who know me through my writings understand why. Open brain surgery started the job; seizures took the eraser to do their part, and then aggressive chemo said, “You can give that eraser to me now, I’ll wipe out a few more!” But despite all I’ve forgotten, I remember that coffee in my friend’s hand like it was yesterday. I remember it better than yesterday; what day was yesterday?

Why do I recall such a simple gift when I’ve been given many elaborate ones? Because it was given with so much love.  

The kindness of family and friends has enriched my long life. I’ve lived many years, but I honestly don’t think of myself as an “old lady” or even a woman in poor health. Perhaps I dream-walk in a Pollyanna world, but when I look at my life, past and present, I see diamonds. I’ve been given so many diamonds, so many expressions of love. Even the heartaches and tears God has allowed have passed through His loving hands before they touched me, and I’ve never cried a tear He hasn’t treasured and kept in His bottle.

Someday, God will do for me what George Matheson prayed so many years ago, “Show me that my tears have made my rainbow.”

Do you know what I see when I look at my life through my tears? I see diamonds, sparkling in the sunlight of God’s unfailing love. And I’m blessed!