Gifts and Love

 If you're reading this, I'm guessing you've heard of The Five Love Languages. The concepts originally described in the book have become common bits of relationship advice. It's useful to know how to best express love to those around you, and how to express your favorite ways of receiving love.

My primary love language is quality time. At times, it seems like this is simultaneously the simplest and the most difficult one. We are all given the same number of hours, minutes, and seconds in every day. I value when someone chooses to spend those precious moments with me. But this blog post isn't about my favorite love language, this post is about the one I think is the most misunderstood.

In the book The Five Love Languages, the author speculates that the most misunderstood love language is physical touch. I suppose in romantic relationships, this is probably true. Those that desire physical touch are often seen as overly sexual or too forward. But there are so many more relationships in our lives than the romantic ones, and so many people to whome we want to express love. And amongst those non-romantic relationships, I posit that the most misunderstood love language is gifts.

You can see many fine examples of gifts underneath this beautifully decorated Christmas tree

Gifts are sometimes seen as "trying to buy affection" and that's not the spirit of gifts when done authentically as an expression of love. It's not about the quantity or price of a gift. There's a lot more going on.

When you are in a store, do you ever see an item and think "That looks like my sister" or "I have a friend who would love that?" That. Right there. That is why gifts speak love. A thoughtful gift says "I think about you even when you aren't with me." A gift can indicate that you have paid enough attention to someone that you know what they would like. And not only have you given that attention, you keep them present in your mind. That is a beautiful indication of love, be it romantic, familial, or friendship.

Another thing that gifts can do is be a constant reminder that someone love you. Do you have a gift that someone has given you that always reminds you of them? I do. I have a set of earrings that are the Lewis structure of caffeine, and I love them. They are a gift from my best friend when we were still in college. They make me think of her, and I really like that.

Since moving to Texas, the amount of quality time I can spend with my family is precious little, and I truly treasure it. But I want to give them more than just that. So I try to put a lot of effort into giving them gifts that they will like and that can serve as a reminder that I love them. I may only see them a couple times a year, but they can have something that says "I love you and think of you" every day. I have come to appreciate gifts as a love language more over the last few years. It's not about the price or number of gifts, it's the love that can be shown through those gifts. I'm not trying to buy love, I'm trying to show love through a tangible object.

Christmas is a good time to think about the love language of gifts, and maybe give some to a person who speaks it. Even something small can mean a lot. I want those I love to be aware of my love, so I try to speak all love languages. Gifts can be hard to understand, but there really is nothing quite like finding that little something to make your favorite person light up brighter than the tree.

God gave us the gift of His Son, and we can remember that in a small way when we give to each other. Merry Christmas.

Phlebotomy and Fear

 It might surprise some of my readers to learn that I used to be afraid of needles. Now, this was a very old fear from early childhood. I have a vague memory of being absolutely terrified before my kindergarten vaccines, and being freaked when a doctor sprung a blood draw on me at a normal visit. On an instinctive level, I don’t like being poked with pointy things. I wasn’t one of those kids who threw a fit to avoid a stick, but I was definitely scared.

With the amount of fillings I needed as a child, I would have been terrified of the dentist were it not for one thing: my dentist knew how to work with kids. He never let me see the needle, and the skin numbing made me not feel it. I could deal with that.

The defining moment that changed this fear came at the tender age of seven years old. A tumble from the monkey bars broke my left arm, and broke it good. I had to have a lot of shots of painkillers so that the doctor could set my arm (which was no small task with how close to the wrist it broke). I saw the big needles go directly into my wrist, and I felt nothing. Needles meant pain relief, and my seven-year-old brain got the message. I wasn’t afraid of needles anymore.

My courage has been put to the test over the years. Most notably, I am not a fan of blood draws. I once went through three nurses in a doctor’s office before one got a good vein to get blood. I’m not afraid of the needle itself anymore, but I am 100% USDA certified Tough Stick. What makes me crunge is the sensation of the needle digging under my skin to get into a vein and having to have the needle stuck in my arm for longer than necessary as my blood vesels run for cover. I’m not afraid, I just really don’t like it. So I've taken to drinking lots of water and looking away when I’m stuck to stay relaxed and give the phlebotomist the best chance of getting what they need.

So, despite this fear that has been replaced by a general displeasure with blood draws, I decided to donate blood. You know, there is probably a flaw in my logic. But I want to help people, and blood donation seems like such a simple, yet effective thing to do. I can do something that I know will be of use, and it’s a renewable resource! I can give over and over and still be able to spare a pint.

I’ve heard stories of people having negative experiences giving blood, and they were all at drives. Blood drives are wonderful, but may not have as many experienced staff. With my history of hiding veins, I thought it would be a safer bet to go to a brick-and mortar donation center. So, I booked my appointment and away I went.

I arrived on that Thursday after work and got checked in. All of my documentation and history showed that I was an eligible candidate to donate. The phlebotomist did the hemoglobin test (also called an iron test), and it came back very slightly too low. She ran it again and it was just barely too low to donate. Not low enough to be anemic or any cause for concern, but I could not donate that day. I had hyped myself up, drank plenty of water, and gotten there all for nothing. Dejected, I went home and scheduled another appointment for Sunday, with plans to go full Popeye on some spinach in the meantime.

On Sunday, well-hydrated and feeling like Iron Woman, I went in again for my appointment. My hemoglobin was well within the needed range (yes!) and everything else looked good, so they sat me down for the donation. I offered my right arm (I’m left-handed), and the phlebotomist started poking around for a vein. She took some time to find one, which was not exactly comforting. She found a vein, got everything in order, then it was time for the moment of truth. I looked out the window and twirled a pen in my left hand to keep myself from tensing up. I felt the familiar mosquito-bite sting as the needle went in. I tried to stay distracted from the awful sensation of the phlebotomist wiggling the needle around under my skin to find the vein. I felt another, more intense sting and tried not to think about the possibility of her having hit a nerve. I felt something warm gush down my arm and I turned to look. Blood was oozing around the needle, which was quickly withdrawn and replaced with gauze. My tiny veins had once again resisted an attempt to remove their precious fluid. The needle had gone all the way through the vein and broken the other side. I was wrapped up and sent home once again with a darkening bruise in my elbow, determined to try again, this time with the other arm.

I scheduled an appointment for the following Tuesday, certain that the third time would be the charm for me. The bruise on my elbow was nasty looking, but I’d just use the other side. I knocked back an extra bottle of water and set out for the donation center once again. As I approached the door, I saw a sign that read: “Due to unforeseen circumstances, the donation center is closed today.” WHAT?!?!?! I would have liked to receive some kind of notification, but I had no way of knowing this. Maybe it has to do with the recent flooding, maybe they’re short-staffed, but no matter the cause, I went home again.

Despite my best efforts, I have yet to donate blood. I’m going to give my arm a week or two to heal and see if I can lock down another appointment and get it done for real this time. I am no longer afraid, and even with my problems during blood draws, I know that the right person could find a vein with no trouble. Unless a medical professional declares it unsafe, I will donate blood yet!

The possible fear, discomfort, and inconvenience of donating blood are not exactly fun, but neither is being so sick or injured that you need blood. If it turns out that I cannot donate, I can help in other ways. Maybe I’ll give money, or volunteer at a drive, or find another way to assist those in need. It feels small, but if giving of my excess can help satisfy a need, I’ll put up with a few needles.

Here’s to attempt number four, have a great day!

A Grown-Up Princess and her Queen Mother

 So, my Memorial Day weekend was better than most people’s. Just sayin’.

If you know me (and if you don’t, please continue reading my blog, I’m sure it’s amusing in its own weird way), you know that I am the exact kind of person who has had wedding fantasies for as long as I can remember. To be fair, I have always been one to think about the future in my idle daydreams. What will I be like a few years from now? Ten years? Twenty? Will I still be this cool if I live to be considered “old”?

My musings about the future have always changed as my own tastes and values have changed over the years. But the wedding whimsies always featured one prominent thing: The Dress! There is a reason Say Yes to the Dress is a popular show. A wedding dress is a piece of clothing that is designed to be the center of attention. In modern wedding culture, the dress is seen as the one quintessential expression of the bride herself. The entire rest of the wedding is done with careful consideration for the groom, the family, and the guests. Depending on the wedding, others may have a say in the dress, but the bride is the one who wears it. It’s the dress of a lifetime.

As you can guess from my intro, I was engaged for approximately two hours before I was thinking about wedding dress shopping. It would have been shorter, but I was kind of in Italy, so there were some distractions. Like being in the most beautiful city I have seen to date. However, I did realize that the timing of this proposal meant that I could share one of my favorite parts of the wedding planning process with someone very special: my mom!

My mom had already planned to visit over memorial weekend, so it was only too perfect to make appointments at bridal salons to go wedding dress shopping. Whenever I pictured myself finding the perfect dress, my mom was always there, so I could only find my dress with her present.

In addition to the wedding dress shopping, we went to a botanical garden and got to watch an outdoor concert by the Dallas Symphony Orchestra. These are things that I like, but I know my mom especially loves. And that’s something I wanted to highlight about my mom. I may be the princess in search of her perfect dress, but my mom, she’s the queen. 

I know that a lot of people have difficult relationships with their mothers, but I am blessed to be close to my mom. She has always done so much for me, and continues to do so. She never asks for anything, and doesn't want to invade my space. But for the woman who raised me, I will shove things aside and dust off a seat next to me. In those bridal salons, when the curtain was pulled back and my bridesmaids saw me in dress after dress, it was not their faces I watched most closely; it was my mother’s. My bridesmaids may squeal and babble, but it was the quiet voice of my mother I wanted to hear most of all.

You didn't think I would actually post a picture of my real wedding dress here, did you? I am entirely to dramatic to reveal my dress in a blog post. You gotta wait for the wedding day for those pictures.

I found my dress that weekend. I found it with my mother looking on and smiling as her youngest girl got to live the dream of many dress-up sessions. Mom saw me wrap up in a lace curtain and put scraps of tuule in my hair. She saw me arrange bouquets of flowers from the garden and pretend to marry some invisible suitor bearing the name of a fairy tale prince. She heard the shrieks of excitement as my friends and I described our dream dresses, growing more extravagant with every sentence. My mother knew her little girl princess, and she still knows the woman that little girl grew into.

I am so happy I got to spend time with my mother that weekend. I loved doing things that I knew would make her happy. My mom has spent so much of her life making other people happy, I feel it’s the least I can do to give her what makes her happy. We have the same love language, so it seems simple: Quality Time. But simple doesn’t translate to easy. Distance, work, and a global pandemic have all restricted how much of that ever-spending currency I can spend with my mother. But this weekend will live in my memory forever. My mother was there when I found my wedding dress. As I always wished. The princess got the nod from the queen.

I got the guy, I got the dress, and as of a couple days ago, I got the ring. Those are the important bits, so no matter what else happens, I’ll end up a happy woman.

I Have a Proposal....Story, That Is

If you’re reading this, then you already know what this blog post is about. I went to Italy with my boyfriend and came back with my fiancé. My honey, my lover, Alex proposed to me in Italy. And, of course, everyone wants to know the story. And I love telling stories. So grab yourself a mimosa, sit back, and allow me to regale you with the tale as old as time (okay, more like the last couple hundred years), the proposal story.

So, as you have seen from the massive photo dump on my social media, I was in Italy for 10 days. Italy. For a country-born bumpkin like myself, the idea of going to Europe has always just seemed like a pipe dream. But with pandemic numbers down and money in the bank, Alex and I decided that the time had come. We booked flights, created an itinerary, and over the pond we flew!

First gelato in Italy, and it was everything it’s cracked up to be

We spent a couple days in Venice, which is where our story takes place. Venice is the most beautiful city I have ever seen in my life (so far). The canals in the Mediterranean sun are just like a postcard. The streets and old buildings are all works of art. These streets are very narrow and winding, mind you, so don’t expect to get anywhere quickly. But that’s okay. This is a place where it is a pleasure to get lost and just enjoy the world around you.

After a long day going to St. Mark’s basilica and the Correr art museum, we were relaxing in our hotel, a reclaimed Monastery that was nicely preserved. I was looking up interesting local places for dinner and he was getting cleaned up and ready to go out. Unbeknownst to me, he was slipping a ring box into his pocket. I chose a place and we set out. The restaurant had a beautiful view of the canal, and a menu that didn’t come in English. We employed a technique used by tourists for decades: point and ask what it is, then if it sounds good, order it. We got some wine on the waitress’ recommendation and enjoyed each other’s company in this uncrowded, beautiful place.

Between the appetizer and entree, Alex just slid off his chair and pulled out the little ring box. No fancy words, no big speech, just “Kim Deichmann, will you marry me?” 

I nearly bowled him over with my “yes yes yes” and tackle-hug. The waitress approached me and asked if she could give me a kiss. I agreed, and she poured us an extra glass of wine. We took the long way back afterwards (there is no short way in the winding streets of Venice). WE were both floating on Cloud nine, the only people in the world.

As dictated by my disposition as an extrovert, my engagement went on my social media almost immediately. Aaaaaaand my phone proceeded to buzz almost continuously for the next two hours. To some, this may be annoying, but I kind of appreciate it. The people squealing in excitement were the ones that have known and cared about me for years. I’m happy, they’re happy, I’m happy they’re happy that I’m happy (yes that sentence does make sense).

Unbeknownst to me, most of my close friends already knew of Alex’s master plan. Before we left for Italy, he had told my friends his plan and asked if I would like it. The general consensus was “she loves you, just do it and she’ll love it.” They know me well. Alex is a pretty amazing person and pretty much any proposal would have gotten that shrieked “Yes!”

I know you're probably wondering if I knew beforehand, and the answer is: nope. I had a feeling it would either be in Italy or during our next convention. Either one of those would have been great, but I was actively not looking for hints, nor was I dropping any. No checking for ring boxes, no suggesting locations for a proposal, no suspicious glances when he ties his shoes. I wanted to be surprised, darn it! 

So, there you have it. My proposal story, and I wouldn’t want it any other way. I hope you liked my sappy little story. I have been planning my wedding since I was six, so now, let phase one of the monster wedding plan commence!

Jesus, Back Pain, and Humanity

 This Palm Sunday, I had the privilege of taking in a live depiction of a modern interpretation of the events leading up to the crucifixion of Jesus. It was a beautiful production with music, costumes, and professional actors giving incredible performances.

By which I mean I saw Jesus Christ Superstar. For those not familiar, it is a Broadway play with rock music about the last week of the life of Christ, beginning a bit before the triumphal entry. I had a lot of interesting thoughts while watching this production, and I thought I’d share a few here.

Before I get into my individual thoughts, I should probably clarify a few things. The lyrics for this show were written by Tim Rice, who is not Christian and as such does not hold to the deity of Christ. This show was not meant to be a literal retelling of the Bible, but an exploration of the emotions surrounding the events described. I know the original story like the back of my hand, I could go picking apart every little “this is in the Bible, this is not”, but quite honestly that’s not what I went for and not what I want to do. I am aware of the Biblical inaccuracies, but I chose to go into this intending to “take the best and leave the rest.” And I think that this show’s best was really good.

Okay, disclaimer out of the way, I really enjoyed the show. The choreography was incredible and the cast gave very moving performances. Aesthetically, there was a really interesting fusion of what we associate with “the Jesus look” with a modern punk-rock glamor. Jesus had a man bun, people. A man bun! I also loved the music, I’m a fan of orchestra-rock fusions in general.

Two scenes gave me thoughts that I would like to share, and they really relate to the same thing: the humanity of Jesus. I guess that makes sense for a show written by a person who thinks of Jesus as just a man. But there is still an important point to be made, that Jesus was indeed fully human. The information in the Bible is limited, so we don’t know exactly what Jesus was feeling with his very human body and very human emotions a lot of the time.

The first scene that stuck out to me was the cleansing of the temple (appropriately called “The Temple”). First of all, mad props to the chorus, they did an amazing job. They were holding crosses as they danced, which considering that Jesus hadn’t died yet, makes no sense. But the point I think the director was going for was showing how the modern “money changers in the temple” wave around their religion like some kind of prop to peddle their products, programs, and personalities. And they deserve a high-pitched “GET OUT” from a man with a killer voice. 

But the second half of the scene has just as much power. Jesus is helping those who ask. And boy, do they ever ask. Everyone wants a piece of Him. Jesus, heal me. Jesus, my child needs you. Jesus, feed me. And Jesus is helping, but…right now He’s a man, and there is only one of him. The crowd is overwhelming Him and begging him to fix every one of their problems.

Did Jesus get frustrated because he couldn’t help everyone? The ultimate Love is crammed into this finite mind and body that can only do so much. I know many normal humans get frustrated when they see needs they can’t meet, how much more would that sting for Jesus? One who knew what it was like to be omnipotent, suddenly feeling so limited. Even knowing God’s ultimate plan, his compassionate, human heart must have hurt for the pain he witnessed. I know we think of Jesus as one that is powerful because of His miracles and ability to forgive sin, but He gave up so much in becoming human.

The second scene I want to mention is my favorite, and it is a common one: “Gethsemane.” This is the defining moment for any Jesus actor. Literally a spotlight, one man, and a beautiful song. If you are reading my blog, odds are you know the original story, so I won’t go into too much detail.

As this actor wailed the agony in the garden, I had a thought. Did Jesus wake up that morning with a sore back? Had he tossed and turned? Did he grind his teeth? Jesus knew what was coming, and he knew it was approaching fast. When I’m about to do something even mildly uncomfortable (like a root canal or a long car trip), I have trouble sleeping. And that’s not even in the same ballpark as taking on the sins of the world in one of the most painful methods of execution ever invented. How his hands must have shook as he begged God for any possible way out. 

The Gethsemane scene is just so...human. It’s Jesus in the fullness of his humanity in what is effectively his last private conversation with the Father. And the climax includes an element of “get on with it before I lose my nerve” that feels so true to a human experience. It’s not important to include in the Bible, so we don’t know if, in the preceding weeks, Jesus woke late in the night and stared out the window. We don’t know if one of the disciples noticed him trying to stretch out sore shoulders from a disturbed sleep. His human body had to show the toll of time and stress, just like anyone else’s. And as he knelt in Gethsemane, did he have a sore back? From carrying the weight of God’s plan or from a sleepless night, He could only take so much.

And He did indeed take so much. So much in such a limited form. And I am so grateful this Holy Week that He did. I would encourage anyone to at least listen to “Gethsemane,” even if the show isn’t your thing. It gave me some good meditation on the humanity of Christ, a lovely backdrop to the glow of His deity.

It’s a real pity that the writer of this play didn't believe Jesus was the Son of God, because that could have added a beautiful aspect of Truth to this play.

Love it, hate it, or somewhere in between, Jesus Christ Superstar is a play with a lot of impact. I found  it very thought-provoking and it put me in a good headspace as we move to Good Friday. But the best part of the real story is that it doesn’t end there. The best is yet to come.

Happy Easter, He is Risen!

Jump Starting a New Job

 It has been a hot minute since I've written a blog post, so this one is going to be very life-update heavy. But there is a really cute story at the end, so power through!

So, as seems to be a trend with me in the months of January and February, I got a new job! My old job had served me well and was paying the bills, but there was almost no hope for growth/advancement. The main reason for that being that my direct supervisor was never anywhere near the department and treated us like a bother when we needed anything. This had become a source of frustration and I started looking around to see what else was out there that could better serve me moving forward. Worst case scenario, I stay with a job that is perfectly fine for the time being. So, nothing to lose by checking!

As seems to be the case for me, when I started throwing applications, I started having more interviews than I knew what to do with. This was partially due to an event that has nothing to do with my abilities: the Omicron wave of our constant unwanted guest, COVID19. The increase in cases means an increase in testing, which means that medical laboratories have a higher volume of tests, which means they need to hire more people to handle it. A lot of places that contacted me were for temporary contract work, which I was not particularly of interest to me. But there were several others with permanent positions that piqued my interest.

One phone interview stuck out from the get-go. The person on the phone was a potential supervisor, and we seemed to get along quite well. I was happy with how I answered the questions an the job description seemed a good fit. I received an e-mail saying that they were interested in an in-person interview and that the lab director was a Hillsdale graduate! We Hillsdale people tend to find each other, I guess. And I'll take any advantage I can get when it comes to job interviews. I had 3-4 interviews a week (either phone or in-person) lined up for the next couple of weeks.

As I ticked off one interview after another, my top choice remained the the nice-sounding job with the Hillsdale lab director. The in-person interview went well, too, and afterwards I prayed for an offer. Everything about this seemed perfect.

You know how I say I'm one of the luckiest people I know? Two days later, I had an offer in my inbox for far more than I was currently making, with better hours and chance for advancement. Well, that decision took approximately 0.8 seconds to make.

So, now I am a clinical laboratory technician at CCRM DFW. It's a fertility clinic, so we do all of the procedures surrounding helping people start or expand their families when the natural way is not possible. I work with the male portion of the process, analyzing semen and preparing sperm for the process of IVF. I also run our in-house blood tests, which track female hormone levels throughout the treatment process. This is really cool stuff to a biology nerd like me, so I'm really enjoying learning about it.

I am really glad that I took this job, especially for the work environment. Everyone who works here wants to work here. We know that what we do is so important to our patients, and the doctor I work for is very compassionate and kind. 

So, I've worked here for 4 weeks and I already have a fun work story. On Friday, I was minding my own business, processing the blood like usual, and I get a call from our receiving nurse. She asks if my co-worker (the only guy in the lab), knows how to jump a car with a dead battery. I, like a good mechanic's daughter, immediately pipe up with "I know how to jump a car, do you have cables?"

Sure enough, there was a patient with a dead battery in the parking lot. I pulled my car around, hooked up the cables, and got her on her way. I was quite pleased with myself for being able to use such a random piece of knowledge at my work, and the poor lady was so happy that I could help.

Today, I was putting something in the freezer, and on my way back, who should I see but that patient, back for another round of testing (not uncommon when tracking fertility cycles). She recognized me and handed me a gift:

I was floored. This little beauty product set made my day today. And about an hour later, I processed that patient's blood test just like I would anyone else's. I'm glad that my new job allows me to be of service in new ways. I'll just have to wait and see what else God can use me for in this new place.

I'm trying to not sound braggy, but I just love my new job. So, yeah, that's my big fat life update and sweet work story.

Remembering Grandma - Part 2

Part one was mostly about how my grandmother's final days affected me and my life. Well, enough about me, I'm here in Nebraska to honor the life of my grandma, so let's talk about her.

Grandma never really liked to talk about herself, so it feel a appropriate that I can share some memories from growing up visiting that farmhouse with her and grandma.

Now, my grandparents were not the only residents of that farm. Some of my earliest memories around my grandma were the cats that lived in the garage and barn. Grandma would put out cat food and table scraps for them and we grandkids would play with them, at least the ones that were tame enough to catch. There was one cat in particular, a tortiseshell we called Mama Kitty, that was always up in the garage ready to be petted and show of one of her many litters of kittens. Hunting down kittens and taming them was one of the ways that I, a talkative child, learned to be quiet and patient. To this day, I have a very gentle touch when handling things, especially animals. I think part of that is because Grandma taught me to not squeeze or be rough with the kittens if I wanted to hold them.

I loved doing craft projects with my grandma, and she always had some laying around for us to play with. We made gak, a gooey substance that is a bit like a thick slime (I always colored mine pink). We painted suncatchers and hung them in the windows. I made many a picture out of Perler beads or foinger paint. And sometimes I was content to just color with markers and watch cartoons. Grandma always loved my little projects and displayed them proudly. Her fridge, windows, and cupboards always had little art projects from her grandchildren.

That leads me to another memory of my grandma. She was always at as many concerts, events, and performances as she could make. I never really thought much of that as a child since she only lived a mile away from me, but she was more than willing to make the drive for my cousins as well because she wanted to be present in their lives. I don't really know if she had a favorite kind of event, from sports games to band concerts to speech showcase, because she always loved them all.

As my grandma got older, her top priority was making sure that my grandpa was taken care of. She had taken on the role of his wife, and she wore it well. As my grandpa's senses became dull with years of hard work and his mobility decreased, she did whatever it took to make sure his needs were met. Her children and grandchildren worried about how they were getting on and tried to help as much as possible, but let's just say my stubborn streak came from that side of the family. Grandma never wanted to accept help and other people were always her top priority.

When my grandpa passed, it was Grandma that pulled all of the grandchildren from the four corners of the country to her side. We all knew that we should be by her side and show her how much we loved her and we were willing to drop everything and come together as a family. Even after Grandpa's funeral, I was sitting next to her and my aunt came to give her a cup of water, and her first question after thanking my aunt was "Did you get something to eat?" always thinking of others before herself, that was just who Grandma was.

My last conversation with Grandma was short and not anything that you would see in a dramatic novel. I told her how much I loved her and how much I valued having her as family. She asked me about work and I showed her the beautiful sunny day in the window. I thanked her for the years of thing she had done for me and everyone else. One thing sticks in my mind. My aunt commented "Isn't she pretty?" (I had done a cute hairstyle that day and my lipstick matched my sweater) and my grandma agreed. "It runs in the family," I quipped. My grandma shook her head, she never knew how beautiful she was to all of us. She was so concerned with everyone else, she never saw her own beauty.

See? Runs in the family, look at that smile!

And just because she didn't see it, doesn't mean I can't show. it. I mentioned the pictures I took in my grandmother's wedding dress, and today as I went through some old photos, I found their wedding pictures. My beautiful grandma, on the day of her wedding, looking more glamorous than I ever saw her in my lifetime, taking a rare turn in the spotlight as the beautiful bride she was.

She carries herself with a certain dignity that I hope I inherited.

I have seen pictures of brides in this exact pose to this day. Faded as the photo is, that is pretty cool. 

After the funeral, my dad called to tell me that I was inheriting the wedding dress. I was floored. Surely one of my aunts would want it, but they gave it to me. I love connecting with the world through clothing and fashion, so this is something that I have a special connection to. I may have professional photos taken in it, or do a photoshoot when I am planning my own wedding. I knw enough people who work with old materials to take proper care of it and see if I can give it as much of its former glory as I can. Then I would like to preserve it in a shadowbox or some form of display. That dress represents the beginning of a 60+ year marriage, it deserves better than to be hidden in an old cedar chest. I am so grateful for this gift and I will care for it well, of that I am determined.

When Grandpa died, we knew Grandma would not stay long before going to be with him. Their marriage was so much of their life, and Grandma was so dedicated to him, that once his work was done, hers was almost done as well. She passed on into a well-deserved eternal rest and had a better Christmas than I could imagine. I visited her resting place to place some flowers and say and in-person goodbye. The road is familiar, I know that cemetery all too well. My grandparents rest next to my brother, under the same color headstone, black granite.

I like how the shadow of my brother's grave is on the left, like he's putting an arm around them to welcome them to Heaven.

I entered 2021 with 3 out of 4 grandparents living, and now I have but one. I know my grandparents are in a better place and no longer in aging, non-working bodies. But just because I can carry it well by the grace of God, doesn't make the weight of grief any less heavy today. Share in my remembrance as we move forward into the new year. I don't know what it will bring, and that's okay. It's not my job to figure that out, my job is to deal with what is before me today.

Thank you for sharing in my story. Happy New Year

A Heavy December - Part 1

Some years, The month of December is truly my favorite part of the year. I love Christmas, in case I haven't said so a thousand times. I love bright colored decorations and lights, making and sharing delicious food, giving gifts to those I care about, and my favorite: spending time with those I love. On a scale of Ebenezer Scrooge to Buddy the Elf, I'm firmly the latter.

This year, my heart was a little heavier than the cast-iron skillet I got for my sister. Life doesn't operate according to my time, and this was not a time I would have chosen.

On December 12, I got a call from my aunt. My grandmother's health had taken a bad turn and she wasn't sure how much time she had left. I wasn't sure what this meant. Could it be a couple of days? A few weeks? a month? I waited for further information.

The next day, while I was at work, I was asked by a different aunt to video call her as soon as I could. She wanted all of the grandkids to have a chance to speak to grandma before a combination of a failing body and the medicine to make her comfortable sent her into a permanent haze. I called and had my last conversation with my grandmother on this Earth. She was tired and looked very weak, but she recognized me and talked to me for a precious few minutes.

This is the last picture of the two of us together. It was taken when I visited Nebraska in October for my grandpa's funeral. I remember that day. It was beautiful outside and we had a good conversation.

The next week was a waiting game that was honestly one of the most difficult things I've had to do in a long time. I like planning things out and making sure everyone is happy, and this was simply impossible. I didn't sleep well, my mind was trying so hard to come up with plans A through K for every possible contingency. I was preoccupied and every little thing just felt like another block from a Jenga tower about to collapse. What's worse was that all of this was happening around my Christmas travel plans. I was flying out on the 23rd to spend Christmas with my partner's family in Pennsylvania. Should I rearrange flights and join him there a day or two later? Should I try to make the funeral or wait and take my leave from work later? What would be better for my family? What would serve my grieving process better? It feels weird thinking all of this when she is still alive and her time of passing is between her and God.

I was so grateful for my sister in that week. She gave me important updates without me having to call her all the time. I at least had the peace of knowing that if anything big did happen, mine was the first number she would call, and I didn't have to wonder if I had the right information. She really gave me what I needed, and I thank her for that.

By the time Friday rolled around, I had somewhat decided which of my many plan variations I would use. Flying out in an attempt to make a funeral early the next week, while possible, would just leave me more stressed and overwhelmed. I wanted to have a clear mind to honor the memory of my grandmother, not have a million things to think about with Christmas and travel. I would go and enjoy Christmas with Alex's family, then fly to Nebraska to go through my grandparents' property and visit her grave. It felt like the plan that would give my grandma's memory the respect it deserved. And of course, it still felt so weird saying all of this when she still lives. In that hospice room, no one could say when she would slip away. She would go knowing that her children were close by, her grandchildren loved her, and her husband awaited her arrival. When? God only knows.

Well, God did know. And Jewell Deichmann slipped into a place none of us can possibly imagine on December 18th, 2021. She was received by an entourage including my grandpa Gordon Deichmann, my brother Chet Deichmann, my cousin Joseph Deichmann, and many other friends and family. I got the call from my dad as I sat on the couch watching Christmas movies with Alex. When I hung up, I nodded and knew it was time to book the flights, tell my boss I would be gone longer than anticipated, and pack a second suitcase.

On the winter solstice, the darkest day of the year, the world dimmed the lights as my grandmother was laid to rest next to my brother Chet and my grandpa Gordon. I sat next to Alex in my living room and we watched the video of her funeral. I paused it to explain some of the stories and point out faces familiar to me. He listened and was present with me the whole time, and I thank him for that. As those who knew Grandma described her in her younger days, he remarked that she was a bit like me. And I guess I am in some ways. Jewell Deichmann was a pretty great lady, so I take that as a compliment.

I did indeed go to Pennsylvania, and I did have a wonderful time with Alex's family. I bribed them with cookies and corny jokes, so I hope they like me. It really was a lovely Christmas, and one that I will treasure. But I knew that amongst all of the lights and decorations filling my Christmas-brain, there was a very heavy box sitting quietly in the corner. The box of grief that I put aside for now. As a Christian, I know that I will see my grandma again, so I need not cast a pall over the joy of the birth of Christ. But I am still human and it is still sad that Grandma isn't here anymore. It's time to open that box, and this blog post is part of that. In part 2, I'm going to talk about the woman I grew up with and some of the things I remember about her that I would like my readers to share in. Please read on when it's posted, I wouldn't want to leave you all sad. After all, this is about a wonderful woman and the Christmas season.

See you soon!