Welcome to the March edition of In Media Res, a monthly newsletter “in the midst of things.”
On My Mind: The makings of a full life.
This month’s edition of my newsletter is arriving in your inboxes a few days late. On March 16, the day my newsletter should have come out, I packed up my family and drove seven-and-a-half hours to Memphis. We made the last minute trek to spend time with my grandmother—affectionately known as Nana—as she neared the end of her earthly life.
The death of a loved one at the end of a long life is still a death. The family who remains still grieves, still yearns to preserve every precious memory. But the grief is of a gentler variety. Less acute. More of an ache than a stab. In response to condolences and prayers, we say, “She lived a full life. She’s ready.”
I’ve been struck with the consistency with which I’ve heard this sentiment expressed: she lived a full life. What makes this statement so unequivocally true that each member of my family repeats it to our respective well-wishers? Is it the number of birthdays celebrated? My Nana would have celebrated her 90th at the end of next month. Is it the size of their family? My Nana brought four children into the world, and those four children gave her ten grandchildren, and those grandchildren gave her eight great-grandchildren.
But it seems to me that “fullness” denotes something less numerical, immeasurable by the number of years or offspring.
My grandmother’s life was not without suffering. Her father abandoned her as a child, and she described her mother as a “party girl” who cared more for drink and men than mothering her young daughters. She married my grandfather, a Navy veteran of the Korean War, at the ripe age of eighteen, naïve to the realities of marriage, childrearing, and…as the story goes…the mechanics of marital consummation on her wedding night. My grandfather was a product of his generation. Read: emotionally handicapped. I still feel the ripple effects of his stunted capacity to communicate love and empathy to my father. My Papa mellowed (some) with age, and I knew a gentler, kinder version of the man, but he died of pancreatic cancer just as he reached the financial freedom necessary for he and my Nana to travel.
My grandmother outlived two of her children. Certainly the cruelest form of suffering.
And yet, in spite of this, my grandmother loved big. She spread joy like the stomach flu. She stirred pots. At my engagement party, after one too many cocktails, she propositioned one of my husband’s friends, suggesting he might become her second husband. She loved to dance and regularly mortified her grandchildren with hip swizzles and pelvic thrusts. On family vacations, she led me and my sisters in rousing renditions of Peggy Lee’s 1965 tune “Pass Me By,” changing the final words to, “We’re the Van Horns! We’re the Van Horns! If you don’t happen to like us thank you kindly pass us by!” She had taught the same tune to my father and his siblings, and they sang it together as they tromped through the Arkansas woods on family camping trips.
Everyone knew Janie at her retirement village, aptly named The Village. The Village boasted a quaint little bar, which closed at 4 p.m. due to the early bedtimes of the residents. Not long after moving in, my Nana convinced the Village to keep the bar open until 7 p.m. so she could enjoy her favorite evening beverage: Jack Daniels, heavy ice. She quit drinking a few years ago, and we held a funeral for dear Jack.
Until the final few years of her life, I cannot recall a visit with my grandmother during which she did not make me sing Bill Haley and the Comets’ 1954 song, “Dance with a Dolly with a Hole in Her Stocking.” According to my grandmother, at three-years-old, I performed this song to an airport full of enamored onlookers. And while I have no recollection of the original performance, I possess at least twenty years’ worth of memories of my Nana recounting the story with such pride in my fearlessness and precocious charm.
In my Nana’s final days, my parents, aunts, uncles, and cousins all visited her daily. I do not know whether she recognized my presence in the room, but I held her hand, kissed her forehead, shushed her when she became restless, and prayed the rosary over her. She passed quietly on March 21, clutching her rosary while the Ave Maria played in the background.
If my Nana’s life is a recipe for the making of a full life, then the ingredients include love, family, faith, resilience, and good humor. She poured these out generously on her family and friends.
It seems to me that through this emptying, this daily pouring out of love, her life, in turn, became full.
Something Interesting: On Being Wrong by Kathryn Schulz
My husband recently heard this TED talk from Kathryn Schulz, a staff writer for The New Yorker and self-described “wrongologist.” Her talk focuses on the problem of feeling “right” all the time. In other words, our propensity to feel certain in our ideas and beliefs. She posits that embracing our fallibility is the single greatest creative leap we can make as individuals and a society. Give this a listen - it’s only 17 minutes long and super thought provoking!
In the Kitchen: NOTHING!
Between William’s martial arts schedule and now soccer, our weeknights have been BUSY. Chance and I recently started ordering pre-made meals from FACTOR. They come refrigerated but never frozen, and they heat up in the microwave in two minutes. They’re created by chefs and nutritionists, and they’re honestly so.good.
If you’re interested in trying Factor out, you can sign-up with my personal link and you will get up to $150 off your first boxes.
Get $150 off your first Factor boxes
Ordinary Magic: Windows Down
Oklahoma has been teasing us with Spring, and I’m taking every opportunity to open the windows in my home and car. Warm spring air refreshes me body and soul, and it’s amazing how the simple act of opening a window can lift weight from my shoulders.
Currently Reading
Me: Reading Brideshead Revisited by Evelyn Waugh and listening to Troubled by Rob Henderson
Chance: Demon Copperhead by Barbara Kingsolver
William: The Mouse and the Motorcycle by Beverly Cleary
That’s it for March. Stay tuned for my monthly reading re-cap. God willing, it will hit your inboxes early next week.
This is a really beautiful tribute to your Nana. I'm so sorry for your loss. You're right. It's hard, regardless of if it's expected.