My friend Jim told me recently that he hadn’t known how much getting older sucked. Not the aging and the aches and pains but the loss of those who mean so much. While I’m still twenty years behind him, I understand that sadness. Death was once something far off in the distance, and now it’s closing in. We’re realizing more that it’s inevitable. And it sucks.
I just got the dreaded phone call. The one where you expect one thing and instead get the news that someone you loved is gone. My mother in law called to inform me that her brother’s wife had died. It hit me like a ton of bricks.
Jan was the epitome of life. A ball of zappy energy full of vim and vigor packed into a tiny body that never quit even when she was kicked back, sipping a vodka and tonic. Her joyfulness was contagious and her wit snappy. Visits to their home in Arizona rank in my top five vacations.
We connected with sports. Jan was a huge Los Angeles Dodgers fan, and her dream was to retire from her job and follow the team around the country for a year. She and her husband took us to a Diamondback game when we visited, and she was exactly my favorite kind of sports fan; loud, proud, and unapologetic. While she loved baseball, she could talk football, and she always called me when the Steelers got to the Super Bowl. The last conversation I had with her was after an NFL playoff game. True to Jan, we talked sports, glossed over health issues, and got right to discussing our children and her grandchildren.
She loved children, and she walked the walk when it came to them. She was the kind of grandmother I hope to be. The down on the ground, hands in the mud, dirty clothes grandmother. She listened when children spoke, really listened to what they had to say, and she talked to them as equals, often engaging them in conversations that no other adult would dare to touch. She rarely ever said no to children. If they asked to do something that she couldn’t say yes to for adult reasons, she’d redirect and invent an even better game that would incorporate some of what was initially asked. She always asked first about my girls in any conversation.
Jan hailed from England and had the accent with a distinctive voice I’d know with my eyes closed. She was insightful, and while she didn’t like to speak ill of anyone, she’d share her opinions if she thought it would benefit. She kept her husband on the straight and narrow path while letting him believe he was in charge, and they had a relationship that truly worked. She was caring, kind, funny, and absolutely wonderful. I know she will be missed by her husband, her sons, and her grandchildren, but she will be missed by me too.
Unfortunately, life intervened, and we didn’t see each other for years. I hadn’t spoken to her since that NFL playoff game, but she was always in my mind at various times; while cooking on my electric skillet, mixing cocktails, sitting poolside, and when hearing anything Dodger related. She was a one of a kind gal.
Jim is right. Getting old and losing loved ones sucks.
I just got the dreaded phone call. The one where you expect one thing and instead get the news that someone you loved is gone. My mother in law called to inform me that her brother’s wife had died. It hit me like a ton of bricks.
Jan was the epitome of life. A ball of zappy energy full of vim and vigor packed into a tiny body that never quit even when she was kicked back, sipping a vodka and tonic. Her joyfulness was contagious and her wit snappy. Visits to their home in Arizona rank in my top five vacations.
We connected with sports. Jan was a huge Los Angeles Dodgers fan, and her dream was to retire from her job and follow the team around the country for a year. She and her husband took us to a Diamondback game when we visited, and she was exactly my favorite kind of sports fan; loud, proud, and unapologetic. While she loved baseball, she could talk football, and she always called me when the Steelers got to the Super Bowl. The last conversation I had with her was after an NFL playoff game. True to Jan, we talked sports, glossed over health issues, and got right to discussing our children and her grandchildren.
She loved children, and she walked the walk when it came to them. She was the kind of grandmother I hope to be. The down on the ground, hands in the mud, dirty clothes grandmother. She listened when children spoke, really listened to what they had to say, and she talked to them as equals, often engaging them in conversations that no other adult would dare to touch. She rarely ever said no to children. If they asked to do something that she couldn’t say yes to for adult reasons, she’d redirect and invent an even better game that would incorporate some of what was initially asked. She always asked first about my girls in any conversation.
Jan hailed from England and had the accent with a distinctive voice I’d know with my eyes closed. She was insightful, and while she didn’t like to speak ill of anyone, she’d share her opinions if she thought it would benefit. She kept her husband on the straight and narrow path while letting him believe he was in charge, and they had a relationship that truly worked. She was caring, kind, funny, and absolutely wonderful. I know she will be missed by her husband, her sons, and her grandchildren, but she will be missed by me too.
Unfortunately, life intervened, and we didn’t see each other for years. I hadn’t spoken to her since that NFL playoff game, but she was always in my mind at various times; while cooking on my electric skillet, mixing cocktails, sitting poolside, and when hearing anything Dodger related. She was a one of a kind gal.
Jim is right. Getting old and losing loved ones sucks.
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