Scrabble, Jeopardy and Trivial Pursuit

One week ago today, my family suffered the loss of my Aunt Susan, my mom’s younger sister.  She was the youngest of four sisters.  That’s not all she was, but it does anchor her place in the Gantt family.  While her life was not what she had hoped and that breaks my heart, Susan made a lasting impression.  Many of my cousins and family members have posted things about her on social media over the course of the last week, especially around Friday, as we all gathered to say goodbye and participate in the funeral.  So, this may not be new to you.  This may be an echo of what you’ve already seen about her.  However, here is what I want to record about Susan, what has been on my mind over the last week:

                  If you had been with us at any one of the Gantt family Christmas gatherings, during the years when we could all be together, you probably would have seen children running around, possibly heard someone singing, walked past at least one person asleep in front of the TV (I won’t call anyone out here), seen the remnants of the “letter” gift exchange started a full year prior, on the Christmas before using a Scrabble set, and eaten more than your share of cookies and Chex mix.  You would also have seen a large group of us gathered around the dining room table, playing a game.  It wasn’t always a board game, but it was always a game that brought laughter, competition and my Aunt Susan was always in the middle of it.  She was an avid game player when we were around and was remarkably good at them.  I could have written this in “Jeopardy” format to honor both her trivia knowledge and affinity for games, but I wasn’t quite so clever this time around. 

                  Right now, we still feel an overwhelming grief; we’re grieving and that’s ok; that’s what we are supposed to do with our sadness right now. It looks different for each of us.  But, I will tell you, as so many others will second; Susan herself is not a part of that grief.  Susan can echo Beth’s words from Louisa May Alcott’s Little Women (from one reader to another, I had to make some sort of literary allusion) when she said, “Now I’m the one going ahead.”  We can all be confident that Susan is no longer worrying about the next step in her treatment, is no longer in pain and is celebrating with Grandmother and Papa in heaven, maybe reading a good book (maybe she’s even getting a sneak peek into Patrick Rothfuss’s as yet unwritten book) or beating them at a board game. 

                  Since Susan is the closest sister in age to my mother, Robin, I’ve grown up hearing stories about the two of them as children.  As you would expect and I will soon learn first-hand, with two sisters only two years apart, the stories range from sweet memories to memories that might fall into a different category.  You’ll have to ask my Mom if she’ll show you the face that she used to make to scare Susan.  But even so, they played beauty contest together and practiced songs, complete with choreography from their favorite musicals as children. 

Susan followed Mom to Carson Newman College in Jefferson City, TN where she completed her undergraduate studies and later in life, struck out on her own to obtain both her Master’s degree and Doctorate degree from Southern Seminary in Louisville, KY.  These accomplishments give you an idea of the value that Susan always placed on education.  She was the daughter of two people who worked incredibly hard during their lives, but were never able to go to college.  Susan was able to earn not only her Master’s but also her Doctorate.  I have immense respect for education.

When I was a child, Susan was generally around whenever Kyle, Charity and I were together in the Gantt household.  She would take us to run relay races, to the movies, to a playground or tell us that we were passing into different countries each time we drove through a traffic light (oh, now we’re in Argentina, next stop Germany, she’d say, as we drove around Spartanburg).   Susan invested in us as children and as adults.  Over the past couple of years, we’ve spent a good bit of what little time we had together talking about books.  That shared love of reading was always a tie between us. I can honestly say that I am grateful for the years we all had together and for the lasting marks she left in my life.

                  Susan Gantt’s memory will live on in her three sisters, three brothers-in-law, seven nieces and nephews, and their spouses and children.  Being pregnant and experiencing the loss of a loved one does have a unique feel.  My own grief is magnified through the lens of knowing that my second baby girl will not get to meet this aunt.  It’s a strange feeling and sadly, one that I’ve experienced before.  This loss is not about me and I know that, although I am sad for both my daughters.  The Gantt family will continue; the legacy is there, but it will always be a little different.  For that matter, Scrabble, Jeopardy and Trivial Pursuit will also always be a little different…

Three Men and a Baby

          Obviously, as you most likely already know and may be tired of hearing about at this point, we are gearing up for some major changes in the King household.  As you are all probably aware of at this point, we are doing our best to prepare for baby-to-be, in all the ways that are possible to prepare.  No, we aren’t naïve enough to think we’re actually prepared, so don’t roll your eyes at me quite yet.  Our pregnancy, the last twenty-seven weeks, have been a roller coaster.  I’m also not quite naïve enough to believe that we are different from other expectant parents in that, especially other first time parents.  We have, however, had our own set of ups and downs that does at least feel unique.

Since this past November, Adam and I have reluctantly become re-acquainted with the reality of loss.  Over the course of less than four months, we have lost three grandfathers between us.  In barely over three months, we’ve participated in three funerals in three different states.  In mid November, my paternal grandfather passed away; in late February, my maternal grandfather passed away; thirdly, only a week later, at the beginning of March, Adam’s maternal grandfather passed away.  

Each of these men individually made an impact on our lives, both separately and as a couple.  We, of course, had a different relationship with each one and the void that was left after each passing is still fresh in each place that they once filled.  I could go on for more words than you would care to read about how much my grandfathers meant to me, how much I learned from them, what I will miss, and how different each side of my family looks and feels knowing they are no longer with us.  I will do my best to keep it short and sweet, so bear with me.  

Throughout our tears and our grief, we’ve constantly reminded ourselves how lucky we are to know that each of these three men lived lives that were long and fulfilling.  While none of these passings were exactly expected, each of these men was prepared.  They were proud of what they had accomplished, had left legacies, and were confident about their next adventures.  Each had a strong and sure faith that reminded and taught those around them about the beliefs that they built their lives around.   I have no doubt that I will see my grandfathers again, that they are reunited with those that went before them, and that they are no longer enduring any pain or suffering.   I am more than thankful for that reassurance, for the knowledge that none of them suffered long near the end, and for the mark that was left in my life and in the world at large because of them.

My Granddad, my paternal grandfather, had a passion for learning and a thirst for knowledge that I have been lucky enough to emulate through my education and career.  He emphasized the importance of education with all of his family.  Granddad loved food, travel, sports, and people.  I have memories of looking at possibly thousands of pictures snapped by “Granddaddy Flashcubes,” of college banquets in his honor, of family vacations in so many places, of Christmas after Christmas morning celebrated at his house, of football games, and of laugh lines around his eyes.  He taught us about how valuable it is to be present and to find a happy medium.

My Papa, my maternal grandfather, left a legacy built on hard work, pride, and loyalty.  He never missed an opportunity to remind his family about his faith and about what he wished for us.  Papa loved the Braves, his family, and was so proud of his accomplishments in the military.  Through a long battle with ALS, Papa stood beside his wife and cared for her through that sickness, after long years of health.  My memories of him are dominated by things like making “stone soup,” an old Fisher-Price schoolhouse, playing with Dan, Christmas homilies delivered to a large and noisy family, reading books in a worn recliner, and naps taken in front of sports on TV.  Papa taught us the value of words and to never waste an opportunity.

If this were the time and place for it, know that I could go on and on about my Granddad and my Papa.  They are not the only two people to have such an impact on my life or even the only two family members to do so, but right now and for quite some time, their loss is sharply felt.

I only had the pleasure of knowing Adam’s Papa for about five years.  In that short time, I did get to know the man that had so much to do with who Adam has become.  His Papa was a man of strength and patience.  He was always glad to see us and never tired of talking to Adam.  His love for the Cardinals, his devotion to his wife, and his unwavering certainty about the future made an impact on me and have been unquestionably inherited by his youngest grandson.

All three of these men had many things in common; more than you would think by looking at their lives on paper.  All put family at the top of their priority lists, all had long and happy marriages that are an inspiring example to a couple going on their third year of marriage and all had a faith that cast out fear.

I can celebrate these three lives with an easy heart.  My mind wants to fight off that celebration and replace it with grief, but my heart knows that they have moved on to a forever home that dwarfs the pleasure I feel in my home on this earth.

At this point in our lives, Adam and I are struggling with grief.  We have fought wave after wave after wave of loss in a shorter time than we ever expected and at a time in our lives when we also have so much joy.  Somehow, our greatest source of grief is tied in with our greatest source of joy.  We are simply broken-hearted that our daughter will not be able to know our grandfathers.  We are more than grateful for the men that they were and what we learned from them; those small parts of them will be passed down to our daughter and she will know, as best she can, these men, but it will always be second hand.  That has been harder to accept than I anticipated.  Each one is deeply missed as an individual, but as a trio, the loss is nearly overwhelming.

In short, we are grateful for the lives that were lived, how lucky we are to have such families, and the profound impact made on our lives, but we do miss our grandfathers.  

“Preserve your memories, keep them well, for what you forget, you can never retell.”  -Louisa May Alcott