But I do.
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Showing posts with label Family. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Family. Show all posts
Thursday, February 18, 2016
Friday, February 25, 2011
Wednesday, February 17, 2010
Emanuel Gustave Holstein
Grandpa Holstein is still with me every day. I talk to him regularly. I have many fathers in heaven that watch over me.
The more people I meet in my life, the more I am reminded how lucky I was to have my grandfather as a role model. He lived a life of service to his family and his community. He met and accepted you, where you were at, without judgment. His advice to me never sounded like preaching. There are many questions that I would love to ask him today, now that I am wiser and more aware of what questions I could be asking.
The more people I meet in my life, the more I am reminded how lucky I was to have my grandfather as a role model. He lived a life of service to his family and his community. He met and accepted you, where you were at, without judgment. His advice to me never sounded like preaching. There are many questions that I would love to ask him today, now that I am wiser and more aware of what questions I could be asking.
Tribute to my Mother
I don’t remember being born – but it seems like mom has been there for me, all my life. There is a lot of evidence that we are related – the least important of which are the comments from people who ask my mother if I am her brother when we go out together.
I am blessed to have a mother who has unwaveringly loved me. I remember asking her why she would always buy tickets for two nights to see one of my performances in high school. She explained that on the first night she could only see me, and on the second night she could actually see the show. I have since experienced this phenomenon when watching my daughter Sarah.
So how do you pay tribute to someone who has raised, loved and supported you your entire life? I’ve experienced her love, her tears, her rage and her fears. I’ve seen her in pain as well as in joy. I’ve watched her grow up and shared her love of dance, music, theatre and film. I’ve hurt her, surprised her, scared her, nursed her and loved her. So I guess; a thank you and an apology for all of the challenges I’ve thrown her way, would be a good start.
My memories are fuzzy prior to my parent’s accident, and my father’s death. My first conscious memories of my mother are seeing her and my father lying bloody and broken on the cold cement floor of the public beach house at Lake Calhoun. Both had received serious head injuries, my father taking the brunt of the blow that had left my mother’s face and jaw broken, not to mention various other wounds.
In the fog of my shock I remember repeatedly asking my mother for my grandparent’s phone number; which, miraculously she was able to give me though she was barely conscious.
When I say I watched my mother grow up, this may indeed have been her re-birth. This was the day and the moment in time that the responsibility to raise five children, which she had shared with my father, became hers alone.
I can speak with authority on the how drastically my reality changed in that moment. I can only imagine the weight of the change in her reality. She moved from loving wife and mother, to sole bread-winner, grieving wife and still mother of five in a nanosecond.
When she came home from the hospital she appeared so fragile. As the glassiness in her eyes slowly waned, her jaw unwired, and her wounds healed; my mother reappeared and moved forward. We needed her to.
Time has changed my perspective on many things; but not – my mother. I love her.
Learning other people’s stories about their parents has made me appreciate even more, how blessed I am to have an Angela, for a mother.
I am blessed to have a mother who has unwaveringly loved me. I remember asking her why she would always buy tickets for two nights to see one of my performances in high school. She explained that on the first night she could only see me, and on the second night she could actually see the show. I have since experienced this phenomenon when watching my daughter Sarah.
So how do you pay tribute to someone who has raised, loved and supported you your entire life? I’ve experienced her love, her tears, her rage and her fears. I’ve seen her in pain as well as in joy. I’ve watched her grow up and shared her love of dance, music, theatre and film. I’ve hurt her, surprised her, scared her, nursed her and loved her. So I guess; a thank you and an apology for all of the challenges I’ve thrown her way, would be a good start.
My memories are fuzzy prior to my parent’s accident, and my father’s death. My first conscious memories of my mother are seeing her and my father lying bloody and broken on the cold cement floor of the public beach house at Lake Calhoun. Both had received serious head injuries, my father taking the brunt of the blow that had left my mother’s face and jaw broken, not to mention various other wounds.
In the fog of my shock I remember repeatedly asking my mother for my grandparent’s phone number; which, miraculously she was able to give me though she was barely conscious.
When I say I watched my mother grow up, this may indeed have been her re-birth. This was the day and the moment in time that the responsibility to raise five children, which she had shared with my father, became hers alone.
I can speak with authority on the how drastically my reality changed in that moment. I can only imagine the weight of the change in her reality. She moved from loving wife and mother, to sole bread-winner, grieving wife and still mother of five in a nanosecond.
When she came home from the hospital she appeared so fragile. As the glassiness in her eyes slowly waned, her jaw unwired, and her wounds healed; my mother reappeared and moved forward. We needed her to.
Time has changed my perspective on many things; but not – my mother. I love her.
Learning other people’s stories about their parents has made me appreciate even more, how blessed I am to have an Angela, for a mother.
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