No complaints

My Gram passed away last week, so I took the first flight I could afford out of San Francisco on Saturday night to spend time with family at her funeral. Gram was 92, was in constant pain and depression, and prayed daily that God would take her home. The last 10 years of Gram's life were not the memories I would like to hold onto; instead it was the first 20 that were wonderful and happy.

Before my grandpa passed in 1988, my family and I would travel to Burlington, Iowa from Illinois in one of those classic family driving memories with my parents, older sister and brother:
"Mom! Scott took my bear and won't give it back."
"Dad, are we THERE yet?"

The beginning of the movie musical, The Music Man, the train passes from Illinois into Iowa, and they never go over a bridge - this part has always bothered me.

The last part of our journey was the "big" bridge (I had not yet see the Bay or Golden Gate Bridge) over the Mississippi into Burlington which was a beautiful river city with large red brick warehouses, the prominent Burlington Hotel, and the former hospital which overlooks the roadway from a tall bluff. We'd drive a few streets into the residential neighborhoods and on to Bertsch Street to a small, neat, white house with a front porch. Before we even pulled in we could smell Grams roast beef simmering in the oven, and wonder if Grandpa would take us to the park to fly a kite or play a tune on his organ.

My grandparents acted to be tremendously in love, and their silly little arguments would often turn into flirting. Gram was a homemaker, and Grandpa was a retired clerk for the railroad. They were surrounded by other family members in town, mostly Grams 10 brothers and sisters, their children, and grandchildren. Every year I learned names at our summer family reunions, only to forget their names again the next year. My grandparents kind of seemed like the matriarchs of the family - perhaps to me, at least.

My Grandpa's funeral was the first I'd ever attended - I was almost 9 years old. He was my favorite guy. He had the most beautiful dark hair that I liked to comb, he always had a bowl of peanuts on the front porch and would feed the chipmunks living under the porch. (The chipmunks loved him too. After he was gone, they also went away.) Most of all, Grandpa was a musician. He played an organ, and composed songs, mostly religious, but he also had fun songs about Santa Claus and funny things that kids do. Gram was never quite the same after Grandpa was gone. Her house was still impeccable, and she still made her roast beef, but there was always this odd chair missing at the dinner table. Luckily she had sisters, brothers, and University of Iowa football.

During the last 10 years, her health started failing, as well as her ambition to live. She sold the little white house, and moved in with her brother who wanted to take care of her. She and her brother lived in The Burlington Hotel, which had been converted from a hotel into apartments and overlooked the river, big bridge, and railroads that slowly began to gray a little every year before our eyes. About this time, I moved to California so my visits became less, but going back was no longer the whimsical trip to Grandma's house that I remember as a child. Instead of the silly arguments and kites, turned into conversations about the horrors of the world, natural disasters, people dying, and sins.

It was said at my Grandma's funeral that she couldn't watch the news because it would worry her too much. She was luckily on her death bed during the earthquake and tsunami in Japan. It was also said at her funeral that she was accepting of other people, which is difficult to remember from the last 10 years. I remember only she and her brother not understanding those with a different lifestyle: those who are divorced, homosexual, in jail (like those are all the same "sin"). Living in California, I found those conversations difficult because I was learning to accept those who lived differently than I do, and also to embrace differences. I usually kept/keep my mouth shut. (Imagine that!)

While traveling to the funeral from Des Moines to Burlington this weekend, we stopped for a bite of breakfast at McDonalds in Mt. Pleasant, Iowa. (Of course! So much for "no cheese.") As we ate, we couldn't help but overhear conversations of the little old people that sat in the restaurant at different tables with their watered-down coffee, looking out the window onto the brown fields, and complaining about traffic in the major cities. "I would never want to live in a place like Chicago, or Kansas City . . . and in California, they have those lanes that you can't drive in!"

My sister and I laughed a little, but it was also pretty depressing. I almost wanted to yell back like, "Oh you wouldn't want to live in those horrible places where people actually have things to DO besides sit around a McDonalds all morning!"

Driving into Burlington was equally as distressing, including those gray buildings, boarded up shops, half-fallen homes, and people without smiles on their faces. It was so good to see family again, and relearn those names, and hear wonderful things about my Gram again. It made me feel like I wasn't dreaming those first 20 years, but it also made me wonder where it all went. While I was busy building my happy life in California, my Gram was just letting hers go in a dilapidated town in Iowa.

I told my parents they should continue to find something new in their lives. They are looking at property in Arizona, which would be exciting for them and bring them a little closer to me! The experience back in Iowa definitely reminded me that life is too short for complaints. Life is really what you make of it - if you are unhappy and try to find faults in others, then you only confirm unhappiness and faults within yourself. It's time to find something new in my life and stay excited about the process. No complaints!