Over the past few weeks, I’ve been increasingly conscious of an uncomfortable fact; my Oma is battling weakening health and doesn’t appear to have an eternity left on this plane[t]. It’s a hard thing to watch as the ones you love fade in health, age and stamina, even if you aren’t physically there to witness it happening.
When I was little, I only remember one encounter I had with my Mom’s Dad. I couldn’t have been more than 2-3 years-old at the time. However, I remember throwing a little Mickey Mouse football with him in the front yard of our home at the time. He told my parents “He’s got a great throwing arm.” as we walked inside.
I don’t remember anything else from that day, other than the back-and-forth tosses we had with the ol’ pigskin, the way the football felt and rough recollection of the way he looked and the sound of his voice.
It wasn’t long after that that I remember walking into my parents bedroom to find my Mom on the phone; she had just received word that He died, and was incredibly sad. I didn’t understand why, because I was too young to understand the concept of death at that young age.
As was the case with both of my Mom’s parents, they didn’t live long enough for me to get to know them as a child, which makes me sad because I truly believe I missed out on an important part of my upbringing; getting to know my real family.
In similar fashion, it breaks my heart to know that Atlas will never meet my Dad. He’ll never know how incredible it was to get a hug from Wim Plaat, or have a man to call ‘Opa’.
The hourglass of time…it never stops. No matter how much we beg, plead or cry for time to stand still, it continues to tick forward with an unrelenting certainty – which brings an odd sense of peace, presence and stillness once you learn to accept the perpetuity of it all.
It isn’t an easy thing to travel with a child. However, it was important for me to spend one last visit with Oma and Atlas in the same room, as well as have him spend time with my Mom. As a result, I decided to book a trip to Ohio in the coming weeks.
For Atlas, it will be an adventure. For me, it will be an adventure with a solemn understanding that this will likely be the last time I’ll see my Oma. As I write this, I’ll admit that I still wrestle with the reality of the situation.
Life is a very strange thing. In many cases, we want and hope for things that we never quite get, while seeing past the things that are right in front of our eyes; we dream of getting roses, while trampling dandelions beneath our feet – or held out by a small hand that gives them like a bouquet.
Lately, I’ve done my best to look at the dandelions in my life; appreciating them for the simple beauty they contain. Unlike roses, dandelions don’t have thorns that make your hand bleed when you grasp them.
Atlas routinely picks small flowers for me and asks me to put them in my phone case – “so you can remember me” he says – in similar fashion, this trip to Ohio is my own way of putting one more flower in my ‘phone case’ of memories…so we can remember Oma. Together.
“One more hug.”
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