In the winter of 2009, Grant Heslov’s The Men Who Stare at Goats opened in theaters nationwide. The movie starred Ewan McGregor, George Clooney, Kevin Spacey, and Jeff Bridges. It was met with mixed reviews. Variety called it a “superbly written loony-tunes satire” and Entertainment Weekly called it a film about “nothing but its own smugness.”
It was a movie about a special unit in the US Army who could use paranormal powers using solely their brains.
It was a movie about a special unit in the US Army who took large amounts of LSD. Drugs.
Not a lot of people saw this movie. But of the people who did see it, I guarantee you the percentage of them who were grandson/grandmother combos was almost zero percent. I say almost zero percent, because Gammy and I went to see that movie together.
Gammy said, “I would never miss a movie with George Clooney.”
I’m sorry, Pawpaw.
I said, “Same, girl, same.”
I’m sorry, Kimberly.
I moved in with my grandparents, my Gammy and my Pawpaw, in late 2009. I stayed for a few months.
For most of our relationships, I believe we are singly tethered to one another. However, I believe we can be doubly tethered to one another. It’s just more difficult.
For most of our friends, we are tethered by Like. For most of our family members, we are tethered by Love. Both are important, I think. Those of use who are lucky, may eventually throw out the Love tether to some of our friends. When we do those are life-long relationships. Those of us who are even more lucky may eventually throw out the Like tether to some of our family members. These relationships are already life-long relationships. But when we throw out the Like tether, we’re saying, “Hey, I know I didn’t choose to Love you, but I would have chosen you if given the chance. Because, by golly, I like you and I love you.”
It’s probably easiest to Like/Love our siblings. Perhaps second easiest to Like/Love our parents. I think for most, it’s pretty difficult to Like/Love our grandparents. We are separated by so many years, separated by so many different experiences, and sometimes there’s even an actual spatial separation.
Moving in with Gammy and Pawpaw was a true blessing, because during that time, I became doubly tethered to both of them. They became more than just the grandparents I had always loved. They became people I truly liked and enjoyed. My grandfather became someone I could enjoy just hanging out with. My grandmother became someone I could go see an irreverent comedy movie with.
I’d like to share a conversation with you I had with Gammy when living with them.
Gammy: “Hey, Jacob. You know I just love you. And you will always be my first grandbaby.”
This isn’t sugar-coated. This was literally how Gammy talked and what she talked about.
Me: “Yes ma’am, and I love you too. And I’ll always be your favorite.”
I won’t tell you today that I was actually Gammy’s favorite grandchild. But I will tell you she never denied it. Sorry, brothers and cousins, but it is a competition.
Gammy: “Are you hungry? Can I get you something to eat?”
Me: “No, thank you.”
Gammy: “Are you sure? What about something to drink? Are you thirsty?”
Me: “No, thank you, I’m okay.”
Gammy: “There’s ice cream in the freezer. Moose Track’s, your favorite. How about I make you a bowl?”
“No, thank you, I’m really not hungry.”
“What about a sandwich? I might make one myself. I’ve got some really good turkey.”
“No, thank you, Gammy.”
“I also have some of those IBC Root Beers. Do you want a root beer?”
“No, thank you.”
“Don’t tell your mom, but I could make us some cocktails. Does that sound good?”
“No, thank you, I’m good.” Sorry, Mom.
“I could just run up to Kroger real quick and get us food. Is there anything there that sounds good?”
“No ma’am, nothing that I can think of.”
“What about just a glass of water? Do you need some water?”
“No, thank you.”
“How about we run up to Dairy Queen and get us some Blizzards?”
“No, thank you, I really am good.”
“Are you sure there’s nothing I can get you? Nothing to eat or drink?”
“Yes ma’am, thank you, though.”
“How about one of those ice cream sandwiches?”
Pawpaw from another room in the house: “Linda! Leave him alone, he doesn’t want anything!”
Gammy: “I’m just going to make us some sandwiches.”
As Americans living in today’s world, we are incredibly blessed human beings. Every one of us, I believe, would readily admit this.
The American blessing: We have everything we need and we have most everything we want.
Too often, though, we don’t talk about something I call the American curse.
The American curse: “We have everything we need and we have most everything we want.”
As a man raised with the American curse, I too often feel and act like a spoiled boy.
There are two things I always struggle with due to this curse: 1) Not living in the moment and 2) not letting Jesus love me.
As a spoiled boy who has everything I need and most everything I want – this – today – really hurts.
We act like we know none of us will live here on earth forever, but when suddenly someone in your life to whom you are doubly tethered, someone who has only loved you and adored you and served you – your entire life – is taken away, it sometimes feels like I’m going to fall.
I understand that Gammy is in no more pain. I understand that for the first time in the history of Gammy, Gammy is now truly alive and perfect and everlasting. And that is good, and I recognize that good. And I am thankful for that good.
But here, in this moment, in my moment, I hurt. But I’m learning that that is good, too.
There is only one thing in this life on earth that we are guaranteed: It isn’t 70 years or 24 hours, or sickness or health, or happiness or sadness. The only thing we truly have is this very moment.
Right. Now.
This. Right now. Is all. That exists.
Breathe, and know that you’re alive.
It’s so easy to miss out on the moment. On the now. Ironically, I do it all the time.
It would be easiest to miss out on many of these hard moments. These moments that hurt. It would be easier right now to mindlessly scroll on my phone, or to distract myself with video games and television, or to numb myself with drinks, or to bury myself in work, or to deflect conversation and emotions with jokes.
Gammy was so good at passionately living in the moment. It would be disrespectful to her for us to do otherwise.
I have zero memories of Gammy tuning me out by looking at her phone or watching television. If Gammy was in the room with you, she was wholly focused on you. She was so perfect at sharing “Her Now” with whomever she was with.
A couple of years ago, my wife lost her sister. But just a few months ago, Gammy told me about her experience when Christy passed. Gammy was in surgery when it happened. And when she woke up, she was told of Christy’s passing. And she said, “Jacob, I thought I was going to cry myself to death.” Gammy barely even knew Christy. But Gammy had shared moments with Christy. And because of that, Gammy had truly lived in the now with Christy. And Gammy loved me and my wife so much, that her love extended even to those who we love. And because of that, there was Gammy, her world getting rapidly more painful and confusing by the day, and yet she set aside space to feel for me, and my wife, and for Christy.
I believe each of us would benefit from living more like Gammy. By living in the moment. Even when the moment hurts. Gammy lived an incredibly valuable life, because of her choice to always be present.
I’m learning that when we can set aside our distractions and our walls and our biases, and really live in this moment we all share, it’s inevitable for us to love one another and be loved by others. I don’t think we can truly love when not sharing the moment – this moment.
Our bibles are filled with verses about feeding the hungry and quenching the thirst of the thirsty. I have never known anyone so desperate to feed and give water as Gammy was. If everyone in the world had a Gammy, starvation would end in the blink of an eye.
As a spoiled boy with the American curse, I failed to appreciate Gammy’s love as much as I wish did now. I lived with Gammy and Pawpaw during a very dark time in my life. I’m a very private person and I didn’t share those hardships with them or anyone at the time. But I always knew Gammy somehow knew. And as much as I didn’t want to let her in, Gammy never stopped trying to shine a light in my darkness. She never stopped trying to be the Jesus I needed. She never stopped loving me when I needed it most. She never stopped trying to feed me or quench my thirst.
I too often remind myself of Peter when he tried to stop Jesus from being Jesus. Jesus got on his knees to wash Peter’s feet and Peter told Jesus, “No, you shall never wash my feet.” Too many times, I told Gammy no when she tried to be my Jesus.
I’m so sorry, Gammy. And I am so thirsty today.
But let us not forget all the reasons why Jesus wanted to wash his disciples’ feet. Let us not forget all the lessons to be learned from Gammy trying to feed us.
Yes, Jesus and Gammy both truly loved the people they shared their now with. And we all need to be loved. We all need to let Jesus and our Gammies love us. But we also need to learn to love the people we share our now with. We need to be the Christ to the people in our moment. We need to be the Gammy to the people in our moment.
You are here because, yes, you have been affected by Gammy’s death. But only because you have been more affected by her life. You have been more affected by her love.
Appreciate that love. Love that love. But don’t forget the lessons of that love.
I understand how dark this moment feels. But the world is a brighter place because Gammy lived in it. Let’s continue to light up the dark.