A grandma named Cille

Growing up, my mom's mom was known to us grandkids as Cille. (Her real name is Lucille). She totally refused to be called grandma or anything along those lines. I respected that about her, when I was old enough to recognize what it was all about, of course. Nonetheless, Cille was a big part of my life. True, her name made greeting card shopping a little difficult (no grandma's!), but it also made her even more special.

Today, Cille's having a rough time of it. It seems she went from a little weak and confused to really sick, really helpless, really fast. I'm struggling with a lot of emotions and finding the right words to express them. It's hard watching my mom watch her mom slip away. It's hard to grasp that while I'm bringing a new life into this world, it seems another is leaving us.

I remember when I found out we were pregnant, Cille would always remember that. At a time when she didn't even always know all of her own children, she knew me and she knew my baby. I'd call Mom, she'd put me on speaker and Cille would immediately ask about the baby. The last time I went to visit, she knew I was pregnant (it's super obvious), but I don't think she knew who I was, or who this baby was, or who any of us were really.

Whenever I think, "Wow, how scary for her. How sad. How heartbreaking," I think about my mom and my aunts and uncles. How are they coping with this? When I feel the nudges and rolls from Asher, I realize that as sad as this makes me - I don't know that feeling of being a parent just yet. I bet that just magnifies the emotions floating around in their hearts. And that saddens me more still.

So, I choose to remember the positive. I choose to remember the Cille that would fuss at us for making such a fuss over her. I choose to remember the Cille that labeled every darn item in the house and would go off on a rant if the 'middle room' stapler found it's way to the kitchen counter. I picture the Cille that had the hugest of delicious meals waiting for us after church on Sunday. The Cille that let me help her choose what to order from the Schwan's truck and always had root beer pops on hand. The Cille that sat on the deck while we raced the huge wheelbarrow up and down the driveway. The Cille that proudly kept a memory box for each of us growing up. And thanks to her, I have newspaper clippings, old drawings, playbills from homemade performances the cousins and I would put together and menus from our pretend restaurants to share with Asher.

That Cille wouldn't want to see us all sitting around, Googling medical terms until we're cross-eyed, bickering, second guessing each other and the doctors and nurses. I don't think she'd want to hear the sadness in our voices. I think she'd want us to remember her glory days, remember her telling us her love stories with Grandpa Paul, remember her force feeding us all kinds of fruits and veggies at her dining table.

I want to find traditions from her to pass along to Asher and within our home. I want to thank her for instilling the love of cooking in my mom and me - and keep family meals going on Sundays. And I'm doing a fine job of keeping her sweet tooth tendencies going - she'd definitely get a kick out of that. I want to drive out to her home, see the countryside and smile. I want to hike around out there with Rusty and tell stories about my adventures with the Wester boys. I think these are all things Cille would want for me, too. I know that. She may not know it anymore, but I know it.

All of this rambling to say that this is how I'm coping. Well, today anyway. I have this fear of her leaving us right as Asher joins us. I want her to meet him, but then I realize she may not even know who she's meeting. As tears fill my eyes thinking of this, I just need to have faith that God has a plan here. For all of us. I'm thankful for Cille and our memories and our big, loving family.

Please keep Cille, my mom, her siblings and the family in your prayers. It's a tough time and I'm not sure that any of us know just how to cope.

We love you, Cille.