Kaya
Perhaps short of a marble
So in case anyone's actually reading this, be prepared for the ramblings of someone who's awake at 4 a.m. googling song lyrics and having an epiphany. Just mean to say...
... I warned you.
This is probably just gonna turn into the purely subjective, way too long ramblings of someone who came to realize that their great-grandma was wiser than her family ever gave her credit for.
And yes... I miss her. A freakin' lot.
There's this old-ish song I've been listening to for years, forgot about and just rediscovered today. It's a haunting, beautiful song, but I could never make sense of the lyrics, especially of two repeating verses:
"In the eye of storm you'll see a lonely dove. The experience of survival is they key to the gravity of love"
and
"So if you're in the eye of storm, just think of the lonely dove. The experience of survival is the key to the gravity of love."
Now, I feel like I need to get a little verbose to actually have this make sense, so, if you're really interested, bear with me.
You see, my great-grandma was a young woman when World War 2 happened. Her family had been rather rich back then, she had a father who brought home quite some money, a mother who always encouraged her to be the best version of herself and a little sister she loved dearly.
It all changed when the bombs rained down on the city they lived in. Though they had been hiding in the relative safety of a bunker, it couldn't withstand the force of a bomb basically landing right on top of it, burying them in the rubble as it collapsed.
They were found by the military, who took them to a distant military hospital, where her and her mother recovered; but her father and little sister hadn't made it.
It was there that she met my grand-grandfather, according to her one of the friendliest and funniest persons you could imagine. He had suffered a severe leg injury in a battle and was just recovering. They fell in love there, but she and her mother had to leave at some point, pick up whatever pieces of their life were left, if any.
Now with so many roads and rail tracks destroyed, they walked for days, back to what used to be their home. She saw things I won't begin to describe; I feel like it isn't my place to spread the stories of these people's fates.
They had to move away, of course, find a new home, build a new life, and she did, with the man she fell in love with back at the hospital. They had two kids, three grandkids, four great-grandkids. She was there to see them all, some of us were very young when she passed a couple of years ago, others, me, I was 21 then. But the love of her life, he wasn't there to see us grow up. His leg injury never fully healed, it kept infecting, and every infection weakened his body more and more. He passed long before I was born. Whenever she told me about him, her eyes were still full of love. He literally was her one and only, and she'd spent more years of her life reminiscing his life than sharing hers with him. She loved him so, so much.
She wasn't all that easy, though. She could be snarky, pig-headed, insecure. Most of our family couldn't deal with her more difficult side, but for some reason, she and I always had a special kind of connection.
And she told me something, when I was still very young and being bullied at school. She told me to report them to the headmaster. Thanks Grams, hadn't thought of that myself. But as she was comforting me, she said something else.
"You won't see it yet, but in the end, it all makes sense."
She was right. I didn't understand. How could she say that? She'd lost her family, the love of her life, her home, had witnessed unspeakable things, was mostly being avoided by her own kids and grandkids. How did that make sense?
How could it make sense that I was being tortured by those nasty kids at school while the teachers were just idly sitting by and my own parents had no clue about how bad I was actually doing? How could it make sense that I was being berated by my parents and teachers for losing things when they'd actually been stolen by those bullies? How could it make sense that I was crying myself to sleep every night?
How could any of that make sense?!
I still didn't get it when I was years older and her life and sanity were slowly slipping away from her, stolen from her by that invisible thief named Dementia.
One day, I was visiting her in her nursing home when she had a rare, clear moment. She had been mistaking me for her deceased little sister for a year or two at that point; in her mind, she was back in a time when she'd been young and her sister was still alive.
"Ellie", she said, her gaze clear, but full of sorrow. It was the first time in years she'd called me by my name instead of her sister's. "I lost something..."
"What did you lose?", I asked her, expecting it to be the old, worn down teddy bear of her son, or some piece of jewelry.
"Myself...", she told me.
I cracked. I was trapped by my own codependency in a relationship with an abusive partner, I'd lost my job because my own mental health was in pieces, I was just too aware of the fact that I was going to lose my hero in probably less than a year and now this.
Maybe I should've been strong for her, I don't know, but right then and there it was too much.
Teary-eyed, I asked how all that made sense. How did the loss of her loved ones make sense? How did it make sense that I was being mistreated by my own boyfriend every day?
"Had anything had happened differently, I would've never met you, little friend", she said.
Little friend. That was her favorite nickname for me. It was one of the last things she told me.
Now, why am I telling you all this?
You see, I learned to stand up for myself because I was never going to be bullied again. I learned that, even though my family may not see it, I am stronger than they'll ever realize.
I got a Phoenix on my forearm to remind me of it.
And, after I went through the worst relationship of my life, I learned so much about myself. Things I am still working on, of course, but I am moving forward.
And I met the love of my life.
He's quirky, sarcastic in the most innocent way, caring and so so loving. He makes me want to be the best version of myself.
I'm not going to compare what I went through with what she went through; that's apples and oranges.
But if I hadn't gone through what I've gone through, I wouldn't be where I am now;
Stronger, more self-aware, scarred and bruised and healing and shaping a beautiful life and future with this amazing person.
And suddenly the lyrics made sense.
Suddenly, the song sounded like an echo of what Great-grandma told me:
In the end, it all makes sense-
There are times when you're caught in the storm like a lonely dove, lost, scared and hurt.
But when you get out, you'll grow. Your life will grow and you'll find love and appreciation for yourself, your strength, in yourself. And when another storm comes up, you'll think back and remember that you survived before. You'll remember your own strength, and you'll know you'll make it out again.
You'll start taking yourself to a better place, because you know you can.
The dove will be better at navigating the storm because it knows it can; it did it before.
It'll make sense because everything you went through led you here; to a life not perfect, a heart with some scars, a soul with some bruises, some days of boredom or sadness; an imperfect place that might just feel perfectly like home.
In the end, it all makes sense.
Thank you, Oma Mia, for giving me faith. Thank you, honey, for giving me trust. Thank you, me, for giving me peace.
... I warned you.
This is probably just gonna turn into the purely subjective, way too long ramblings of someone who came to realize that their great-grandma was wiser than her family ever gave her credit for.
And yes... I miss her. A freakin' lot.
There's this old-ish song I've been listening to for years, forgot about and just rediscovered today. It's a haunting, beautiful song, but I could never make sense of the lyrics, especially of two repeating verses:
"In the eye of storm you'll see a lonely dove. The experience of survival is they key to the gravity of love"
and
"So if you're in the eye of storm, just think of the lonely dove. The experience of survival is the key to the gravity of love."
Now, I feel like I need to get a little verbose to actually have this make sense, so, if you're really interested, bear with me.
You see, my great-grandma was a young woman when World War 2 happened. Her family had been rather rich back then, she had a father who brought home quite some money, a mother who always encouraged her to be the best version of herself and a little sister she loved dearly.
It all changed when the bombs rained down on the city they lived in. Though they had been hiding in the relative safety of a bunker, it couldn't withstand the force of a bomb basically landing right on top of it, burying them in the rubble as it collapsed.
They were found by the military, who took them to a distant military hospital, where her and her mother recovered; but her father and little sister hadn't made it.
It was there that she met my grand-grandfather, according to her one of the friendliest and funniest persons you could imagine. He had suffered a severe leg injury in a battle and was just recovering. They fell in love there, but she and her mother had to leave at some point, pick up whatever pieces of their life were left, if any.
Now with so many roads and rail tracks destroyed, they walked for days, back to what used to be their home. She saw things I won't begin to describe; I feel like it isn't my place to spread the stories of these people's fates.
They had to move away, of course, find a new home, build a new life, and she did, with the man she fell in love with back at the hospital. They had two kids, three grandkids, four great-grandkids. She was there to see them all, some of us were very young when she passed a couple of years ago, others, me, I was 21 then. But the love of her life, he wasn't there to see us grow up. His leg injury never fully healed, it kept infecting, and every infection weakened his body more and more. He passed long before I was born. Whenever she told me about him, her eyes were still full of love. He literally was her one and only, and she'd spent more years of her life reminiscing his life than sharing hers with him. She loved him so, so much.
She wasn't all that easy, though. She could be snarky, pig-headed, insecure. Most of our family couldn't deal with her more difficult side, but for some reason, she and I always had a special kind of connection.
And she told me something, when I was still very young and being bullied at school. She told me to report them to the headmaster. Thanks Grams, hadn't thought of that myself. But as she was comforting me, she said something else.
"You won't see it yet, but in the end, it all makes sense."
She was right. I didn't understand. How could she say that? She'd lost her family, the love of her life, her home, had witnessed unspeakable things, was mostly being avoided by her own kids and grandkids. How did that make sense?
How could it make sense that I was being tortured by those nasty kids at school while the teachers were just idly sitting by and my own parents had no clue about how bad I was actually doing? How could it make sense that I was being berated by my parents and teachers for losing things when they'd actually been stolen by those bullies? How could it make sense that I was crying myself to sleep every night?
How could any of that make sense?!
I still didn't get it when I was years older and her life and sanity were slowly slipping away from her, stolen from her by that invisible thief named Dementia.
One day, I was visiting her in her nursing home when she had a rare, clear moment. She had been mistaking me for her deceased little sister for a year or two at that point; in her mind, she was back in a time when she'd been young and her sister was still alive.
"Ellie", she said, her gaze clear, but full of sorrow. It was the first time in years she'd called me by my name instead of her sister's. "I lost something..."
"What did you lose?", I asked her, expecting it to be the old, worn down teddy bear of her son, or some piece of jewelry.
"Myself...", she told me.
I cracked. I was trapped by my own codependency in a relationship with an abusive partner, I'd lost my job because my own mental health was in pieces, I was just too aware of the fact that I was going to lose my hero in probably less than a year and now this.
Maybe I should've been strong for her, I don't know, but right then and there it was too much.
Teary-eyed, I asked how all that made sense. How did the loss of her loved ones make sense? How did it make sense that I was being mistreated by my own boyfriend every day?
"Had anything had happened differently, I would've never met you, little friend", she said.
Little friend. That was her favorite nickname for me. It was one of the last things she told me.
Now, why am I telling you all this?
You see, I learned to stand up for myself because I was never going to be bullied again. I learned that, even though my family may not see it, I am stronger than they'll ever realize.
I got a Phoenix on my forearm to remind me of it.
And, after I went through the worst relationship of my life, I learned so much about myself. Things I am still working on, of course, but I am moving forward.
And I met the love of my life.
He's quirky, sarcastic in the most innocent way, caring and so so loving. He makes me want to be the best version of myself.
I'm not going to compare what I went through with what she went through; that's apples and oranges.
But if I hadn't gone through what I've gone through, I wouldn't be where I am now;
Stronger, more self-aware, scarred and bruised and healing and shaping a beautiful life and future with this amazing person.
And suddenly the lyrics made sense.
Suddenly, the song sounded like an echo of what Great-grandma told me:
In the end, it all makes sense-
There are times when you're caught in the storm like a lonely dove, lost, scared and hurt.
But when you get out, you'll grow. Your life will grow and you'll find love and appreciation for yourself, your strength, in yourself. And when another storm comes up, you'll think back and remember that you survived before. You'll remember your own strength, and you'll know you'll make it out again.
You'll start taking yourself to a better place, because you know you can.
The dove will be better at navigating the storm because it knows it can; it did it before.
It'll make sense because everything you went through led you here; to a life not perfect, a heart with some scars, a soul with some bruises, some days of boredom or sadness; an imperfect place that might just feel perfectly like home.
In the end, it all makes sense.
Thank you, Oma Mia, for giving me faith. Thank you, honey, for giving me trust. Thank you, me, for giving me peace.
