Holding On and Letting Go

I lost a dear friend on March 7, 2013.  Her name was Ethel and she was my husband's mom.   That old "mother-in-law" relationship can be categorized in several different ways.  You might have a fantastic relationship with yours.  Or perhaps one that requires only birthday cards and visits on holidays.  Or yours might be involved greatly, but with a very strained relationship.  Still others might have no relationship at all.  Mine, well...ours was pretty special.

I met mine when I was just over fourteen years old, back in the fall of 1982.  I fell "head over heels" in love with her son, my now husband of almost twenty-five years.  How that happens at such a young age, I can barely remember.  But it did.

Never thought about it before, but she was the tender young age of only 32 when I met her.  She worked as an assistant manager of a bank.  I remember going to their house on Friday nights, when she would bring pizza home after a long day's work and settle in on the couch later to watch her beloved show, "Dallas".  If John and I were in his room with the door shut, she would walk by and open it.  Every time.

She never had a daughter and liked the idea of having a girl around.  As time went on, she would eagerly buy me girly gifts for my birthday and Christmas.  When John and I got engaged, she took a picture of my engagement ring on my finger so she could show everyone.  She was thrilled.

When John and I were first married, his parents owned a small cabin up in northern Michigan, and the four of us went for a weekend in the fall.  This lovely little cabin in the woods had no running water and no indoor plumbing.  It made for an interesting weekend, for sure.  One morning, both of us girls wanted to wash our hair.  We were probably warned about the ice cold water that would come from the hand pump outside, but we were determined.  Our heads were almost frozen solid when we were done!  We laughed and laughed about that.  We even laughed about it, in the few remaining hours we had together in that hospital room a few weeks ago.

Fast forward a few years and she was thrilled beyond imagination when we presented her with her first grandchild, our son Joshua.  She could not wait to babysit for him and have him spend the night.  As a first time mom, it took me awhile to feel comfortable enough to leave him.  But once I realized that he was in good hands, I began to let him go more often.  I would visit her at work and she would proudly parade him through the bank.  I had to stay behind the teller window, but Josh could go roll in the money if he wanted.  So funny.

When John and I built our first home, we moved our little family into his parent's house for about three months.  Joshua was three and Matthew was only a few months old.  What a great time of bonding the boys had with their Grandma during those few months.  She loved helping me with the kids.  We would spend many nights after our guys went to bed and the little ones were fast asleep, talking until wee hours of the night.  This would be after eating our dish of ice cream with a side of potato chips.  A shared favorite of ours.  She would share her heart on many things.  She felt very comfortable with our relationship as did I.  She could lean on me.  I could lean on her.

Now, before I paint this sugar coated, flowery relationship, I must add this.  Our first few years of marriage I had a really hard time with her (not intentionally) smothering me.  She never had a daughter and was thrilled with her son now being married.  Every Saturday morning, like clockwork, our phone would ring and ring and ring.  We were newly weds, young and loved our lazy Saturday mornings in bed.  When we would finally give in and answer the phone, she would ask, "did I wake you?".  Even when I would show some irritation, the next Saturday, the phone would begin ringing.  She would want to talk for hours (it seemed).  She meant well, but I had a hard time with it.

She was the one who had planned all of the family doings.  BBQ's, family get togethers, Christmas Eve and the such.  She loved time when all the family could be together.  It was always at their house.  Food everywhere.  Lots of laughter, kids running in and out along with lots of pictures being taken. Those memories and pictures are treasures.

When I became pregnant with my third child, we were all hoping for a little girl.  She had had two boys, I now had my two boys and John's brother had two boys.  A girl was what the Walls family needed.  She came and stayed the night with me the night before Rachel was born.  She was going to stay with the boys in the morning when John and I went to have my induction.  We were up all night playing Yahtzee and discussing the what-ifs.  A girl?  Was it possible?  We were so excited.  And when little Rachel was born, that next evening, she could hardly believe it.  She could buy pink and crochet pink stuff!  Rachel was always "my Rachel" to her.  I was very glad to have a daughter myself, but extremely glad to have blessed her with a grand-daughter (and three grand-sons).

In the fall of 1997, after now having our four children, we built our second home and again moved our "little" family in with his parents.  This time we stayed for six months.  Having Rachel and Alec only twenty months apart, my mother-in-law was a huge help.  John was at work all day and then would go work on the house at night, so those extra hands were appreciated.  The kids could hardly do any wrong and she loved spoiling them.  We would scrapbook together late into the night.  Pouring over pictures, memories and lovingly journaling it all down in our albums.  I now have those albums of hers.  And they are precious to me.

Even when we weren't living with them, Ethel and I had spent many times together taking the kids shopping, going out to lunch and visiting family and friends together.  I treasured the special relationship we had, knowing it wasn't a relationship everyone has had with their mother-in-law.

When she went through a very dark time in her life, John and I were there for her.  We watched her try and deal with the unbearable pain that came with the loss of her marriage.  She lived with us for a few months before she was able to get her first place on her own.  John and I had been going to church for a few years and that is something that she longed for in her life.  (Her and I had even tried out a few churches together back in the day, here and there, when our hearts were searching).  She would eagerly go with us on Sunday mornings, going to the altar for prayer almost every week.  She was weak and needed strength.  She knew where to get it.  A lot of mornings, her and I would gather around the computer and listen to Walk in the Word or Thru the Bible.  I knew how it ministered deeply to her in her time of need and she looked so forward to it.

When she remarried four and a half years ago, she moved to Port Huron to be with her new husband.  She was very sad to live that far away from all of us, but she soon gained many newfound friendships through church, sewing, playing cards and such.  Time would pass and we'd be making arrangements for summer picnics over there or dinners over here, to be together.  She was always so excited to see her great-grandson and how big he was getting.  She told me numerous times how she loved seeing John and I in our new roles as grandparents and how she so cherished that time when her grand-kids were little.

Last summer, Rachel and I took a drive over there to take her out for one of our "out of the blue" girl's day.  We had went to Chili's for dinner, shopped at the Birchwood Mall and walked on the shoreline at one of the beaches.  We sat and enjoyed a refreshment from the ice cream stand that was there.  We snapped several pictures, trying to fit all three of us in a shot.  You know the kind.  One person holds their phone out far enough to try and capture the right picture.  After several attempts, some very cute but not quite right, we asked the kind woman selling the ice cream to take one for us.  She snapped the perfect one.

Just after this picture, on the walk back to the vehicle, she said, "I love my family!  This was the best day ever!"

And on her hospital bed, as her breaths became weaker, she was still exclaiming, "I love my family!"

I have many, many, many memories with her.  I count it all as a blessing to have been her daughter and friend.  I am so very thankful for the time we all shared.  I am comforted and grateful that she came to know Jesus as her Lord and Savior.  I know where she is at.  I know that we will see each other again, and spend eternity with our Lord.  But, man oh man, will I ever miss her until then.