My Nonna

 Nonna - 

I could tell you one million stories of my Nonna. I know that when I am old and grey that I will be sharing stories of my Nonna with my grandkids. I will hear them say, "we know --- and Nonna said --- " I have been trying to gather the words to describe this season of life but all I can do is be flooded with memories. I wake up in the night and play another one and another one then I fall asleep with tears streaming down my face. I find myself heartbroken and hopeful in the same breath, I find myself ready for her to find peace and rest but then find myself wanting her to be healed and live until I am old and grey. My Nonna lost the love of her life in July of last year, since then it has been a rapid decline. Nonno knew something was coming, he moved them to my parents house a couple months before he passed. He knew that Nonna was slipping, her memory going quicker than we thought. She was his main caretaker for years and years. She waited on him around the clock and she never once complained, oh well let me take that back - the only time she complained was when she wanted him to get up and move because, "all he does is sit, sit, sit - I need to see movement," she would say in her thick Italian accent. 

Nonno knew that when he passed Nonna needed to be somewhere safe and so he moved them here. And Nonna has been here since, she's gone to visit her home in Florida a couple times but she can't stay alone. She is unable but you tell that woman she can't do something and she's going to show you. The other day she stood up walked towards the back door, looked at my dad and said - "bye Chris I am going to be with my Neapolitan people, you can follow me with this if I must have it." Pointing to her oxygen tank like it was a carry on. My dad giggled looked at my mom, shook his head and simply said, "mom, come sit back down please they are too far away, we can see them later." Im telling you she is stubborn. She was walking down the busiest street in our town four weeks ago, we would tell her to come inside and she would yell at us - "I grew up in Italy walking everywhere, I am a city minded woman, I am just fine." We couldn't say anything back - so my parents would sit on the porch and watch her to make sure she was safe. We have been calling this Nonna - Nonna 2.0 because this Nonna is keeping us all on our toes. Alzheimer's is a terrible, terrible disease and I wouldn't wish it on a soul. 

Now before we get into the Nonna memories that I have been playing in my head for days now, let me tell you that our time with Nonna is coming to an end. We do not know her timeline, we know that hospice has been called in. We know that she is sadly filling with fluid - Nonna loves to tell the story about how Yahweh healed her form cancer when I was a baby, I was just born and the doctor removed her kidney and she came to meet me. When she tells this story its made to sound like the came to my birth 2 hours post op, but it was a few weeks. Needless to say, she has once kidney and there has never been an issue until recently. She has always and will always be the healthiest person I know. She recently got pneumonia and it took off quickly. I do not want this to become a medical post because the medical things are making my head spin, but what you need to know is that one minute she is fine and the next she is touching heaven. The other night she laid in bed - saluted Nonno and told him that she would see him soon. The next night she was speaking only in Italian and speaking to her father. She is ready in every sense, but then she's not. She sees us and sees the kids and then she begs to stay, I hear her praying for her body to be healed. It's been the most difficult two weeks of my life, I can say that with certainty. It feels like I am walking in a cloud - not sure what to expect or how to expect it. So now that I have given you all of those boring nasty medical/sad facts let's get to the good part, the part that Nonna wants to hear.

When I was a little girl my parents would take me to Nonna and Nonno's house to stay for a week or so in the summer time. They lived 20 minutes from the ocean and she cooked homemade meals. My parents were sending me to the best summer camp a girl could ask for. When I was there I had 3 cousins from Georgia who would come and stay too - and let me go ahead and tell you this, by the end of summer we could make a bed better than the Hilton, we could set the table for the Queen and we could wash dishes better than the dishwasher ever dreamed. 

On beach days we would all wake up early excited for the beach- duh. I was 7, which makes the others 13, 13 and 12 . We would wake up, MAKE OUR BEDS, eat our bowl of Cheerios and then get on our swimsuits. We would then clean the kitchen, pack our sandwiches, pack our water in the big red thermos and then we would apply sunscreen knowing good and well that our hopes were too high we would be reapplying sunscreen again before we left for the beach. If there is one thing to know about this beautiful Italian woman it is that she is going to take at least two hours to get ready even if it was just for the beach day. We would be ready, packed, reapplying sunscreen for the second time and then we would draw straws on who was going to ask her if she was ready. We were only drawing straws because we knew the answer, we would quote it walking down the hallway to her bedroom - "I am coming, I am coming, I am coming, I have to brush my hair and then I am done." Knowing she in fact was not coming yet. Finally when she was dressed, she would run thru the living room - tell our oldest cousin to go crank the Buick and blast the AC. Then without hesitation she would rush us to the car as if we had not just applied sunscreen three time waiting on her. We would get in the car, oldest in the front and the other three in the back seat, she would crank up Carman - Do I Do and we were on our way. 

As an adult I physically cannot imagine taking 4 kids to the beach by myself, but she did it. She grew up on the ocean in Naples Italy - "street, rocks, ocean." it's what we have been told our entire life. The ocean was her friend, the ocean was her second home - so taking four kids was nothing. I vividly remember looking in the rearview mirror on beach days and seeing her talking, in between songs you could hear her praying in the spirit, that's how she did it - how she did beach days with four kids. 

We would get to Dunes of Panama, park in our spot, put our lunch box and red thermos under the pavilion by the pool and we would head down to the ocean. Now, this was not a chill ocean time - this was full on swim camp and boogie board camp. I proudly tell people that I learned how to swim in the ocean, my Nonna taught me. We would be in the ocean for hours, HOURS. There was no time for sunbathing or sandcastles - this woman meant we were swimming in the ocean and we never, ever wanted to get out when it was time to go. We always ended our beach days at the pool, we would go up to the pavilion we had reserved hours before - sit down and eat our cold turkey and cheese sandwiches on sourdough bread, we would pass the family bag of Doritos and the red thermos of ice cold water - then she would cut an apple for us to each have a couple slices. I can still taste the water from the red thermos. After an hour in the pool we would get back in the Buick, the leather seats burning our first layer of skin off - Nonna would crank the car and blast Carman, I would look in her rearview mirror and I would see her praying in the spirit again. 

We would get home, all take our showers, cook a full dinner, sit around the perfectly made table, we would hold hands, Nonno would ask the blessing - say, "buon appetite," lean over and kiss Nonna and then we would all share stories about our beach day. After dinner we would all clean the kitchen - one putting away leftovers, one cleaning off the table, one washing and one drying. Then we would all sit in the living room have a bowl of rocky road ice cream and watch I Love Lucy while Nonna rolled her hair. 

I am telling you - The best summer camp a girl could dream of.

These stories of Nonna could last forever - when I was a little girl I would get scared in the night. I would sneak into her bedroom, go over to her side of the bed and tell her I was scared. If Miguel does this now, I scoot over and let him get in the bed with us, but not Nonna - she would get out of bed walk me down the hallway and in to the living room, she would turn on the lamp look me in the eyes and say, "there is nothing but ministering angels in this house," then she would walk me around the entire house saying the same sentence over and over, asking me to say the same thing. Telling me that there as nothing to fear. She would then walk me to my bedroom, we would say the prayers again and she would rub my hand until I fell asleep. 

When I would get up in the night thirsty - she would walk me to the kitchen, turn on the light above the sink fix me a glass of water and say shhhh as she ran her hand from the top of my head to the tip of my toes as if the water was traveling inside my body. She would take my glass, kiss my head and say - "okay body you are not thirsty anymore." She would walk me to my bedroom, we would say the prayers again and she would rub my hand until I fell asleep. 

Nonna and Nonno had an old radio/stereo in the living room - when we were getting ready for the beach or cooking dinner she would play 98.5 and this was back in the day when Savage Garden was a thing. Well you remember that old song 'I wanna stand with you on a mountain. I wanna bathe with you in the sea. - you know what I am talking about. Now imagine this, an Italian woman with a thick thick accent singing this song and making up a dance with me, her 8 year old granddaughter. We did the dance so many times one summer that it's a core memory for the both of us, I know for a fact that on a good day we could still preform and sing it. 

I am telling you endless memories and I haven't even touched the ones of her praying over us and calling us because she felt the holy spirit telling her to call. And calling at the exact moment we needed. Knowing that I could walk in her house (I did this once bc I was in town documenting a birth, I was there until 1am) I called her when I was on my way to her house to sleep and we both giggled while we made turkey and cheese sandwiches at 1:30 in the morning. 

My Nonna isn't doing good. 

I am not doing good. 

We are not doing good. 

-

But let me tell you what we know. 

We know that when its time she is going to beam to heaven 

We know that she is going to meet her Yahweh face to face

We know that we will miss her laugh and her thick Italian accent forever 

We know that every Christmas we will make cartellate and I will hear her say - Callie you were 2 years old and we couldn't find you and you snuck into the dining room to steal a cartellate

We know that every memory made with her is so delicate and precious

We know that this season of not knowing when but soon is coming to an end 

We know that she loves her children, her grandchildren and her great grandchildren so very much

& for those who know Nonna know this one - We KNOW that if it wasn't for her, none of us would be here.

The One Where Miguel Gets Rid of His Paci

While we were at Disney World recently my mama told me something I will hold onto the rest of my life- she said, 'Miguel does not know what he is missing, you do. He is loving every single second of this and not listing the things he is not getting to do.' This topic was hot off the press as I was drying my tears on Main Street because my birthday boy fell asleep seconds before the parade approached the spot we had been melting in for 35 minutes. I remember feeling so defeated too many time this trip because I, like my mother, live for the big moments. A friend told me once that I love to create moments, it is true. I really, really do - but since becoming a mama I have allowed that to almost rob me of the authentic moments. 

I knew on Miguel's birthday we would be giving Mickey Mouse his paci, it was something we have talked about for months - 'Miguel who are you giving your paci to? - Icky Mouse he would say with excitement. Then the time came, we were at Disney on his birthday to celebrate him turning three years old, him becoming a big brother and truthfully any reason to go - we find it. Anyways, we walked into the place on Main Street to meet the mouse. Miguel had his paci in a little gift baggie. He held it the entire 45 minutes that we waited to hand it off. I explained to a cast member what we were going to do - he seemed to understand and said that would be fine (because I would be leaving with the paci, obviously) I just needed the mouse to take it from my three year old who was passing it off willingly. We got inside, Miguels eyes lit up - He was seeing the mouse, his bestie, MICKEY MOUSE. He took the bag and tried four times to hand it to him and the mouse shook his hands - I looked at the cast member confused and upset, but I grabbed the bag shoved it in my pocket and said, "Mickey says thank you, he will get it soon." I smiled with tears in my eyes for the picture and then guess what - we were too close to the mouse and he pushed us away, looked at us and motioned for us to scoot over. The cast member who stood by the new photo box, did not use his words in communicating a single thing other than 1...2....3.... say cheese. Homie, I will NOT be cheesing at this point. I am upset that this moment I dreamt of was taken because nobody paid attention. I walked out, my husband asked my son what he did and with the biggest smile he said, "I gave my paci to Ickey Mouse like a big boy." He did not know any of the awkward things that had just transpired, but boy did I. I took myself over to the wall of ears and ugly cried, my 24 week pregnant self ugly cried in front of the wall of Mickey Mouse ears because we just, 'gave his paci,' to the rudest mouse I'd ever met in my whole life. Y'all I literally messaged customer service on the app - "WHERE DO I COMPLAIN ABOUT A MEETING WITH THE MOUSE?" was the topic. I laugh about it now, but boy did I have to make some jokes to get through that one. 

That night we had reservations at Chef Mickey and I refused to get in trouble by a mouse or any of his pals - so I was anxious about standing up to take pictures/interact with the characters. We found out that we could in fact interact with the characters and it was the best thing! My baby boy got to meet all of his pals. He loves Goofy and watching him admire him was the greatest moment. 

That's the thing. Chef Mickey was something we booked a week before we got there. It was not something that I had time to butcher with my expectations. It was something that I did not play over and over in my head or worry about getting the perfect picture to remember the moment. It just happened and those are the memories I will carry forever. Obviously, the rude mouse will be something I never forget, but the nice Mickey an hour later will be the bittersweet prefect ending to my baby boy's third birthday. He even got a birthday cake and Donald Duck helped sing Happy Birthday, then Miguel and his cousin Addie went face first in the cake because why not?! 

--- 

I didn't get a pictures of him eating a cupcake in front of the castle.

I didn't get a the perfect paci pass off. 

I didn't get the ideal weather. 

I didn't get to show him the fireworks at Epcot.

I didn't get to take him to Animal Kingdom.

I didn't get him a balloon because he told me he didn't want one.

I didn't get to take him to watch Frozen.

but

We did get to take him to Disney World. 

We did give his paci to Mickey Mouse.

We did get to see Tinker Bell fly.

We did ride Buzz Lightyear 5 times.

We did ride Goofy Train (Mickey and Minnies Runaway Railroad) 5 times.

We did get him any toy he asked for (Birthday Disney Giftcards)

We did have dinner with Mickey and his pals.

We did ride the monorail.

He did get to ride his first roller coaster with his daddy.

We did get him a StormTrooper mask.

He did get to ride Little Mermaid with his Mamey.

He did sing, "In Summer," WITH OLAF.

So many fun things. At the end of the day we asked Miguel what his favorite part of the day was and it was one of the things listed above. Then Alejandro and myself would ask each other and it was also something listed above. That's the thing - none of those moments were planned, all authentic moments that I never could have planned. 

I love Disney World for this reason, I always have and I always will. Those magical moments happen when we least expect them. So CalPal, needs to loosen up and stop trying to force moments. 

Busyness is not my calling

It's really funny that I hate running in real life, but in my mind I am a runner. If things get complicated, I become a track star in my mind. Trying to take the next flight out. I want to run away and start over. It is funny how my brain has created this pattern. 

When I became a Christian as an adult, I was 19 years old. I was in Uganda and I knew that I felt the Holy Spirit. I knew then that my life was about to do a 180 and it did.  I ended an awful relationship I was in for far too long, I started going to church, I changed my music to mainly just Bethel. I prayed more. I tried to teach myself how to have quiet time. I started serving at the church because that is what all the other Christians were doing. I knew that I had found my purpose, it was to serve. I felt like I was called to ministry in some way, so at 19 years old being a fresh -  I mean fresh Christian, I already signed myself up to be in full time ministry. I started overcommitting to the church I was a part of - I taught preschool every Sunday. I took pictures during the worship nights. These things were not and are not wrong, but somewhere along the way -

 I replaced my works with my relationship. 

I knew that I was passionate about Jesus because I surrounded myself with people who were passionate about Jesus. I knew that I was joyful because the people I was around were joyful. But the kicker - I was using others peoples walk with the lord to determine mine. 

I knew a few things about myself at the time. 

1. Africa was not just a continent, it was my entire heartbeat

2. I did not want a job that did not lead me in the direction of ministry.

3. I loved being busy. Coffee dates, church meetings, outreach, preschool. 

4. I never really silenced my mind. 

So I was 19/20 running on the fumes of my communities relationship with the lord and I was trying to find my groove as a Christian. I was reborn, this was all supposed to come easy. I was supposed to wake up every single day with a purpose. I was supposed to walk boldly in my calling. I was great at quite time in the mornings when I got up at 11, I would go sit under the tree in the field and read my bible and write. I would top it off with Bob Goffs book Love Does. It was the perfect thing for me, but my day would go on - I would go get coffee, go hang out with friends here and there, start planning fundraisers for my upcoming missions trip and then I would start getting anxious about, "what I was supposed to do with my life." So I would keep busy to try to avoid that question. Mind you, I was a licensed massage therapist, who talked about going back to college for a teaching degree - but instead I was literally frozen because I didn't want to make the wrong move. So I was a freeloader at my parents house for far too long.

I wish that I had a dollar for every time I have gone through this season. Someone told me once that our brains actually create memory lines- so any habit we have it is so hard to break because we are fighting the line our brain created. So for 10 years I have been reliving the same pattern over and over, not every day, not every month - but at least once a year for a couple weeks I do this:

I look back at my life and try to define when I was the happiest.

Mission Trips

Tour

Food Truck 

I then contemplate if either of those things brought me true joy or if I liked it because I felt busy. 

I then go through 25 different jobs that could maybe fulfill me in some way.

Then I list out every single thing I am passionate about 

Then I sit, I stew and I wonder - wow, so what in the actual hell am I supposed to do. So I sit more, I don't do anything, I become lazy and then I chat with a few friends and finally get out of my funk. But not until I make some major quick change. 

So tomorrow, I start massaging again. It will be good. It will give me purpose. It will give me income. It will get me out of the house. It will help me break that brain pattern. 

What you need to know is that the other day a friend who is basically another version of me, we are truly soul sisters. one in the same. I have never met another human who is so much like me that its kind of wild to see. She told me that we (the type of person we are) tend to find our identity in the closest thing that feels like Jesus, but it is not Jesus. Meaning I, Callie, have put all of my passions into Africa, tour, fundraising, church ministry - but I have skimped out on my relationship with Jesus, like my true one on one relationship. Because somewhere along the way, I was thrown into serving. My husband and I both were. So we are currently rebuilding. We met on the mission field, we have served our entire marriage. And we just were never taught to sit and be poured into. 

Heavy, this one is heavy - but its necessary. In order for me to move past my past, which is truly a crap show - then I have to put this down. I have to realize that yes, the lord used me in the season of Africa, tour, all the things - but. I wasn't allowing myself to truly be filled by him. I was being filled by moments, by other peoples passion about the lord. It is a tough wake up call, but necessary. Because I am trying to redefine myself. Trying to tell myself that the mess that my last church caused is not because of the Jesus, it is because people ran the church. And people are messy. I am trying to remind myself that I do not need to have my hands in 5,000 things to feel like I am living out my purpose. Because just being a good christian, a good wife, a good mom, a good worker is more than enough. 

I gotta stop romanticizing busyness as my calling.