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The Monday Morning Memo

She Did Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night

A few close friends are dealing with hard family issues right now – all health related. Watching them cope made me remember the last time my late Grandma visited our house.

I was 15. We were living in a small town just south of Austin. Everyone knew Grandma was slipping into dementia. The idea was to squeeze in one last holiday trip while she was still able, and it was our turn to host the extended family for Christmas.

It began well enough.

A small parade of cousins and cohorts cruised in from Oklahoma. Our house was soon bursting with food, music, and laughter. The presents piled up under the tree. Grandma shuffled around, mumbling to herself and cleaning up little messes along the way.

On the 2nd day, things took a turn.

Her dementia had progressed further along than we knew. By the afternoon she was a whirlwind of rushed gibberish and frantic searching – for what, I don’t know.

Looking back, she probably felt stranded in a storm of vaguely familiar faces in an unfamiliar place. Beyond ignoring, beyond shepherding, none of us knew what to do when she became hysterical in the living room. We stopped what we were doing, looked up and found ourselves in a wide orbit around her panic. In other words – a safe distance.

Grandpa stepped off the edge and met her in the middle.

She lashed out. Flailing.

He grabbed her hand and slowly pulled her body to his.

I remember his steadiness, like he was operating from muscle memory, absorbing her blows until she finally let go and leaned in. He didn’t try to sit her down, or aim her towards the privacy of a bedroom. They just stood there and faced it. Her head pressed against his chest as he held her tight against the sobs.

Without words, the act itself was offered up as a prayer of desperation.

“How could you let this happen?”

Gravity shifted in the room. We fell silent. Reality bent around the weight of their relationship. We were ripples in their universe, freshly born, and still close enough to witness the two stones that made us before they sank under the surface.

In place of their wordless prayer, an unflinching answer rose from the deep.

“Because you’re of me – and now you see what we’re capable of.”

No one looked at each other. Only half of us could raise eyes and look at them. Grandpa was stoic, unblinking, a willing sacrifice. Bleeding out in front of his family so we could see the truth written in red.

“This is what love looks like.”

To the people that are going through it – you were built stronger than you know.

~ Rex Williams,
Oldest son of the wizard and Princess Pennie

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Random Quote:

“A person’s socio-economic strata is largely determined by how far that person thinks ahead.

The average American has a plan for their next two paychecks. Their upcoming paycheck is fully committed, and they have bills to pay with the paycheck that follows, although that one offers a small opportunity for discretionary spending. The paycheck after our next one gives us a little bit of hope.

Two paychecks ahead is the furthest we dare look. This is what it means to be middle class.

But at least we are not struggling to find the money to buy a new battery for the car so that we can get to work, or trying to borrow money to pay a long-overdue electric bill, or wishing we had enough food in the kitchen to last until payday. These people are struggling, but that is not the bottom. No.

At the bottom of the socio-economic strata are the addicts who can think only of their next drink, their next score, their next fix. Their time horizon is a few hours, at most. Tomorrow doesn’t enter their mind.

Friend, I am convinced you can succeed at anything you choose to do, provided you have the emotional staying power to survive your mistakes.

No matter how hard you try, there are a certain number of mistakes you are going to make. This doesn’t mean you have failed. It means you are learning.

So always keep trying. But above all:

Think ahead.”

- Roy H. Williams, from the Monday Morning Memo for June 3, 2024

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