Note: These are my Nana's stories, not a history book.
Parents: Cornelius ___________ DeJong and Wilhelmina Christina ____________
Cornelius died at a young age- in his 40s I believe, from lung cancer. Cigarettes were sent to the men in WWI to make them feel better and when he returned from the war, it was just a habit he couldn't break. (Note: My grandfather smoked maybe a cigarette a week when a waitress at his favorite restaurant gave him a cigarette to be social. It was never an after dinner habit.)
Wilhelmina died in a nursing home, she dealt with depression and had shock therapy. She was restrained to her bed and strangled herself in her restraints at the nursing home. It is believed that she had Alzheimers and was misdiagnosed which caused the restraints, how sad.
Cornelius was a farmer, he had a lot of land in Edgerton, Minnesota. A very typical farm, cows, horses, pigs, chickens (of which my grandma sometimes tended to).
Both were Dutch, and Nana commented that they were 'typical dutchmen.' I told her that I had no idea what that meant. I'm from Chicago- I know Irish, Italian and Polish. Not Dutchmen. She explained they are serious, quiet, very, very strict with their finances, and hard workers.
Wilhelmina came to America on a ship (like in my history books in school), she was left handed and the schools tied her hand behind her back so she would learn to write with her right hand. Perhaps this led to some of her problems later in life, never feeling that she was okay as she was.
They had a few children, and I do not know the order. Geri, Janette, Raleigh, Cornelius (Case), Harris, Donna (she was the surprise, I call her the bonus baby)
Things I want to remember but don't have time for tonight:
Pearl Harbor
No meals with friends
Playing in the yard and with paper dolls
Wardrobe
Shopping
Thursday, February 26, 2015
Never Enough Time Here
This past Christmas I wrote a letter to my mother-in-law, the 'Nana' to my three beautiful children, and in it I told her this:
'No matter how much time we get with our grandparents, it is never enough.'
This is gut wrenching to me. It hurts to let the words spill out onto the page. My eyes burn with tears. The tightness in my throat makes me yelp for a breath. I am a feeler, I feel things that may not meant to be felt. I wrote this to Nana because we gifted her some 'experiences' with our children for Christmas in hopes that their little minds will be filled with sweet memories of adventures with their Nana. Little did I know, that 24 days later- her father, Walter F. Snoddy, a wonderfully sweet great grandpa to me would leave this earth. The cry of my heart was- we didn't get enough time with him, because there is never enough time.
thereisneverenoughtime.thereisneverenoughtime.thereisneverenoughtime.thereisneverenoughtime.
Here are the basics:
I'm a 28 year old female, white, blonde, a little boring on paper.
I am married to a man that there aren't words to describe, if you know him, you love him, it is that simple.
I have three children who make my heart leap out of my chest, and drive me bat shit crazy.
I have a sweet dog.
I have a mom and a dad (in heaven).
I have five brothers (three blood, two in-laws).
I have five sisters (all in-laws, but if I am honest two are like blood, the one who married my brother has been in my life since I was six, the one who married my brother-in-law has known me for my entire life-seriously.)
I have five living grandparents (three by blood, two by marriage). It is sort of amazing that at this age, I have three grandparents. Insane. Awesome. Lucky. And for the record, my marriage grandmas are 100% mine.
Donna Mae is my maternal grandmother. She was in competition for the worst housewife from what I hear, not much of a cook, had a messy house, and GASP! she didn't make her bed. I love her. I know she wasn't a perfect mom- she told me so. But she is an incredible grandma. Right now I am in a season of life with a lot of time, in a weird way. I am busy chasing little people around, raising little people, loving little people. But I still have time to give, when people can come to me. My Nana (it rhymes with her first name) comes to my house twice a week to babysit my two little kids. Please read that again. My almost 80 year old grandma, the great grandmother of my children BABYSITS my children. Sure it is only about about 45 minutes, but she snuggles, watches shows (and interacts with the shows better than anyone I've ever met) and shushes my sweet new baby so I don't have to bundle everyone up to go pick up my oldest from preschool in our stupid Chicago frigid winter. She is my saint for doing that.
When I get home I ask questions because I care, and it matters to me. I want to know her stories because, enough about me. She remembers Pearl Harbor. She remembers the first time an airplane flew over her house and that everyone would run outside to see. She tells me her life was nothing special, boring, just a simple midwestern existence. But she is my Nana, and to me her stories mean something. This explains part of who she is, part of who I am, part of who my children are. Here I go again having those teary eyes- I am old enough to care. I am old enough to realize how lucky I am and to want to bottle up every moment with my mentally stable grandmother. I don't want to miss this. I don't want to look back and say, 'Ugh, I should have asked more.' So now, I'm asking. I will keep her memories for my own children, that one day should they ask, I have stories. Because great grandparents matter, grandparents matter, and there is never enough time here.
This is my disclaimer- I believe in Heaven, I believe in life after death. I know that my dad and grandfathers in Heaven are well. But just because death happens- and just because the dead get to go on to a better existence- we are still here, and our hearts are allowed to miss them, so please don't tell me to be happy that they've gone on to heaven and that it is selfish to say there isn't enough time, because to me, there will never be enough time together. Whew. Okay, moving on. (And yes, I know that was a run-on sentence- but I'm FEELING right now.)
'No matter how much time we get with our grandparents, it is never enough.'
This is gut wrenching to me. It hurts to let the words spill out onto the page. My eyes burn with tears. The tightness in my throat makes me yelp for a breath. I am a feeler, I feel things that may not meant to be felt. I wrote this to Nana because we gifted her some 'experiences' with our children for Christmas in hopes that their little minds will be filled with sweet memories of adventures with their Nana. Little did I know, that 24 days later- her father, Walter F. Snoddy, a wonderfully sweet great grandpa to me would leave this earth. The cry of my heart was- we didn't get enough time with him, because there is never enough time.
Here are the basics:
I'm a 28 year old female, white, blonde, a little boring on paper.
I am married to a man that there aren't words to describe, if you know him, you love him, it is that simple.
I have three children who make my heart leap out of my chest, and drive me bat shit crazy.
I have a sweet dog.
I have a mom and a dad (in heaven).
I have five brothers (three blood, two in-laws).
I have five sisters (all in-laws, but if I am honest two are like blood, the one who married my brother has been in my life since I was six, the one who married my brother-in-law has known me for my entire life-seriously.)
I have five living grandparents (three by blood, two by marriage). It is sort of amazing that at this age, I have three grandparents. Insane. Awesome. Lucky. And for the record, my marriage grandmas are 100% mine.
Donna Mae is my maternal grandmother. She was in competition for the worst housewife from what I hear, not much of a cook, had a messy house, and GASP! she didn't make her bed. I love her. I know she wasn't a perfect mom- she told me so. But she is an incredible grandma. Right now I am in a season of life with a lot of time, in a weird way. I am busy chasing little people around, raising little people, loving little people. But I still have time to give, when people can come to me. My Nana (it rhymes with her first name) comes to my house twice a week to babysit my two little kids. Please read that again. My almost 80 year old grandma, the great grandmother of my children BABYSITS my children. Sure it is only about about 45 minutes, but she snuggles, watches shows (and interacts with the shows better than anyone I've ever met) and shushes my sweet new baby so I don't have to bundle everyone up to go pick up my oldest from preschool in our stupid Chicago frigid winter. She is my saint for doing that.
When I get home I ask questions because I care, and it matters to me. I want to know her stories because, enough about me. She remembers Pearl Harbor. She remembers the first time an airplane flew over her house and that everyone would run outside to see. She tells me her life was nothing special, boring, just a simple midwestern existence. But she is my Nana, and to me her stories mean something. This explains part of who she is, part of who I am, part of who my children are. Here I go again having those teary eyes- I am old enough to care. I am old enough to realize how lucky I am and to want to bottle up every moment with my mentally stable grandmother. I don't want to miss this. I don't want to look back and say, 'Ugh, I should have asked more.' So now, I'm asking. I will keep her memories for my own children, that one day should they ask, I have stories. Because great grandparents matter, grandparents matter, and there is never enough time here.
This is my disclaimer- I believe in Heaven, I believe in life after death. I know that my dad and grandfathers in Heaven are well. But just because death happens- and just because the dead get to go on to a better existence- we are still here, and our hearts are allowed to miss them, so please don't tell me to be happy that they've gone on to heaven and that it is selfish to say there isn't enough time, because to me, there will never be enough time together. Whew. Okay, moving on. (And yes, I know that was a run-on sentence- but I'm FEELING right now.)
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