My Gramps

Twenty five years ago today, I lost one of the most important people in my life, my Gramps. If you have ever been a student in my class or are one of my inner circle, you know that this was one of the great sadnesses of my life. There is so much joy in my childhood, special memories, stories, stolen moments in time... long gone but never forgotten… and so many of them include this sweet man I simply referred to as my Gramps.

When I was little, my Gramps was big. In hindsight he wasn’t, he was only about 5’5, but in my eyes he was a giant. My father revered this man and I truly believe that my Dad’s love for his father was such a gift to me. Even though my Dad was a successful officer in the Air Force, there was never anyone mightier, anyone more respected, anyone greater who he adored more than his father. When my Dad needed advice, encouragement, wisdom, or simply a sense of balance and clarity, he talked to his Dad. From the moment I can remember, I saw this in my father. I saw his love and admiration and I felt it in all that he did and in the relationship that they shared.

I have so many snapshots frozen in time of my Gramps and I. We called Union City home. This was where my Gramps lived and where we spent time in the summers. If I painted a picture of these snapshots they would include a lot of grease, dirty fingernails, a blue uniform, boston baked beans and coke. My Gramps owned a gas station in the center of town. When we went home, we spent a great deal of time there and my Dad often “worked” helping out at the station. To most this might not seem special but I thought it was wonderful! The smell of gasoline, the grease, the laughter of my Gramps, his best friend Everett, and my Dad, and my Gramps letting me run the cash register...all of these memories a favorite part of my childhood.

I remember when I was about 12. I stayed with my Gramps for 2 weeks while my family traveled across the country getting ready to move to England. Every single day, my Gramps would come home for lunch and he and I would eat hot dogs with mustard and onions, homemade cracklins, and a coke. After lunch he would often take me back to the station with him and I would work the register and he would pay me in boston baked beans and coke or we would go for ice cream after dinner. Those two weeks will forever stick in my heart and my head as amazing.

When my Dad died, my Gramps was crushed. I remember so many moments during that week of looking at this giant and not knowing how to even begin to love him. I had so much pain of my own, but the greatest of all being the complete sadness of my Gramps. The bond he and my father had was immeasurable and when my Dad died, a piece of my Gramps was forever lost. At the memorial at the cemetery I remember the feeling of my Gramps as they did the 21 gun salute, each time the shots went off his body responded as if he himself had been shot. When the KC-135 flew over and tipped its wing, and as you heard it approach, my Gramps shook from head to toe and I knew in those moments that my Gramps and I would forever be bonded by this tragedy. He needed me and I truly needed him.

After my Dad died we spent a great deal of time with my Gramps. My Mom actually moved us to Ohio just to be near him. My Gramps not only loved and adored my Dad but he truly loved my Mom as if she were his own daughter. The way he treated my Mom, the love and affection he showed her, and in turn the adoration she had for him… it was incredibly special and I consider my Mother incredibly lucky to have had this amazing bond with both of my Dad’s parents. My Mom knew how important my Gramps was to us and that we needed him and in turn that he needed us.

When I was little my Gramps called me Skeeter or Skeets and as I grew up he called me Kris or Krissy. To this day, my family and my brother are the only people that call me Kris. I prefer it this way, somehow it seems okay when they call me this, but when anyone else does it bothers me. The Sunday before my Gramps died, I came home from college to visit him. At Christmas time we discovered that my Gramps had cancer. It was very aggressive and so within about two months I was saying my final goodbye. I remember this day like it was simply yesterday. I remember exactly what I wore, I remember the warnings I got that he would not know who I was, and I remember walking into the family room and my Gramps smiling and announcing that his Skeeter was there. I had prepared myself for the sadness of this day and instead this day is truly one of the most joyful memories I have. I sat and held my Gramps’s hand, he rubbed my thumb with his thumb and he kept saying over and over at random times, “I love you Skeets.” I would tell him I loved him and he would smile my favorite cute Gramps grin. I remember my great Aunt Wilmadene asking me who was going to give me away when I got married and feeling Gramps hand stiffen in mine and seeing tears run down his cheek. I assured him that it was okay and that he could sit with Dad and Uncle Jack at the wedding. I talked to Gramps several times that week. His wife Marge would hold the phone to his ear and I would talk and talk and he would listen and occasionally respond or chuckle and Marge would tell me he was smiling. I told him how much I loved him and how much my Dad loved him and how blessed I felt that he was my Gramps. The following Thursday morning I drove home from college after my first class. I left my roomates a note on the wipe erase board that my Gramps was going to die that day and I left. When I arrived home I got a call from my Mom that my Gramps was gone. On this day I lost a piece of my heart.

There are people that forever touch your life, people that forever change who you are and how you feel. My Gramps was one of those people. My Gramps loved me with a fierceness and an adoration that I cannot even put into words. My Gramps and I shared an incredible bond. In each other, we were able to find solace and able to share the joys and sorrows of loving and living without my Dad. My Gramps will forever be one of the greatest loves of my life.

Selfless Sisters

This past weekend we celebrated the life of my Grams. My mother’s seven sisters, many of their children, their children’s children, her aunt, uncle, and cousin came from all over the United States to celebrate this day. What is even more amazing, is that because my mother is unable to travel, all of these people came to Ohio from as far away as California and Florida. They created this loving circle around my mother and allowed her to share both her grief and her joy in having been the oldest daughter of Paul and Margaret Cramer. The selflessness of this act leaves me as her child, more humbled than I can ever put into simple words. I spoke at the celebration of my Grams’s life simply sharing a letter I had written to her. My letter sums up best my love and adoration for this amazing woman and for the 8 women who continue to walk in the shadow of her footsteps, exemplifying all that she was and all that she dreamed for each of them to be. I am a better, stronger, more faithful person because I have these amazing people as role models. If I ever doubt the blessings or grace that God has shown me, I can look at this picture of them and be reminded that my Army is mighty.

Dear Grams,

As I think back over the last 47 years of my life, so many memories in my heart come with this vivid picture of you beside them. Even as one of 19, I knew that you loved me and you thought I was special. I also knew that you loved the other 18 and thought they were special too. This was your way, this was who you were, and your kind ways and your sweet heart gave everyone you touched a special sense of warmth and ease.

My very first memory of you, I was three years old. We had come to visit you in La Habra and I had fallen asleep in the car on the way there. My parents left me in the car sleeping (what were they thinking?) and I woke up startled. I looked up and you were peeking through the car window at me. I looked at you with big eyes and you started giggling that Grams giggle we all know and love, and I knew I was safe. I remember being in the bathtub in Merced and you were giving me a bath, and you taught me how to make huge soap bubbles with my hands in the bathtub. You would giggle and pretend you had no teeth and I remember thinking you were so silly and I had such an overwhelming love for you. And over those first few years, there are so many bubble memories. There were special moments just like that, simple things that stand out to me as who you were and remind me that the most special moments in life often have no cost, but come from something as simple as making bubbles in the bathtub.

Over the years, as we grew up, I have so many fond memories of you and Gramps... visiting us in England, shopping for Doulton, hopping from antique store to antique store, and when Dad died. As a 15 year old girl who lost her Dad, what I saw in that first month after Dad died was such a beautiful gift from the two of you. Mom was suddenly a widow and the Mother of two teenagers, and scared. And the two of you, you were more loving and supportive of her than you probably ever realized any one even noticed. You stayed with us for weeks and simply loved and supported your daughter and honestly, this is one of my fondest memories of you. In these moments, I knew and witnessed who you were as people, as loving parents, and as my grandparents.

As an adult I grew to know you and how sweet and silly you could be. I remember you at my wedding playing peekaboo behind the flowers, telling me your hair was resting when we were at the cabin in Canada, and watching you give Joshua a bath in the sink and singing to him. When Grandpa died, in spite of your sadness, you showed such a loving grace. I still smile at the picture you and Gail sent me with your hair wrapped in a towel waiting for me to come fix it for you. You and Gail giggled and giggled when I got there and were quite amused with your antics. Watching the love between you and Gail that day and then the next day at breakfast when you so proudly got to show off your girls to the whole place, it was truly such a blessing. I remember when you came to visit asking you about how you met Gramps. You smiled the sweetest smile and giggled and proceeded to tell me the “scandalous” story of how you would get ready early so you could stand in the window and wave when he walked by. You thought this was quite brazen and the sweetness and innocence of this story demonstrated your total adoration for my Gramps.

On this day Grams, I know how proud you would be of your eight beautiful and loving daughters, and the 7 who selflessly came here to Ohio, so that my Mom could celebrate your life with them. This selfless act, these seven loving women and my amazing and wonderful Mom...these 8 people represent who both you and Gramps were as people. In all that they do, in all that they are, they are each in their own way carrying on your legacy of a walk with Christ. Through each of them, your love and grace resonates in the love they have for their own children. The blessing of the gift of Christ in their hearts and the heart of this family continues on through each of them.

Grams, the memories you have given me, all of us, are priceless. I do not remember a moment in my life where you were not loving and kind, where you were not sweet and silly, where you were not absolute goodness. For my whole life, I will know that I have been blessed you are part of me, that you are part of my story. I will know that knowing you, I have seen kindness and love in its purest most selfless form. And although you were often quiet, and often didn’t say a lot, in your silence you spoke more words than you could ever know. As you meet our heavenly Father, please know that every person you touched is better having loved, and having been loved, by you.




Love,

Kristy

My Father and His Bracelet

The Bracelet

My father was  complex in many ways.  As I grow older, there are so many things I continue to learn about him beyond knowing him as just my Dad or the Colonel, but as a man.  As a child, if there was one thing that was unfailingly clear about my Dad, it was that he was unabashedly committed to his country.  His devotion to his job in the Air Force and to the others that served beside him, was an instrumental piece in who he was as a person.

My mother and I have often talked about our life in the military, and more specifically how this life has impacted my entire family and who we all are as people.  I take tremendous pride in the man that my father was, in his love for his county, and in his total dedication to serve and support this land that he loved.  I also feel this in all that I do, in my love for military history, and in my absolute desire to support, honor, respect and uplift our men and women willing to make this ultimate sacrifice.

Through the years, one of my greatest fascinations has always been the Vietnam war, and more specifically, the way we treated our soldiers lost, found, and as they arrived home. I feel like one of our greatest historical tragedies is that we sent these men and women to fight, only to turn our backs on them when they went missing or as they were found and returned home.  Instead of a heroes welcome, as a country, we failed... and not only did we fail them, we often failed their families and loved ones as well.  

Recently, reading a blog about my father's friend Lou, I discovered the Missing in Action bracelet. Someone, having found his bracelet in a pawn shop, had inquired about his fate on his MIA page. A small group of college students who were members of VIVA (Voices in Vital America) had set out to find a way to support our soldiers both our POWs and MIAs.  They created the idea of a simple bracelet with the name, rank, and date of each soldier that was lost.  http://thewall-usa.com/bracelet.asp

I told my mother about what I had read and she shared with me that she and my father both wore these bracelets although recalled that my Dad wore his all the time.  

Yesterday, I took these bracelets and began to search.  Somehow, just names, knowing these men were lost, didn't sit right in my heart.  In my search I discovered that the soldier on my mothers bracelet, Lt. Colonel Thomas Sima, came home, after 8 years as a prisoner of war he was released. The soldier on my Dad's bracelet, Captain Delbert (Del) Peterson was never recovered. He went down in battle and although a helicopter appeared, it only rescued three of the men and left him with the two men killed.  Upon return to retrieve Peterson and the two honored soldiers, they were unable to find him so his story ended here.  I thought a lot about him last night, what I had read, what I had learned about him as a soldier and a young man and I felt sadness for his loss. It has been 51 years since he went down, but as a way to honor him, and remember the man my father honored, I wrote this poem.  Let us never forget those who fought and died for this country we are so blessed and honored to call home.  Let us always be diligent and committed to remember and uphold their sacrifice. 

The Bracelet

It's just a simple bracelet

Your rank, name, and a date

The marking of your loss

The turning of your fate

Stainless Steel and worn

The promise to abide

A sign of human hope

Our country tried to hide

The wrist of my father

He wore your name in faith

Praying your return

A sign of human grace

Thousands of soldiers lost

A war of no rhyme or reason

But instead of our support

Our country committed treason

You left an American hero

To fight a senseless war

But our country turned their backs

Leaving a gaping scar

51 years ago

We lost you with the light

A dark battle in Nam

Not knowing your true plight

Three men retrieved

You left on the ground

Honoring those dead

But then you're never found

As the years have hurled forward

And the memories get lost

Please know that you are honored

For you paid the ultimate cost

And though we do not know

The story of your fate

Please know that we'll remember

Your name, rank, and date

And like my father before me

Who wore your name with grace

I’ll honor you the Captain

And take my father’s place

-Kristy Runkle Reuber

The First Day of the Rest of my Life

Today, my 46^th birthday, is a day I have feared for the last thirty-one years.  As a rule, birthdays don’t bother me.  I’m not afraid of getting older, or of all the flaws that seemingly come with that… no I am not as skinny as I was at 15, my hair is no longer naturally one color, and driving in the dark without glasses is now totally impossible.  However, so much amazingness has come with age… a degree, a beautiful family, a beautiful home, a job that I love, an understanding of a God that loves me beyond reason, and a place to grow roots.  For these things and so much more, age has been a blessing beyond any words I can put down on paper. 

Yet, there is such a burden in my heart about this day… simply understood, but complex in explanation.  Thirty-one years ago, my Dad was also 46… a beautiful family, a successful officer, a lovely home, and the realization that with the love of my Mom, this was the life dreams were made of and he was living it.  I often wonder if how I remember it is how he saw it.  Did he recognize the blessings of every day and how fortunate he was to be living them? Was he embracing the grace of God in those years for the blessing they were, as I can see them now.  In my reflection and knowing the man that my father was, he felt a great deal, but I always wonder.  If he knew, at 46, he would be leaving this all behind, would he hold it tighter, would he do it differently, would he say the words that needed to be said? 

I remember that day, and the weeks that followed, like they were simply a breath ago; the ringing of the doorbell, men in uniform, and total and utter fear.  In a flash of time, a single moment, life as we knew it was gone.  This man, my father, he was the foundation of my security.  And without a warning, he was not... and it was terrifying.  Words cannot explain the feelings of loss I felt on that day or the days to follow.  Your whole life, there are moments, as a little girl, that are intended for just you and your Dad... and in the blink of an eye, they had vanished, their potential lost.  Through funerals, memorials, flags half mast, twenty-one-gun salute, taps, and the final plane tipping its wing as it flew over heard, I felt the life I had slipping away. Even to this day, the number of people who came, the words spoken, the hugs and prayers from friends, the loving gestures, and even the simple kiss of a boy…they all stick in my mind like frozen snapshots on a page. 

I think, as I sit here on the first day of this 46^th year, that the loss of my Dad drives so much of who I am.  In all that I do, I wonder... is it enough, would it be enough to carry me on, even if I was gone.  More importantly, am I appreciating all that I have on this earth, all my blessings, in the way that I should?  In my heart, I know this fear is irrational. I know that this day is like any other day, and tomorrow will rush forward into another twenty-four hours. I know, without any shadow of a doubt, that my life beyond this world is far greater than anything I can even begin to imagine so my fears are not of what lies ahead, but of rather what is left behind.  My vow is this...on this day, I will work to put my fears aside and simply be reminded that if today were my last day on this earth, and there were no more days to come, that I should grab it and make tremendous glory from it. I should make sure that those who most fill my heart, should have no doubt of my words unspoken.  Today is a new day, praise God for each of these!

Cleaning out Drawers... Growing Up is Hard!

Today is that day, one of my least favorite days of the year... the dreaded cleaning out the drawers.  It is always on this day that I have to literally give myself a pep talk that I will not become overly aggravated at what stuffers my children are... stuffed under the dressers, in the corners of bins, in various purses, bags, wherever they can hide stuff to give the appearance of a clean room only to be forgotten for months on end, or until we do the seasonal drawer clean again.  It is always on this day that I realize why my children only appear to eat their underwear and socks.  They have stuffed them! It is also an anxious day for me, seeing that my children are growing up.
     For some reason, the drawer cleaning is always hard for me.  I see clothes we bought, memories that go with certain things, pictures I have taken... it makes me kind of sad really.  It is moments like this that I want to stop this process of growing up, want them to stay little for just a little while, want them to still like the shirt with the silly saying on the front or the cute animal.  This morning, Becca warned me ahead of time.  She said," Mom, I have some clothes I need to get rid of now that I am going into fifth grade.  You can't wear some of this stuff to Berry, it is just babyish."  My heart skipped a beat at that comment.  This is my baby, my youngest, the one I can count on to like the "little girl" clothes, the one who still proudly wears the "My Mom Makes the Best Cupcakes"shirt.  I was in for a rude awakening today, and I was not ready.  As we went through the drawers we started to fill the bags, I knew I was in trouble.  The cupcake shirt and the my mom is cool shirt both went in the "bag."  They were too small.  "What? Are you sure?" I ask.  Her sister calmly takes them from me and puts them in the bag, knowing I am dragging my feet.  "She really can't wear that stuff to Middle School anyway Mom," she tells me shaking her head.  "Okay, I can do this," I tell myself, "she is going to Middle School and needs to be "Cool."
      So through all of the drawers we go and I think we are almost there and I didn't shed a single tear, something to be proud of since deep down I am a huge baby when it comes to my kids.  I open the closet and we just have one set of sock drawers to go.  This should be easy right????  WRONG!  As I sit on the floor folding socks and collecting hairbands, across the room flies a shirt, a shirt that had been "stuffed."  "We can give this one to Ava Mom, she will like it?" Becca says questioningly.  I know this is going to be bad, I don't even have to open the shirt up to know which one it is, and we only bought it six months ago.  It still fits!  She wanted it at the time and I remember laughing and thinking it was silly but being kind of flattered that she would want it... Mom is my BFF.  Sigh!!!!  She wants to give this shirt, this perfectly fitting, perfectly good shirt to Ava.  I really tried to not cry, I really did, all the while knowing how silly I was, wanting her to still want to wear that shirt.  I took the shirt and folded it neatly.  It is not going to Ava.  It is going in the bin, after I look at it on my dresser for a few days, with the hundreds of other items my children have outgrown (or not outgrown) to have for "someday."   In the sweet words of my little girl, well kind of big girl now, "Its okay Mom, I don't have to wear a shirt to know you are my best friend, it's in my heart... I know that Growing Up is Hard for you."  It sure is hard!

   

I Love this Small Town! I vote yes!

For the first 29 years of my life, I was a military brat.  I lived all over the world, and saw some of the most amazing places that most could only dream about seeing, and it was awesome... but I can also tell you, at times, it was very lonely to never have "that place you call home..." that is, until we moved to Lebanon, Ohio.
     On this day, as I have many days, I wonder if the people I so fondly refer to as the "Lebonites"  (those born and raised for generations here), really have any idea of the treasure they have in that legacy.  I also wonder do they recognize the incredible value in keeping this town alive for future generations to be so blessed.  As I read comments about a new bond levy, and pros and cons about should we or shouldn't we, I feel the need to just share my light of this situation as a Lebonite wannabe.
     Fourteen years ago, my husband and I moved here with our then two year old son.  We bought a small home and I started teaching at Dunlavy.  I was from "out of town" and that was very apparent quickly to me as a new member of this community.  Everyone knew everyone, everyone knew everyones business, and if they didn't they would certainly find out.  It was a little bit of a culture shock to say the least.  However, what I also quickly learned, was that when you became part of the fold of this town, people were kind and generous and more helpful than I could have ever dreamed.  The bottom line is that people cared about one another, about their neighbors, and about their neighbors neighbors, and it was finally somewhere I could call home, finally, I felt so amazingly blessed.
     Now fast forward 14 years, 3 children all students in this community, all technically first generation Lebonites, as this is where they have always lived.  Although I can't say I hated a military life, I can in the same breath tell you that giving my children the opportunity to grow up in a town like Lebanon, has been one of the greatest gifts I feel we could have ever given them.  They are born and raised in this community, this is their home, and they are Warriors... for this I am so thankful!  They have a sense of home that I never had growing up, what a treasure this is for them.
     As we look at this upcoming bond levy, where the state will pay over 60% of the bill, I can't believe what an amazing opportunity this is for the children of this community.  This levy will provide them a safer, healthier, more competitive school district to grow and thrive... and will also keep this community where it needs to be as a solid educational foundation for future children.  Whether you are a Lebonite or moved here for the promise you found in this small town, please please please, I am begging you, let this town continue to be the place we all know and love and invest in our schools.  There is no greater return than providing this opportunity for our children and the future generations of this town.

The blessing of a child far defines you as a human being, more than anything else I have ever known.  In the single moment that your child is born, you suddenly go from the world being about “me” to the world being about “them.”  You hear people tell you this, you shake your head and smile the knowing smile, because of course you will love your child, this is what mothers do right?  However, I can tell you that I was not prepared for the overwhelming, bowl you over, take your breath away love that I felt when I met Joshua.  When I saw that beautiful, perfect, wonderful little boy for the very first time, I think my heart skipped a beat.  I was awestruck at the wonder of such a creature belonging to us, and amazed that the Lord could be so good to me... how did I qualify for such an incredible job as this?  I remember holding Joshua that very first night, looking at his little chest rising and falling, and thinking I must have tricked someone somewhere that they thought I was deserving of such a glorious job.  This kid had blonde hair, could he really belong to me?  It was my little secret. I held it close. I definitely wasn’t letting on that I was highly inadequate for such an honor.  I would just have to pretend... and then there was a second child.

I remember being afraid to have a second child for the longest time.  Afterall, I loved Joshua beyond words, how could I ever possibly love any other human being as much as I loved my little boy.  And then it was there again, that moment of awe and wonder; the moment I saw her beautiful little face, hers almost identical to my own, knowing without a doubt that this one belonged to me.  She looked exactly like me, my mini me, our Sweetie.  This was it, we had the perfect little family, even numbers, a boy and a girl.  Life was amazing and wonderful and everyone was believing I had this whole thing under control and knew exactly what I was doing.  I was the mother of two afterall, I was an expert at all this stuff.  Ha!  I had them all fooled.  

But of course, as is typical with life, the plans change and surprises come, sometimes in the form of beautiful little girls.  We went from perfectly even to third times a charm and this time I actually start to believe I kind of do know what I am doing, sort of, or at least I am becoming convincing enough that I have even fooled myself somewhat.  

So here I am, the mother of three children and I sit here and admit, I take this job super seriously and am sometimes over the top about it.  If I am going to continue this charade of knowing what I am doing at this job I was ill prepared for and untrained at, I at least have to walk and talk the part right?  This is important stuff!

Recently, in my continued charade, I realized that I am actually doing this and maybe even doing an ok job.  Could it be that I got this, possibly?  My daughter, a fifth grader, came home from school all excited and happy that her birthday, the big 1-1 was tomorrow.  Meanwhile, it had been a long day working on curriculum for me, my husband was out of town, and as I was making dinner I was trying to rationalize in my mind how I was going to go “buy” something for my daughters birthday at school the next day, something I never ever do.  I vowed to myself a long time ago that I would be the best stay at home mom that ever worked.  Essentially what this meant was that I would do my darndest to do everything a stay at home mom might do while working full time, sometimes not an easy feat... this included making homemade birthday treats, providing stuff for parties, making Valentines, and making sure my kids had all the help and support they needed with homework and projects and sports and whatever else necessary.  So I sat there that night trying to figure out what I could buy that would “appease” the Mommy conscious and fly with the fifth grader when she pops out with this at dinner, “Mom, one of the things I love about you is that even though you work, you still do lots of cool Mommy stuff that a lot of other moms that work don’t do.”  Of course this is followed by the ,”Can we make my favorite cookies for my birthday tomorrow at school?”   Of course, how can I deny this beautiful smiling face, the one that acknowledged my Mommy work as good?  Right?  So off we went to Krogers at 7:00 at night to buy the necessary ingredients for the favorite cookies.  

I may not have this Mommy thing in the bag, there are many days where I am reminded that I really have not a clue what I am doing... but there are also days when the simplicity of a little girls words let me know that I also have that “Cool Mommy stuff” and lets me know that at some point I went from faking it to being a “real Mommy.”

“Sometimes,' said Pooh, 'the smallest things take up the most room in your heart.” 

― A.A. Milne