How do you sum up your role model's life?

Note: This is the print version for this week's column.

My grandmother, the wonderful Mary Jane Fauls, went to her heavenly home at the age of 86 last week. And I can't seem to believe she's gone.

As the family and I deal with her affairs, I find myself reflecting on what a remarkable woman she was. We are sorting through pictures and packing up her apartment, trying to write a eulogy that somehow encapsulates who she was and what she meant to us.

But how do you measure a life? I want to tell anyone who will listen about her feisty spirit, her poignant insights and her quick-witted one-liners. How do I explain what my grandmother meant to me in just a few minutes? Heck, I'm not sure a few hours would be adequate.

This was a woman who lived through the Great Depression as a child and saw how her parents struggled to put food on the table. She lived through World War II, the Kennedy assassination, the civil rights era and the end of a millennium. She married a good man and had three children, but experienced unspeakable tragedy — losing a daughter and her husband to cancer only a year and a half apart.

My grandmother provided a loving, yet disciplined upbringing for her kids and worked for several years as a secretary in downtown Detroit. She wanted to show her two daughters that they had career options when they grew up.

She was the rock for my mother when she braved the world alone as a single parent with a newborn baby, and was my daycare provider as my mother went back to work, struggling to reinvent herself. She provided end-of-life care for her mother, aunt, daughter and husband. Who among us has the emotional fortitude to do that?

As I entered my teens, my grandma never let me stray too far. She called me, wrote me letters, sent cards, and made plans. It was her personal mission to not fail my mother in making sure I was cared for in the most maternal of ways.

How do I explain what that meant to me?

When I got married, grandma started calling about once a month. When I became pregnant, she increased it to at least once a week. She was tickled that she lived to become a great-grandmother and wanted to know everything — how I was feeling, how the baby was sleeping, what types of food was he trying, was he walking or crawling. I am so grateful she was able to meet him, watch him sit up and crawl, then walk and finally, eat cake and ice cream at his first birthday party just four weeks ago.
I can still hear her voice in my head, because she always asked the same question: “So. … How's our boy?”

He's great, grandma. And I have you to thank for so much of that.

Thank you for never letting me forget that I always had people who loved me, even though I didn't always feel it. Thank you for never forgetting a birthday or holiday. Thank you for calling me just because you were thinking about me — that always touched me beyond words. Thank you for worrying about me. Thank you for never letting me get too full of myself. Thank you for every last bit of advice — whether I wanted it or not. Thank you for always thinking of everyone else before yourself. Thank you for never giving up on me, even when I was at my absolute worst. Thank you for always being the force of stability in my life. Thank you for showing me that I have a voice and that it should be heard. And thank you for all the hugs, kisses and sweet sentiments, for I will miss your warm touch the most.

As I sit here, at my computer, I realize I could write five columns on my grandmother and all the maternal lessons I could glean from her experience and wisdom. But in that reflection, I discovered an answer to my own question.

How do I measure her life? I don't have to. I have these wonderful thoughts and memories inside of me forever, and so these principles will be ingrained in my son. Now it will be my life's mission to tell him how awesome his grandmother and great-grandmother were. I will regale him with stories about their lives — their triumphs and tragedies — but most of all I will tell him that the enduring strength of my grandmother helped shape who I am.

The joy of life is the people within it. The cruelty of life is learning to live without them. Life's cruelty tore a hole in my heart 20 years ago, and it just got bigger. But I will go on. My grandmother played a key role in showing me how to cope. "We are survivors," she once told me. And she showed me how to do that through living example.

I will never fully heal from this loss. It will never be okay that I can't call her anymore for advice or ask her a question about my mother or just tell her a funny story about the baby. It will never be okay that she is gone.

But I will go on, for her. I will be the best mother I can be. I will treasure my children and the rest of my family, as she would want me to do. I will try to find a way to make her proud.

And I look forward to the day I will see her and my mother again.

— Sarah Leach is assistant managing editor at The Holland Sentinel. Contact her at (616) 546-4278 or sarah.leach@hollandsentinel.com.

Goodbye, Grandma. I will miss you always.

Today I lost one of the most influential people in my life. My grandmother, Mary Jane Fauls, succumbed to demands of a long and fruitful life after 86 — nearly 87 — full years.

I will miss our long talks, our pointed and lovingly direct banter, but most of all I will miss the woman who helped to raise me. She cared for me as a child, provided loving and firm support to my mother as she braved the world as a single mother, kept tabs on me as I drifted away from family ties as a rebellious teenager and made a point to call me several times a week once I became a mother.

She was a trusted confidant, a devoted mother and grandmother, and she will be absolutely missed every single day.

The joy of life is the people within it. The cruelty of life is losing them and learning to live without them. Life's cruelty tore a hole in my heart 20 years ago, and it just got bigger. It is painful, physically and emotionally to lose someone so close. But I will go on. Not in a dramatic sense — in a literal one. My grandmother played a key role in showing me how to survive my mother's death. "We are survivors," she said. And she showed me how to survive through a living example. And now I must do it again.

She adored her great-grandson, Benjamin, and was able to attend his first birthday party just three weeks ago. "I never thought I'd live to see it," she said, when I announced my pregnancy in April 2011. And now I am so grateful she was able to meet him, watch him sit up and crawl, then walk and finally, eat cake and ice cream for the first time. To see a child's face when you show him his first birthday candle — I am honored she was there to witness it.

I will never fully heal from this loss. It will never be okay that I can't call her anymore for advice or ask her a question about my mother or just tell her a funny story about the baby. It will never be okay that she is gone.

But I will go on, for her. I will be the best mother I can be. I will treasure my children and the rest of my family, as she would want me to do. I will try to find a way to make her proud.

And I look forward to the day I will see her and my mother again.

Husbands have a way of pitching te-roo-fic ideas

"Our next dog needs to be an Irish Wolf Hound or a kangaroo."

My husband was watching television and apparently thought it wise to brainstorm with the Ghost of Pets in the Future.

I laughed initially. After all, the Irish Wolf Hound is the largest of the domesticated canines, and is practically a small horse. And kangaroos are, well, marsupials. … And they live in Australia.

He was perfectly serious.

My husband has a lot of ideas: “Let’s start a fish tank.” “Let’s get an Irish Wolf Hound.” “Let’s get a snake.”

After a traumatic summer of losing two pets in a month, I’m not exactly itching to subscribe to the “We Bought a Zoo” mentality. We now are down to one dog and two cats — and even that’s difficult to manage with a precocious 1-year-old.

"What about a Red Kangaroo?” my husband continued. “Oh wait, they can kill you. ... Maybe we can get a wallaby. They're easier to handle.”

As he Googled the care and feeding of mammals Down Under, I tried to come up with a tact that could defuse this line of thinking.

“I’m pretty sure you can’t just drive to Petsmart and get a kangaroo or wallaby,” I said. “I think there are laws against that sort of thing here in the States.”

“I’m sure we could find someone who breeds them here,” he replied.

I was starting to feel the hives creeping up my neck as I realized he thought we were in actual negotiations. I suddenly had visions of a roo boxing my poor toddler.

“That would be pretty dangerous,” I said. “I don’t think kangaroos are considered family-friendly for children and I wouldn’t even begin to know what they eat and how the winter would affect them.”

He seemed satisfied with this answer. I was quite proud of myself for dodging another crazy idea would have ended disastrously. I relished in the feeling that our communication skills are improving and our relationship strengthening as we work together to raise our young son.

And then, a voice from the living room: “I wonder if you can get a kangaroo declawed.”

— Sarah Leach is assistant managing editor at The Holland Sentinel. Contact her at (616) 546-4278 or sarah.leach@hollandsentinel.com.

Cold and flu season hits most vulnerable the hardest

Oh, peace and quiet, you are fleeting things.

The euphoria of my baby’s first birthday party last weekend was short-lived. The Monday after the party, I found my son with a smattering of green crust glued to his nose.

Off to the doctor he went, where he was diagnosed with his fourth ear infection in five months. He was prescribed with an antibiotic and was resting comfortably for the remainder of the day in grandpa’s care.

But that solace also would be temporary. On Thursday, Peanut had his one-year checkup and, to my chagrin, I quickly learned that he needed to get five pokes at this visit — two vaccinations in each thigh and a quick poke in a big toe for a lead blood test.

Needless to say, he was less than thrilled upon leaving the doctor’s office and that night and the following day were agonizing for me as he struggled to walk from the pain in his legs.
But the worst was yet to come.

On Saturday, Peanut was whiny and temperamental. He slept more than two hours for his nap, where normally he would sleep 45 minutes. His breathing became labored and shallow and when I started to detect a wheezing noise, my mommy senses were tingling. After a call to the after-hours nurse hotline, we were directed to the emergency room.

There, we learned that our baby tested positive for RSV, or respiratory syncytial virus, the most common germ that causes lung and airway infections in infants and young children. This “super cold” is very common in daycare centers and, although it usually presents in mild cold-like symptoms, it can be more serious in vulnerable population like infants and toddlers.

I thought of my husband and I as being over-precautious, but I soon realized the seriousness of this virus in a person so young: the doctor took a chest X-ray to check for pneumonia and took nasal swabs to test for RSV and pneumonia. Once the diagnosis was confirmed, he had to undergo three seven-minute breathing treatments and take an oral steroid before the doctor felt comfortable enough with his breathing that we could take him home.

Now he has an inhaler administered up to every four hours and still is on an antibiotic for the existing ear infection. Couple that with the bruises on his legs from his injections and I have a poor, little one who has been through the wringer this week.

I wish I could take the pain away for him and fight this virus, which could linger up to six weeks in his tiny body. But the mother’s curse is that she can’t take these hurts away for her child. It is a lesson I will have to learn over and over — and one I don’t think I’ll ever be able to accept.

— Sarah Leach is assistant managing editor at The Holland Sentinel. Contact her at (616) 638-5962 or sarah.leach@hollandsentinel.com.

Birthday bash worth all of the work

My son turned 1 on Friday. I floated through the day as if it was my own birthday. I mentioned the milestone to everyone within earshot, beaming with maternal pride.

The truth is, I’m proud of myself as well. My husband and I made it through a year of parenthood relatively unscathed, which is no small feat, as any new parent will tell you.

So it was with great joy that I planned his birthday party: construction theme, in honor of my husband. He secured hard hats and orange barrels and cones for the guests to wear. I dreamed up “demolition” games for play in the basement for the children who attended.

I even managed to make a pretty elaborate cake, even though my baking skills previously only extended to garlic bread and Pillsbury Crescent Rolls. I managed to coordinate a personalized invites, plenty of seating for more than 20 people, affordable decorations and a variety of food and drink for young and old. Hey, Letitia Baldrige has nothing on me.

Through my party planning, I realized that these first few years of birthday parties will involve prepared activities and prizes for Peanut’s little friends. After all, kids are happy when they are engaged and charmed when they get a little keepsake of their own. But this just adds another layer of anxiety to deliver a positive experience for our guests. I mean, at times it felt as if I was coordinating a lunar landing versus a birthday party.

As the first guests came to the door, I had a sudden wave of panic sweep over me. Was there something I forgot? What if the room was too cramped? What if the kids thought my much-prepared games were lame? What if I dropped the cake?

It would have been devastating if Peanut or the other children didn’t have a good time — or if the adults weren’t comfortable. What if the house wasn’t clean enough? What if someone accidentally let the cats out of their room?  What if the baby had a complete meltdown because of all of the excitement?

I just wanted everyone to enjoy themselves — first and foremost the pint-size guest of honor. And I didn’t want anything to go wrong.

As guests streamed in, I started to relax and enjoy the fruits of my labor. People were laughing, children were playing: “This is going to be a great day,” I thought.

Then a friend walked in and, with a giant, warm smile, announced to the room, “Your dog peed on my leg in the driveway.”

— Sarah Leach is assistant managing editor at The Holland Sentinel. Contact her at sarah.leach@hollandsentinel.com or (616) 546-4278.

365 days: How do you measure a year?

It was 362 days ago that I became a mother and my life was forever changed for the better.

It's amazing how quickly time slips by and how much my Peanut has grown in one short year. He's toddling all over the place, looking for trouble, and is making his best attempts at talking, although no discernible words have been said just yet.

My aunt recently asked, “Is it everything you expected?”
“No,” was my immediate reply. “It's completely different than what I expected, but it's so much more than I ever could have hoped for.”

Here's my NMYIR (New Mother Year in Review) for 2012:
• January: With the new bundle of joy at home, my husband and I quickly realize that, even though babies sleep “all the time,” that does not mean it is continuous. Sheer exhaustion reached new heights that month.

• February: I have mastered breastfeeding while typing at my computer in order to work from home and attend school. I know — I'm a maniac. My husband and I also learn that taking my newborn to public places gives me extreme anxiety. Not good times.

• March: I return to work, only to realize that I can't get my baby off my brain. It's bizarre how quickly one's priorities can change without one knowing it. Also, the Peanut is sleeping through the night. Don't hate me.

• April: Bizarre weather and daycare shenanigans consume most of this month. But the Peanut starts to smile and coo, and I melt each time he gazes into my eyes.

• May: The summer of my discontent begins as my husband leaves for a four-month job stint out West. I realize how hard single mothers work and have mad respect for everything they do.

• June: During a weekend of leave time, my husband and I fly with Peanut to Tampa, Fla., for a friend's wedding only to encounter Tropical Storm Debbie. I discover what horizontal rain looks like. However, Peanut is sitting up and rolling over now, and his favorite pastime is bouncing in my lap.

• July: Drought conditions strike and, once I get Peanut down for naps, I am scrambling in the yard in my bathrobe to water the bushes so they won't die. Peanut is now crawling quite well and has taken an avid interest in everything I do.

• August: I get Peanut into a new daycare and can breathe a sigh of relief. This is abruptly ruined by his first real illness that resulted in a trip to urgent care.

• September: My elderly dog takes ill, and I am at the bring of exhaustion. Between pet and baby messes, work and school, it takes industrial-strength caffeine to get through the days. On the bright side, Peanut gets his first tooth.

• October: I celebrate my third wedding anniversary on the day our dog has to be put to sleep. Two weeks later my cat dies as well. However, my husband finally comes home and our family is whole again. A few days after his return, Peanut walks for the first time.

• November: Peanut's first holiday season is marred only by a massive bout of teething and two more ear infections. When he is healthy and pain-free, he is the epitome of cherubic perfection.

• December: His first Christmas is wonderful, as he learns how to rip wrapping paper for the first time. And as I plan his birthday party, I thank God for every minute I have had with him.

— Sarah Leach is assistant managing editor of The Holland Sentinel. Contact her at sarah.leach@hollandsentinel.com or at (616) 546-4278.

I could get used to saying 'merry Christmas'

It isn't every year I get to do what I want for Christmas. … Actually, I can't remember the last time I had the luxury of relaxing on Christmas.

Last year, I was on the verge of giving birth and was weary of pregnancy. The three Christmases before that, I had to work and, before that? Who knows? I can barely remember the sentence I wrote before this now that I have a child.

After my mother died 20 years ago, Christmas became a difficult time for my family. We struggled with the guilt of celebrating the season when there was someone so dearly loved missing.

We took family vacations to get our minds off the holidays and all that annoying Christmas cheer. We went to Mexico, Puerto Rico, and Antigua. It was a wonderful distraction, but each of us was well aware that we would rather be home with the entire family together again.

As I grew older, I often volunteered to work the holiday, so I was able to focus on something else on a very difficult day.
Then my beautiful baby was born and something changed. Suddenly the magic was back in Christmas. I find myself watching “The Santa Clause” and “Elf” and half a dozen other holiday movies — and the baby isn't even awake. Now I get misty with all the talk of believing in Santa Claus and loving our fellow man.

I think it's the miracle that only a child can deliver. Much like the birth of Jesus saved humankind, my baby saved me. Through him I have allowed an avalanche of love back into my life. I have a grounded sense of family again. I love unabashedly and unconditionally.

There will always be a twinge of sadness when I think of everything my mother is missing as my baby grows big and strong. But she would be overjoyed that I am learning to re-embrace the season through my child's wonderment.

Yes, this year I don't have to work and I can choose how to spend Christmas. And I will choose my home, and Santa Claus will have visited the night before, and there will be wrapping paper everywhere, and I will be happy.

— Sarah Leach is assistant managing editor of The Holland Sentinel. Contact her at (616) 546-4278 or sarah.leach@hollandsentinel.com.