If you have been blessed with one person in life that “gets you,” that you can feel safe to discuss your truth with, consider yourself fortunate. Know that this foundation – a healthy example of love and friendship – can ensure that throughout your life, you will always be all right. That person for me was 100 percent my grandmother, Omi (Omi means grandma in German).
A Special Bond
Omi had one son, my dad, who is an alcoholic and never a true parent to me. My parents got divorced when I was two, and my dad was then in my life two weekends a month, but never as a father and hardly even a babysitter. I often cared for my dad, keeping close tabs on his consumption so that myself and my eventual two sisters from his new marriage were safe and cared for. I kept an eye on my surroundings and was on high alert at all times when I spent time with my dad. Those memories go back as far as I can remember.
As a 4-year-old and throughout my childhood, I was serious, shy and hardly spoke. The fact that I had an amazing relationship with Omi made it tolerable for me to be able to go to my dad’s place. She knew the scene at his house, and she would come over to give me relief. I loved being with her! I could laugh, play, relax and be a child. People often thought she was my mom in public; she was beautiful and looked young, and I believe others could see the special bond we had. This calm sense of peace and understanding was my Omi, and it was a force that molded me into the person I am today.
My mom loves me very much and carefully cared for me as a child, yet her style was that of a worry wart. My favorite food growing up (cheese sticks) was met with a major stressful session of counting and chewing bites repeatedly. I could hardly ride a bike without my mom hovering over me – the very essence of freedom for a kid had many restrictions in my experience. I was never concerned about my safety or being loved by my mother, however, I was also not free to express myself because I worried I would cause her angst.
Today, my mom’s nickname for me is “insane,” as in free spirited, and opposite from my mom in every way! She is always asking, “Kim, how will you survive?” “Stop talking to strangers.” “Have you eaten today?” The fact is, I have 100% survived (as we all have) everything that has come my way. Her view is just different, and she will always look at a situation and determine all the things that can go wrong, and I am wired to see the complete opposite.
As a child, I didn’t know about perspectives and choices, I just understood the examples that were in front of me. Thankfully, Omi would pick up on my desires and tendencies, and she would help foster any of my curiosities. She never told me what to think, how to do it, nor did she question my preferences. Omi would often tell me: “You come into this world through your parents. They are a vehicle for all of us to arrive here and when we get here, it’s your life.” Imagine how self–actualized adults would be if everyone thought this way?! The world is full of adults that are still suffering through life trying to please their parents or do “it” the way that their coach said, their husband said, their teacher said, etc. Never stopping to consider, or perhaps they don’t even know anymore, what it is that they want.
My Omi listened to me. She helped me pursue whatever I wanted to experience and explore, not by doing it for me or even helping me get there, just by holding the space for me that it was perfectly fine if I tried. She likely didn’t get or understand my wants/needs, but that is the beauty of it all to me...love is patient, kind, understanding and bears all things. If I wanted to move to California or Hawaii, naturally Omi would have wanted me to be in Florida with her, but she would encourage me to go and live my life. Anything I wanted to do, she would simply say, “Yes, that would be beautiful.” It never occurred to me that Omi herself might not think it was a great idea. She wanted me to learn in life and knew this would only happen when I made decisions for myself, and gained wisdom from my own failures and successes. To have 41 years with someone that gave me this type of support is something I will always feel humbly grateful to have received.
Unconditional Love
When I think about all of the conversations we had growing up, I realize the unconditional love my grandmother taught me. I talked to her about my dad, and the hurt and abandonment I felt. Omi listened as if I was talking about anyone but her own son. She would validate every feeling that I had, and then she taught me how to forgive. She taught me that forgiveness frees me and without it, I am allowing someone or something else to continue to poison me. I can’t imagine how hard that was for her; she obviously loved my dad very much, but she wouldn’t excuse, admit or deny his fathering skills. She never tried to impose her feelings or beliefs on me; she just wanted to help me to be the best version of myself.
Omi taught me what it meant to love someone and have an interdependent relationship – very much the opposite of my many codependent relationships I had growing up. Those were based on fear, worry and addiction. Omi and I would have disagreements and we could have a heated conversation, but it would end with her telling me she loved me. She made sure I always felt safe and that would include knowing we could safely agree to disagree. We were “fighting fair,” which became a term I later learned when getting divorced.
You’re not going to go through life without a bad day or argument with someone you’re close to, but in a healthy relationship, you learn, grow and move on. We’re all fallible and most people bring in some level of hurt or baggage into a relationship, but that is a normal byproduct of simply living life. Having healthy boundaries and basic respect can always be achieved in a relationship that is geared toward love. I know that now, but I didn’t when I was a child; therefore, my grandmother’s mindset wasn’t the norm for me. She gave me an understanding and foundation that I know I will reap the benefits of for the rest of my life. Omi would tell me she was always learning and growing until she died. This was true, she did actually do that until the very end, and if we are all doing the best we can, we would continue to do the same. The lessons and wisdom she taught me, she lived herself, and she didn’t tell me about it, she showed me by example.
Appreciating Life’s Treasures
I was living in Tiburon, California when I woke up to my phone going off at 3 am with an evacuation alert due to wildfires. This ranks high on my list of scary moments as there was smoke everywhere, and I wasn’t very familiar with the roads and locations they were directing people to. It was horrific how fast everything happened.
That following Sunday, I went to a service at the local Unity Church, the same church I grew up going to with my grandmother in Florida. A couple in their seventies stood up and spoke. They had lived in Fountain Grove for 40 years and raised their children there. The couple’s house had gone up in flames, and they had gone back to try and salvage anything they could. They found a ring belonging to their grandmother and a few other family treasures. The gratitude they expressed for being alive and recovering just a few items was astounding. I sat there and thought of my grandmother who was 88 at the time. This couple was sharing a lesson that Omi had always instilled in me – it is experiences and time well spent, rather than monetary items, that truly matter in the end.
We were forced to completely evacuate the area shortly after, and a friend from Maui called to say I could stay at their place since they were traveling. I was sitting at the airport in San Francisco headed to Maui, when I began reflecting on my desire to leave California. I didn’t really know what to do because I didn’t want to abandon the job I had signed up for, and I didn’t want to quit because I was scared. As the flight attendant gave us the “buckle your seatbelt” speech, I asked for a sign. Five hours later, I landed in Maui and when I turned my cell phone on, I had a voicemail from my dad that Omi suffered a heart attack. While she was 88 years old, she was in perfect health, so this was shocking to me.
I was able to get Omi on the phone and she was her usual chipper self. “Hi honey, did you make it to Maui okay? What’s going on with you? I’ll need a triple bypass, but I’m not doing it. These doctors will need to come up with something else.” I couldn’t help but think “I love her.” She’s not scared, and she told me she had lived a great life and would not spend her last years suffering and in pain. Here she was faced with a big decision that would be scary for anyone, and she stayed consistent and authentic to herself. Omi’s message came in loud and clear to me as a sign. I promised myself that if my grandmother made it through this, I would move back to Florida as soon as I could. She received 13 stints in her heart, and made it through surgery fine.
Within a month, I was back in Tampa and spent another precious 2 ½ years with her. Omi showed up again with her standard way of operating; she didn’t ask me to do anything, but she showed me by being true to herself, that I could be true to myself. I wasn’t failing by quitting and moving back, rather, I was choosing the experience of spending time with family over anything monetary. A choice I will always continue to make.
The Greatest Teacher
In Tampa, I made a commitment to spend at least every Sunday with Omi, and it was the best decision of my life. Every Sunday we went to church, had dinner and talked. In that time, she knew I was in my last classroom years with her. She started prepping me for when she was going to die. She would often tell me she would always be with me, no matter if she was on this Earth or not. Omi would write something in her journal in her spare time and say to me, “Can you read this out loud. I want to make sure you can understand it so you can share it at my funeral.” She would ask me how I felt about her not being here with me and make sure I wasn’t scared. Mind you, all the while she is saying this, she is completely healthy and of sound mind. She was just forward-thinking and fearless enough to have these discussions with me. What a gift to proactively speak this way about passing rather than act as it is isn’t going to happen eventually. Omi knew there was a day she wouldn’t be here and wanted to make sure that I wasn’t left to wonder how she felt about me or leave anything off the table to discuss with her while I had her in the flesh.
Throughout our Sundays together, I would leave her house and think “who does that?” The next thought was always surrounding a feeling of comfort and gratitude. I just knew that to simply say my Omi was a shining example of love would hardly do justice to the courage she had to actually live this example daily. It was so amazing she could talk about death without fear. I often wonder today if Omi realized the impact she had on me during these talks? I would tell her that she was my favorite teacher and she would smile and say, “thank you.” I know I expressed gratitude to her but the depths of that gratitude has only come after she has passed. In her own words of being close always, I can find peace knowing she must be observing me and hopefully proud of all she accomplished with me. While here on Earth, she exuded a calm presence while being a wise observer and I am going to believe that is still her standard mode of operating.
Accepting Fate
In October 2019, I called Omi’s house and she wasn’t picking up. This wasn’t normal. I called my mom and said, “I think Omi is in the hospital.” My mom loved that Omi and I were so close and knew our connection, so she never questioned why I had a “feeling,” especially if my instinct was something negative. My mom checked on this for me while I was at work, and quickly discovered Omi was in the hospital and had been for close to a week. I immediately headed to the hospital and walked into her room to see someone else in the bed. In my confusion, the nurses told me Omi had been moved to ICU, and noting that I was nervous, began telling me how wonderful Omi was and loved her stories of being a professional ballerina. This warmed my heart to hear. Omi was a ballerina when she was young in Germany and I loved that she had told the nurses she was a ballerina as an answer to the question “What was your profession?” The war took away her ambitions of becoming a professional dancer, but she danced all her life and often with me in her living room.
When I walked into the ICU, the nurses said they had been waiting for me. It was odd because I had just found out about the hospital less than 24 hours prior and there was literally a staff of people expecting me. They pulled me aside before I went in to see Omi and a head ICU nurse told me her diagnosis: leukemia and lymphoma. I felt like I couldn’t breathe. Not my Omi. It could have literally been any other diagnosis but that one. I had survived lymphoma at age 25 but I knew Omi wouldn’t at 90. I gathered myself and all of my love and courage and I walked into Omi’s room. She had the biggest smile on her face seeing me. She told me and the nurses in the room that her angel had arrived. She looked me up and down, admiring my jacket and shoes, and telling me that I was beautiful inside and out. I was in the room less than five minutes and the nurse was crying. Nurses do not cry very often in front of patients; they see tough cases daily, but this was something I came to expect. People saw the love and pure joy we had for one another. Our encounter and just being together had triggered something in the nurse. We both knew it and carried on like normal because that happened often. I wasn’t aware yet if Omi knew of her diagnosis. I asked and she said yes. She grabbed my hand and squeezed it and asked me if I would just sit with her. Of course I did; I didn’t ever want to leave. In the midst of the beeping monitors, sterile surroundings, strangers in and out, she was calm, peaceful and happy.
Omi never left the hospital. It would only take six short weeks for her soul to decide she was ready to move on. My grandmother never showed any fear or struggle the entire time. Even as I lay with her in her hospice bed, her skin had vibrant color, hardly any wrinkles, her nails were strong and hands were soft. In that hospice bed, she wasn’t holding my hand anymore, but I still held hers. She wasn’t awake talking or sharing anymore lessons, but I was alert and taking in every moment. She always told me, “When it’s time, I’ll know, and I’m not going to fight it.” She showed me once again that letting go and not resisting outcomes is the quickest way to peace and freedom.
Receiving Signs
Omi passed away December 5, 2019, and I am grateful she never had to experience this current pandemic. When she said she would know when it was her time to go, I didn’t realize how truthful that would be. This pandemic would have been terrible for her. If anything scared her, it was going to a grocery store with bare shelves. She had grown up during World War II in Germany where food was rationed and supplies were very limited. During hurricanes, I would never let her go to the store because the scene would set her back and it was the only time I experienced her in that state. Moreover, she was the most non-judgmental person and the Black Lives Matter movement, followed by fighting and protesting, would have been hard on her as well. I can see her struggling to understand why everyone can’t get along and just love each other. Her wisdom and knowledge of her own limitations allowed her to choose to pass before being isolated or seeing people fight over skin color. In the moments that I miss her beyond anything I can tangibly describe, I am comforted knowing she doesn't have to experience this.
I’m a big believer in signs so once Omi was gone, I expected to “see” her and “feel” her in various forms. We had always talked about that and I eagerly waited to see or feel her. So far, she doesn’t show up like I thought she would, but when she does, it’s profound.
When the pandemic began, most everyone experienced a shortage of cleaning supplies. One day, I began organizing my pantry to put away the larger supply of groceries I had purchased. I uncovered industrial size Clorox bottles, Lysol and sanitizer. When I cleaned out Omi’s apartment, I had gathered these cleaning supplies and forgot about them. I knew immediately this pantry discovery was a sign from my grandmother. She was German and the most organized and cleanest person anyone that came in contact with knew. Omi was famous for her teachings of cleaning. Early on, I learned how to polish jewelry and stainless steel sinks. She could have a pair of shoes for ten years and miraculously, the shoes including the soles would look brand new. When I found my inherited Clorox amongst a frenzy of shortage in the U.S., I knew Omi was telling me I was safe, and she would always be there to protect me. Always – just like she promised.
I received another sign from Omi when I recently ordered a new water bottle from Amazon. I opened the package and there was also a book inside, “Call Me Sunflower.” I thought, is this a joke? I didn’t order this. Then I saw a note that said to reduce shipping rates, we include a book. Not only was the book about healing and resiliency, but my grandfather used to call my grandmother “Sunflower,” and the only people that knew about that nickname were me and my grandmother’s friend Barbara. I told my mom about the book and she said, “You ought to start reading. This will be full of messages for you.”
Celebrating Omi
My biggest takeaway from Omi’s teachings is that love doesn’t die, and we’re all connected. I wholeheartedly believe this to be true and can say that while her death has been a loss like I’ve never experienced, she is definitely still with me.
A good friend of mine that spent time with me and Omi, said our relationship was like a modern-day love story. Your soulmate doesn’t have to be a romantic partner, it can be anyone you have a strong connection to. I always thought of Omi as my twin, and she would say to anyone that would listen, that I was the love of her life.
One way I wanted to honor Omi was through art. She loved art and various ways of expression in all forms. I reached out to my friend and artist, Stephanie Ong, to create a painting for me. While Omi loved paintings, she mainly gravitated toward landscape and realistic pieces, and what I had created in her memory is an abstract piece. I couldn’t create something to respect my Omi in a realistically represented way. This was painted after having long discussions about the feelings I hoped it would portray when sitting in its presence. It’s painted with her in mind and represents a long beautiful life lived, as well as a new day for me. Omi would love that I chose to celebrate our relationship in this way, and like any other choice I made, she would say the painting was beautiful, even if it wasn’t her first choice.
