"I Can't Help It"

Usually I think the phrase "I can't help it" is a cop-out, an excuse, an admission of one's failure to take responsibility for one's actions. I put it in the same boat as "The devil made me do it," "I'm a product of my environment," and "It's my parents' fault."

However, last night I heard my three year old use this phrase in a way that initially irritated (the way it usually does), but then melted my heart into a warm puddle of joy.

I was sitting in my chair, changing the dressings on my foot. Cordelia, the curious beastling that she is, wanted to see the "owie." I showed it to her, and she said, "Hmm, it is black and red. That's weird."

As I started wrapping the gauze around my foot, I gasped at a slight twinge of pain. Cordelia said, "I'm sorry, daddy."

I smiled at her and said, "It isn't your fault, baby. You don't have to be sorry about that."

She shrugged and said, "I can't help it."

As I was in pain, and don't particularly like that phrase I scowled and said, "Can't help what, Cordy?"

She looked up at my face and, with unmistakable concern in her eyes, she replied, "I can't help your foot." My heart instantly softened... and then broke when the next words out of her mouth were: "I just love you, daddy."

I have been blessed with the most amazing child. I know other people feel the same way about their children, and I do not begrudge them that. However, as for me and my family, we know that our darling angel is the perfect addition to our home, and we never forget that. She is more wonderful that I ever feel deserving of.

Sad News For a Guilty Grandson

I just received some sad news. I say sad, rather than bad, because the news has broken my heart on many levels. In some ways it is bad news, too, but mostly it’s just sad.

My grandmother’s body is shutting down. She’s awake, coherent, and from what I hear, she is ready to move on to her next assignment.

48 hours is such a short time, though, for the rest of us.

I’ve been remiss. Over the past few years, I’ve put off taking the trip to Boise to see her, even though I’ve known she was ill. My excuse has ever been: “It’s such a long drive.” My little girl, 3 years old now, has never met my grandmother, and this, more than anything, is excruciatingly regretful. Ironically, I’m now working as a truck driver, and driving several hundred miles every day is part of the job description.

And now, since I’ve only just started, I can’t even go see her to say good-bye in person. Anybody who reads this and is close by: Please tell her I’m sorry. I love you, grandma, and I’m going to miss you. I’m so very sorry that I never brought Cordelia up to meet you. I know she would have loved you, just as all of us love you.

You have always been an inspiration for me. You taught me the importance of education, of family, of communication. You were always such a good letter-writer, and I learned so much from you.

If it is really time for you to go, then with a heavy, sorrowful heart I want to tell you that I love you and I will miss you. I’m sure Grandpa and Aunt Lois are waiting to welcome you… not to mention Tony, Mary, Great Grandma and all the rest who have gone on before you. As well as the Savior himself, with his open arms to receive you.

My heart aches for my own loss, and my own regrets, but I know there will be rejoicing on the other side as you are greeted by the throngs of people who must be missing you as much as we will miss you. I certainly hope that when my time comes, you will be there to welcome me home, as well.

I hate doing this in writing. I wish I could come see you. This is the best I can do, and I know you’ve appreciated me expressing myself with pen and paper in the past, so hopefully this is as good. I need to get this out there. I need you to know that I’ve never forgotten you, I’ve just been selfishly wrapped up in things that momentarily seem important, but in retrospect are just distractions.

I won’t ask you to forgive me, because I know you already have… that is part of being a grandma, I think. Part of what makes a grandma a special kind of relative. You just automatically understand that grandchildren are often distracted and foolish, and you forgive us for it. It’s grandma magic.

I love you. I know that you have always loved me. Thank you for being my grandma. I deserved less than what I got, and will forever be grateful for the blessing that you have been to me in my life.

I won’t say good-bye. Rather: Till we meet again.

I love you. God bless you forever.

Steven

P.S. If you change your mind, and decide to get better and stick around for a bit longer, that will be okay, too. I just want to put that out there as an option. Consider it, alright?