In Memory of My Grandma

On Sunday, June 1 2008, my grandmother passed away. It was a topic I wanted to wait and address on this blog, because I wanted to let the loss sink in and give my family who are loyal readers of this blog time to process. Today is her memorial service in Phoenix, AZ. My mom and dad are there, but I was not able to make the trip due to my bar exam studying and client representation.

My grandma was a wonderful woman--she was a tough cookie, and she held more love in her heart for her family than anyone I've ever met. She raised 4 amazing children and had 8 grandkids when she died. She will be deeply missed.

I paused this afternoon at 5pm EST, when the memorial service was beginning in AZ. I remembered the last conversation I had with her before my graduation. She never missed a family event, graduation, wedding, holiday, not until she was unable physically to be present. But talking to her made me know that she had the beaming smile on her face we all knew and loved.

I am posting below the tribute my sister wrote and I consulted in, adding my own favorite memories to her work, that was to be read this afternoon by my mom. I see my mom in my grandma, and see her as her own person as well. My mom has the same remarkably elegant grace in everything about her--her smile, her love, her compassion, her skin, her heart. I know I will see my grandma a little bit in my mom, and she will live on in our hearts through her family.

Losing her meant losing my last grandparent. But losing her also meant knowing there is one more angel on my side, and I will never take that for granted.

Clarice H Johnson

Clair was a lot of things to many fabulous people, but to the three of us she was our grandmother. Although we three were unable to attend this service we are celebrating her life with all of you in spirit. Spirit really should have been grandma’s middle name. Everything she did with us and for us was full of vivacity and grace, from teaching us the fine art of Estee Lauder makeup application (CD was always jealous of our rouged cheeks) to charming the wait staff at restaurants with broad smiles and anecdotes of her life.

She was a traveler who loved a good road trip, especially with her grandchildren. We grew up down the road from our three cousins, N, K and J, and grandma and grandpa took us in pairs on two week adventures over the course of a few summer vacations. CD and I traveled to Virginia theme parks, making stops along the way to visit grandma’s family. It was there that I learned to love the south, a trait that later became associated with my mother, Leigh. There CDand I were introduced to Stuckey’s Pecan Log Roll, sweltering summer heat and the charm of grandma’s southern accent blossoming over iced tea and magnolia trees. But the real treat were the matching shirts grandma ordered for the four of us from the back of a Tropicana orange juice carton. “It’s so we don’t get lost from each other.” She said as she handed us our new theme park uniform. I don’t know who was more humbled wearing the short sleeved- palm tree covered-Tropicana advertising-yellow button downs: CD or grandpa. But we never lost each other.

DLS and KRP went the following summer to Florida, where they canoodled with the Disney characters at meals and splashed among the many pools along their journey. Again, this was a driving trip, and they could always count on grandma to navigate them in the direction of close friends and family. Although this crew was sans matching shirts, they were not for want of good food and lots of laughs. At every restaurant grandma would chat up the waitress and tell her exactly what they were doing and where they were heading; she had an uncanny knack for making friends wherever she went. As you all know grandma was never at a loss to share stories of her four children and eight grandchildren. She also welcomed new arrivals to our family with more than open arms. It was not unusual for grandma to tell our friends that she loved them after meeting them for the first time. This is what our girlfriends, boyfriends, spouses and best friends all remember about grandma. Always the hand being held, a smile so big you couldn’t help but try to match it, and the comfort of knowing she would always love you.

She also shared her passion with us in the form of pie dough. Our mother was never much of a baker, so when grandma came to visit we knew we were in for a tasty baked delicacy. She was a patient and encouraging teacher, virtues that the three of us have come to embrace in our own adulthood. Pie crusts would be made in for hours on our butcher block, gracing the bottoms and tops of only the most deserving of fillings. Some of her signatures were lemon meringue, pecan, apple, cherry with a lattice top, and of course, mince meat. But the pies weren’t what we looked forward to the most, rather the scraps of dough grandma would never, ever waste. Once the dough was in the fridge to chill, the real treat was born into mouthwatering cinnamon pinwheels. In the oven for ten minutes and voila! Scraps transformed into bubbling, flaky treats just for the kids. She was to us what Julia Child was to the world: a passionate cook with secret family recipes who would rather share her love of the art than to squander the recipes in a dark cabinet.

Grandma was like that with everything in her life. She wanted all of us to be a part of what she loved the most, whether it was taking us to Broadway shows at Christmas, sharing coveted board game secrets at family gatherings, or bringing us into her family roots, proudly and passionately. As we grew older we too, wanted Grandma to be a part of our milestones, and she never skipped a beat when it came to graduations and weddings. She was proud of that, and the photos from JDK's wedding in July sparkle with her matriarchal essence and humble pride, which she was so deserving of.

In closing, we would like to share with you some words from CD which he wrote soon after learning of grandma’s death:

“The only thing that I can keep seeing over and over and over again in my head is how happy and smiley and energetic Grandma was for JDK's wedding last year. How she burst forth from her chair like a laughing child, or how she absolutely beamed with pride and joy as Jess and dad made their way down the aisle, and her two youngest grand-kids got to participate in the wedding. She got to see all of her kids, and all of her grand-kids at once, at ONCE (and that NEVER happens anymore), and she soaked up each moment as only she could.

Did we? Did we soak up those moments? Did we embrace the family as she did then, or any other time that we gather together? Do we look at each of these opportunities and grab them and never let them go and think about them for weeks or months afterwards? Or have we been taking for granted the times that we get to see each other, and those other family members that pop in seemingly randomly to our lives. I get sickened by the fact that it takes a moment like this to hurtle me back to the days that I thought were just last year, last week, last month, and really live them again.”

As Grandma would want us to do, capture your moments with family and friends, not just in pixels and paper, but with embraces and stories. Take a good road trip if you must, make a pie or apply the perfect shade of red lipstick, but ALWAYS remember to tell each other how much you love them, even if you’ve just met.

We'll miss you grandma, and love you always.

On This Father's Day Weekend

I assume most readers have not only heard about Tim Russert's death, but have also seen him on TV now and then over the past 17 years.

The sudden death of Mr. Russert has lead me to think contemplatively about my own father, someone who I consider to be a role model, a leader, a confidante and a friend. And it has made me unwaveringly grateful to have this man as my father.

For years, my sister and I shared a bedroom. Our walls were papered with butterflies and sunshine and the two of us slept, side by side, for 12 years, in twin beds. I remember one night when my sister was beside herself. What was it about and how old were we? I have no idea. All I know is that J could not pronounce the word "comfortable". She laid in that bed crying and crying, and none of us understood why. My dad came up, and sat on the edge of her bed. He talked to her, tried to soothe her. None of us had any idea why she was so upset. So Dad came up with a trick. All she wanted was to be able to pronounce "comfortable" correctly. So he said:

J: repeat after me: comfort a cow

j repeated that

Dad: J: comfort a bull

J repeated that.

Comfort a cow

Comfort a bull

After about 2 minutes, J had it. We still talk about comforting a bull to this day. It's a great family memory. But more than that, it's a great memory of our dad.

My father is not one to give compliments easily. He is judging and can be harsh. But he is one of the greatest, most patient listeners I can imagine. He is not emotional, he is rational. He is loving, and he is fair. He has taught me to be the most amazing woman I can be, and he has supported me, without question, in that endeavor.

I graduated from law school last month, and I defended my first client a month before that. My father was present at both events. I do not strive to live up to some image my father has, but rather aspire to embody the lessons he has taught me. Raise my voice. Question everything. Challenge yourself. Embrace who you are. Respect where you come from. Love your mother.

My dad comes from the most noble of backgrounds. Military service has been paramount in his life. None of his children followed in those footsteps, and I can only speak for myself with my reasoning. When my dad encouraged me to go into ROTC at UVA I sheepishly looked at him and said: Dad, do you think they'll have an issue that I have a fundamental issue with guns?" Dad looked at me and said "Hmm. yeah. Maybe ROTC isn't right for you.

But the bottom line is this: every path I have chosen has been embraced and accepted by my father. It has been encouraged. And his support has pushed me to where I am today.

I love my father more than anyone can imagine. And I respect him. If I can be half the lawyer and half the person he is in my life, I will die a lucky and blessed individual.

Happy father's day, dad. I am who I am because of you.

Motion Denied

As some of you may recall from April, my experience representing my first client did not end as we had hoped, and as we learned later, did not end at all. The experience has been priceless in showing the power of the court, as well as highlighting the responsibility of representatives in accepting client's cases.

To back pedal a bit...after the debacle that occurred in my client's hearing and after she continued to blatantly lie to us in the immediate aftermath, we filed a motion with the court to withdraw from further representation for a number of highly valid reasons. While we knew there was a chance, as there is with any motion, that the judge could deny our request, we hoped he would not and really believed that we had presented good arguments for our case. More than a month after filing the motion we go the judges order: Motion Denied. After the emotional roller coaster we had all hitched a ride on, it turned out we were not given passage off of it quite yet.

The news came a couple of days after my graduation. We were not wholly unprepared as we had talked about this possibility, my partner's and my responsibilities and rights, and a contingency plan if the worst were to occur. But to actually be faced with this reality had the same effect of having the wind knocked out of all of us. How were we supposed to go back to this woman who we could not trust and try and piece the truth together? How do you have faith in her as an individual?

Clinical programs are interesting--they present myriad choices for the students everyday. Some with distinct right and wrong decisions, but there's a lot of ambiguity to the choices we have to make as well. The first big one that I confronted was: do I stay on this case or do I bow out and let the others take the reins from here? After all, I no longer am a student at the school, our clinical grades had already come out. For all intents and purposes, I was done with the clinic. But then the grey area came quickly creeping in. This was my client. This was not an abstract "real life simulated" project that I could skip away from on a whim. My partner and I, no matter how dishonest our client was with us, had invested more time and work into her case than I've invested in almost anything. And we know her--we know her better than the advisers know her--we were in the position to be more effective than anyone else. The decision was made harder by the realization that her next court appearance is 11 days before I take the bar exam--studying for the bar while trying to fix the egregious issues that the hearing presented was daunting. But when I flipped it one more time, it was also daunting to know that the judge had ordered us to stay on. How do you wade through a choice like this?

I've never been one to easily walk away from a commitment I've made to people. I faced this in Peace Corps at one of my lowest hours, when I was sitting in our regional house, talking to my parents, feeling completely dejected, exhausted and frustrated and wanted to just come home. I had been there a little over a year and the effects of trying to help make change in a tiny village that as headed up by some of the most intensely chauvinistic men one could imagine was draining. I was explaining all of this to my parents and my dad said (and I'll never forget): Listen. You can come home right now if you want. No one will think less of you and no one will judge you. But if you think there is even the slightest chance that you could help make a lasting improvement and difference for this village you owe it to yourself to try. If you don't think so, then come on home. But don't quit just because it's "hard".

Basic advice, but true advice. I stayed and finished a remarkable project that is still highly successful, asserted myself as an individual and woman and made some of the most amazing friendships I could imagine. And I applied that same advice to this situation. Yes, it would have been infinitely easier to step back and hand over my roll to someone else. To walk away and let others sift through the rubble of my client's case. But would that have been the right thing to do? I didn't think so at the time and a month later I am absolutely convinced I made the right decision.

It was hard to sit with my client for the first time since we said goodbye to her and explain the ground rules for this time around. It was hard to look at her without April 11 swirling around in my mind. But I think my partner and I have been grown immensely individually and as representatives with the lessons we learned in round one. Over the past couple of weeks we've started a new foundation with her--one that is based less on the emotional pull of her story and more on the task at hand: repairing her credibility and trying to keep her in the U.S.

There are some members of our team who feel doing the bare minimum is all that's required for her. My partner and I disagree. If we're going to do this, we're going to do it fully and to the best of our abilities. We've made a lot of changes in our representation. Her husband is no longer present while we interview her, or involved in her case at all. We've laid out exactly what is on the line, and how bad it could actually be. But we've affirmed that we will do everything in our power to give her a second chance provided that she no longer is dishonest with her.

We waded through the lies last Sunday. And they don't actually affect her asylum claims at all--they do affect her credibility horribly. So game on. We're not expecting to win, but we're not prepared to fail either. I guess we're prepared merely to give her a second chance and do what we can to help that chance be successful. I suppose in the end that's the only thing any of us can hope for.

A Room of One's Own

It's been quiet around these parts as of late. It's been a busy and emotional month, but a good month, over all, and a reflective one at that. Since May 9, 2008 I finished law school (kind of), graduated, went on a week long vacation with some fabulous gals to a fabulous beach, said good bye to my grandmother, celebrated my grandmother, was told I am still representing my asylum client from Rwanda, almost missed being able to take the bar exam, began studying for the bar exam. Like I said, it's been a busy month. So my apologies if I've left the three or so of you who read this hanging, and for my inability to update on all the above stated events, as they truly are all stories of their own.

So another month has passed and more transitions linger everyday. I began my bar exam studies last week--and it has been off to a rather rocky start as I've been trying to find the distinct balance between that and representing my client into her July 17th follow up hearing. Finding the balance has been disruptive to plans I've already made and have had to cancel, and I've let people down who I feel like I've been letting down since the beginning of January. I'm blessed to have such patient and loving friends and family, but it's still tough, every time it occurs.

My family was in town for my graduation, which was a joy, to say the least. Some stayed with me, some in a quaint little bed and breakfast near my apartment. It was fun having people see my apartment, though I had not had time to fully unpack or decorate since moving in (I know I know) as this year has just kind of gotten away from me. It was fun to be able to have people over, to not have roommates, and to be able to just relax in my home with my family. I don't think my entire family felt that same sense of joy...

It's not a secret to anyone who knows me that I generally lead a trail of chaos around my life. That goes for my apartment as well. I do well not only with white noise, but "white clutter" as well. I'm not dirty, but I am often the queen of well organized piles, all of which I know by heart and that have their own filing systems. Every week or two I make one big "no more clutter" purge, spend an hour organizing, all for my hard work to descend shortly there after with a kicking off of shoes, dropping of purses, strewing of keys etc.

When my mother arrived at my apartment for graduation, she noticeably grimaced. Needless to say, this semester has been far more chaotic than any part of my life I've experienced before, and while I cleaned my apartment before the family arrived, it was not completely declutterized (I thought it looked lovely). She held her tongue and nothing was said...until the first phone call home after everyone had departed post-graduation.

"DLS, we have to do something about your apartment"
"What's wrong with my apartment"
"You're not in college anymore. You look like you're in college"
"Mama DLS, you KNOW what this year has been like for me"
"Yes. Which is why I'm going to let YOU pick the week I come back and we spend working on your apartment"

We've had this conversation now about three times since May 18th. I think she really means it.

So, truth be told, I have not actually hung any of my gorgeous pictures and paintings I've collected over the years. There are still unpacked boxes that I, frankly, no longer even notice as being out of place. I had a bookshelf with one shelf still actually in tact, another next to it empty as there was a chair and some other...stuff...blocking my access. Suitcases sit at the foot of my bed...packed, as if I'm planning to be able to escape at any minute with more than a full wardrobe if need be. And I still don't have a silverware organizer. All my silverware is just kind of thrown into a drawer with clean dishtowels and clothe napkins.

But today something snapped. I got rid of my desk when I moved here, and have used my tiny little table in my kitchen for whatever table work I needed to do. it fits my computer and one small book, basically. I've been fighting with it for the past week, willing it to have more space, and strangely enough, it never seems to grow. So today, after coming home from bar class, sweating my buns off, in a bad mood and trying to study on this postage stamp of a table I lost it. I began not only purging my piles and reorganizing them but I also began purging furniture, like that useless bookshelf, and cleared myself a space, a big space, right in front of my two enormous windows that look out onto the street below. When I moved from my parents home they gave me a sideboard that folds out to become a full table, made of a lovely wood that's weathered decades in our family's history. To date, it's been sitting against a wall, all folded in, acting as my mail/keys table/dry cleaning table. I zoned in on it and realized how much delicious space it would provide if I just moved it over to the window and unfolded one of its leaves. I hauled sh*t down to the bulk garbage area of my building, moved my couch, moved and put away everything in the way of this window area and set up the table.

The only thing missing is hanging things on the wall to make this place I finally created perfect. Now I feel like I have a room of my own, with a desk of my own, and windows to the outside world and a place to focus and do my work. Moving everything took me about 45 minutes total. It's amazing what a difference that can make.