The Gaping Hole

It's been quite some time since I posted. To catch up, my health issues have resolved themselves, for the most part. Christmas has come and gone and now I am heading towards the new year. This was the 3rd Christmas without my Mom. Though it was very enjoyable, I started some new traditions and I gave my family a Christmas that they haven't had in years, it was bittersweet. I told my Mom once that when she was gone, I would never enjoy Christmas again. She was aghast at this and said, "then why did I fight all these years?" I felt bad, but to be honest, I will never enjoy it like I once did. It will be much different how I enjoy it, but then again, life changes. Change is inevitable. She admitted that holidays in general were different after she lost her own mother.

It has been in the back of mind all this month. The gaping hole. The deep bass note of abscence. The empty chair, the missing present, the non-existent laugh.

I had a dream a few weeks ago. My mom was in bed with me, my bed, the one I have now. She looked as she did when I was in high school. She was wearing the house coat she wore then. A orange and white monstrosity that I never liked, but she loved. We were chatting about things. I could smell her. The ambiance of her scent. After we stopped our conversation and I felt myself waking up I saw her. That place where you aren't sure you are awake or not, she walked to the side of my bed, translucent (I could see my hallway through her) and she kissed me and I woke up.

The dream stuck with me, obviously. It didn't leave me with the sense of searing pain that dreams in the past had. But as Christmas came around, I felt that gaping emptiness of her abscence again.

I know that it will pass, it always does, but not completely.

It's a feeling I will live with my entire life. But, it is part of me. It has become who I am. It's not perfect, but there it is.

It was the best of times, it was the worst of times....

Just to catch you all up, I haven't been very well lately.  Digestive and female issues have kept me in a state of fatigue, pain and even depression for the better part of a month and a half.  So far tests have come back ok, still more doctors appointments to attend in November. 

But this isn't a detailed blog of my recent health woes.  I began to think about how much of my Mom's life was spent like this.  For the most part, I have been pretty healthy.  This recent issue, I pray, will only be temporary and I can get back to my normal life.  But this WAS normal for my Mother.  When she was having a "good" day, it was usually what most of us would consider a bad day.  For a good part of her life, she woke up in pain, went through her day in pain and went to bed in pain.

So at the end when she was crying out in pain, I knew it had to be pretty bad. 

I know this post is short, but I try, as I have my painful moments, and I have had them lately, that this was nothing compared to what she went through.

Well, *this* bites.

Nice title huh?

I've talked about all sorts of things on this blog and most of it has had to do with what I have been doing since my Mom died.  It has been pretty up beat, most of the time.  But I'm here to tell you, this grief stuff bites.

I've been having a super hard time lately missing my Mom.  I've felt myself sinking into a depression.  I've fought it, but here I am.  I have been finding it difficult to concentrate, work, or do most anything.  I recently had a bout of stomach flu and that tied it.  I'm depressed.  I've been dreaming of her often lately.  Nothing against my Dad, my Husband or friends and other family, but nothing can replace your Mother. 

I did some things last week I thought I would never do.  I was making reservations for my vacation and found a great place to go.  I was so excited, I picked up my cell phone to call my Mom to tell her.  I realized it before I dialed, of course, but the thought ran through my head.  I called my Dad, yeah, he wasn't as excited as Mom would have been.  I finally called my Great Aunt and she had the proper level of excitement. 

It hit me that my Great Aunt is the closest thing I have to my Mom right now.  She has parts of my Mom and my Grandmother rolled into one.  It made me happy for a second.  Then yesterday I found out she had a car accident on Sunday and nobody told me.  Really?  She's ok, mind you, but it made me realize just how close she is to her final hours too.  I have a strong faith, so I know that you can't rest all your life and happiness on people.  God is the only one you can always rely on to be there.  But it still isn't easy.

So here I sit, trying not to be obsessive about some recent health issues I have been having, trying to focus on my day, and realizing that I'm depressed.  I read the symptoms and I have it.  Been here before, I'm sure I'll be here again.

So, if you run across me and I'm not myself, just nod and let me go by.  It's harder this time though, so bear with me. 

Dating? Gulp?

Not me, of course, but my Dad.  I wouldn't go as far as to say he is "dating" but he had a day out with a very nice lady.  This happened about three weeks ago.  It was odd knowing he was out with someone else and running around showing her all the places he went with my Mom and with Dan and I. 

I am still not sure how I feel about this.  I am not upset and actually very happy that my Dad has found a friend he can share with.  She is a nice lady, a widow too, and knew my Mom.  Mom liked her, also, which is a plus!

Some people have a hard time with their parents dating after one parent has died.  I always said that I wouldn't have an issue with it.  I haven't, for the most part, but when I think about if my Dad would re-marry, wow!  I know my Dad isn't interested in that, but then again, he really likes this lady.  I don't mind him running around the county taking her to dinner, going to the lake, etc.  But for her to become Mrs. Jones?  Hmm, don't think so.

So, as I ponder the future, I do little imaginary things.  I think of how my Mom would think of all this.  At the end her mind was going somewhat and paranoia was a mainstay of her life.   She told me to watch this lady because she was after my Dad, this was after she had told me Dad that if she died she hoped my Dad found a lady like this.     So my confusion? 

I think my Mom would be happy that my Dad could have a friend.  It would hurt her more if he was lonely.  At least I hope so! 

2nd Year Harder than the First?

I was reading something online on Saturday about grief and the grieving process. It said that when dealing with someone who has lost a spouse or a significant person in their life, the second year is actually harder than the first.  At first I thought this was crazy.  I mean that first year was a complete hell at times.  But then I read on.  They said that the first year you are in survivial mode.  You are worried about keeping healthy, planning, sorting through stuff, etc.  But year two rolls around and you are now realizing, hey, they is not going to end.  This is the way its going to be from now on.  You aren't going to hear that persons voice, see that person, smell their perfume again until eternity. 

I had been thinking this past week that maybe I was losing it.  People move on, don't they?  I mean you get past this eventually, right?  But as I read, my feelings made perfect sense.  So do my Dads.   He is actually more listless and more easily depressed lately than he was early on.  He was a bundle of energy, nervous energy before.  Now, not so much.  He has a lady friend he has asked to go out to lunch or something soon.  Part of me was like, cool.  Part of me found this less charming than I did when he first told me.  He also is wanting to sell his house.  That is natural.  But he wants to talk about it all the time.  I also find this less charming too.  I find myself easily annoyed by some of his rambling talk.    I then feel guilty about it and the cycle goes on and on.

So I have decided to be less hard on myself.  God has been working on me during this.  I lean on Him daily more than I ever have before.  Which is the point, isn't it?  God puts his children through things that they have no earthly way of handling so he can handle them for them.

I dont' know where I will end up at the end of this road.  But the ride has been interesting.  That is one thing I CAN say about this! 

Making life not just Living it

I have been thinking lately about a lot of things.  This can be good, but sometimes, in my case, it can be a very bad thing.   I have one of those minds where I am start thinking about someone having a spot on their cheek and I have them dead in about 10 minutes.  I'm sure you know what I'm talking about.  If you don't, be glad.
In business, that mind can be a great thing, because you are always one step ahead.  But in everyday life, it can be stress-inducing.

Let me explain.   My Dad has been doing well with my Mom's abscence.  When I say well, I mean that he still is able to function, he does things, he takes care of himself, his home, etc.  He even has little part time jobs he does.  However, sometimes my Dad shows signs of memory loss, racing thoughts etc.  Being the zero to sixty person I am.  I have been watching him for signs of Alzheimers.  I don't think he has it, mind you.  But at the very least he has moments.  So I pull back from the abyss and think.  My Dad has always battled some depression.  My Dad is 76 years old and will have some memory loss.  He hasn't forgotten how to do things, he doesn't call me in a panic that he has misplaced his checkbook.  So I say to myself, lonliness, depression and grief can cause the mind to do all sorts of things.    Why do I know this?  Because its happened to me and I'm not 76 yet.

I have racing thoughts, I forget things, I have depression.  Do I have Alzheimers, probably not.  Yes, I know its important to watch an elderly parent to make sure they are not exhibiting signs of this, but obsess about it?  Probably not. 

So what does all this have to do with making life, not just living it?  I've spent the better part of my adult life worrying about something.  True story.  From my Grandmother and Grandfather and their health, to my Mom and Dad, to my own health, finances, jobs.  I could go on.  But what I realized during my Mom's illness was that not only is worry a sign of unbelief its like telling God that he really doesn't get how hard YOUR life is.  I don't know about you, but I don't think I am brave enough to say that to God.  I'm not brave enough to look Him in the eye let alone speak.  Does it mean that its not human to worry?  No.  As a matter-of-fact, its all too human.  I give in to it less than I used to.    But I still give into it. 

My Mom used to say that her one purpose for surviving her cancer when she was in her 20s was to raise me to adulthood.   It's what kept her fighting, its what got her up in the morning for her entire life.   She prayed to live to see me grow up.  When I was grown, married and in my career and she got sick for the last time, she welled up with tears one evening when I was visiting her.  She said that God allowed everything she asked for and now that I didn't need her anymore, she was going to die.    I told her I would always need her, but she was inconsolable, for she knew that God had held up his end of the deal, now it was time to go. 

God uses the experience of my Mom's illness and her eventual death daily in my life in ways that still astound me.    It made me more patient, caring, empathetic, thankful, and most of all, less of a worrier.  I've stated this before in other blog entries, that I worried about my Mom's eventual death for a good part of my 20s and 30s.  Worry that didn't add another day to her life, worry when nothing was wrong and I could have spent in more positive time with her.   

So making life, not just living it, means this.  Wake up each day happy to be breathing.  Take the opportunity to spend time with your family every chance you get, even when you don't feel like it.  Call your parents or kids often.   I mean often.  I call my Dad every morning on my way to work and at least two other times a day.  You may not have a parent that likes that many calls, but once a week at a minimum.  Before you bring your laundry list of requests to God, thank Him.  Thank Him for letting you breathe another day, having what you have, no matter how small it is or insignificant the world may think it is.    Be happy for what you have, period.

I was at a meeting yesterday where a speaker from Dale Carnegie Training told his principals.  I didn't want to "dis" Mr. Carnegie, but he basically ripped off Jesus Christ.  Not that it isn't good ideas, but they weren't his alone.  Much of it, is in the paragraph above, with my own slant. 

Lastly, my Mom bought me a plaque at Cracker Barrel that I hung in my office over my shoulder.    It says, "I will Not Worry:  Be anxious for nothing but in everything by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requestions be known to God."  Phillipians 4:6.  I have more comments about that.  I can't tell you how many.  My Mom still speaks to me and reminds me of it daily.  Through God's urgent whispers. 

Memorial Day-Year Two

Yesterday was Memorial Day, a time to thank those that had given so much for the cause of freedom, as well as to remember those that have passed.    Yesterday my Dad and I traveled to all the cemetaries locally that we have family or friends buried.  We went to a small cemetary in Upland where my Dad's childhood friend lies and put down a grapevine deer that my Mom had bought for just that purpose many years ago.  It was a feeling of closure finishing something she had started and brought my Dad the same feeling.  We then traveled to Fairmount to place some flowers on the grave of my paternal Grandmother and Grandfather.  We cleaned up around the stones and placed flowers.  For you movie buffs out there, this is the same cemetary that James Dean is buried in-but I digress.  We then made the long trip north to Gardens of Memory to lay flowers on my Grandparents, my recently departed Aunt and Uncle and my Mother's graves.  The cemetary was bustling with activity.  There were flags everywhere, cars parked everywhere, and cemetary employees everywhere.

It made me think.  Normally these places are pretty solitary.  When I visit them, my Dad and I, or my husband and I are usually one of very few people there.  I began to think about my own mortality, as cemetaries are wont to make you do.  I have no children and will, unless God intervenes, have none.  My husband and I will be buried in the same area that my Mom and one day my Dad will inhabit.  Our hope is that somebody will continue to decorate the graves when I'm gone and since we near by, just happen to drop a couple of roses on ours.  But this also made me think.  Does that matter to me?  It matters to who is left, of course, but should it matter to me?  It mattered to my Mom and does to many, but I am quite sure, I won't care too much when I'm gone.  Even if I had kids, it would be no guarantee that I would have flowers on my grave.  Case in point.  Though my Uncle and Aunt had flowers on their grave yesterday that their children must have placed, most of the time, I am the only person that puts them out.   They have children and grandchildren that live close, but I put them out. 

So it begs the question.  What does it say about people that have nothing on their graves.  I visit cemetaries on a fairly regular basis.  Being a history nut, I like to see where historical figures lay.  So I see all sorts of graveyards in all sorts of conditions.  Most of the ones I visit are very old and though these people are fairly famous, they seldom have anything at their graveside.  Unless you are Stonewall Jackson or someone equally as famous, eventually, as generations pass, where you lie will be forgotten. 

So, for future geneologists, who will be tramping around Gardens of Memory is Huntington, IN., wondering about my tick on the family tree,   I've made it easy for you to find me.  I'm close to Karen and Richard, Robert and Helen, Bruce and Judy and Una.  I'm not too far away.  Pretty much the way it has been my whole life.

So, Memorial Day year two, that is, two years since my Mom's death, was relaxing and uneventful.  Though provoking, as it always is, but ok. 

Happy Birthday to Me

Birthday's are funny things.  While at once, supposedly, the most special day a person can celebrate (being that this is the only holiday on the calendar that is JUST YOURS) it can be a difficult reminder of change in ones life. 

Most people lament getting older.  Though there are downsides to this, that hasn't been a big deal for me.  I can hear people saying, "wait till you get to my age then we'll talk!"  But aging in my household was always seen as a gift.  My Mom was sick most of her adult life, so every year she got to celebrate another birthday was a victory.  So being raised in that environment gives me a unique perspective on birthdays that others may not have.  My husband says that birthdays were never that important to him.  He just isn't "wired" that way.  But, as I told him last night, birthdays are the only days on the calendar that are just yours.  Every holiday is designed around something or someone.  Even Mother's Day includes all mothers.  Your birthday, though you probably share the date with many on the globe, is YOUR day. 

So, when I woke up this morning, listening to my IPAD chirp at me with the multiple happy birthday hits on Facebook, I received texts and got a "happy old day" from my Dad on the phone, I wondered back at past brithdays.  Even though I won't do much today and it may not be the most "special" birthday I will ever spend, it will be less stressful or less dramatic than some. 

I'll pick one out to share with you.  Two years ago this week and day, I was in Rochester, Minnesota at the Mayo Clinic with my Mom and Dad.  Mom was there being tested to see what was slowing killing her and making her an invalid in the process.  It was our last stop on the diagnosis train.  We had gotten the news that they still didn't know what was wrong with her and we were going to have to spend another week up there.  My birthday fell on a Sunday that year on the exact same day as Mother's day.  So we were celebrating two holidays away from home, in basically a hospital-albeit an above average and fabulous place-still a hospital.  Not the first birthday I had spent in a hospital with my mom, but this would be the last. 

That Saturday, despite being in pain, emotionally distraught, and physically wrecked, my Mom, her way,  made a point to make the day as special for me as she could.  We took their van out of the downtown and found a local Wal-Mart.  We loaded her up in an automatic wheelchair/cart and went inside to get some supplies for the next week.  My Mom shooed me away so she and my dad could go to the bakery.  I knew they were getting me a birthday cake, but I let on that I didn't know.  My mom then disappeared.  Knowing she couldn't control that cart very well, I was somewhat concerned.  But my fears were allevieated as she came around the corner of the jewelry counter, putting along in her cart with a big mylar balloon clutched in her hand.  She had a big grin on her face that I will never, ever forget.  She was so pleased that she was able to go off by herself and get me a balloon and her face was so happy.  A bit of normalcy, in a very unnormal situation that caused us all to chuckle. 

We got our things and went back to our hotel room at the clinic, also with a Mother's day card and things for her in hand.  I didn't keep that balloon, though now I wish I would have, but it was vintage mom.  Thinking of me before herself, thinking of others despite her pain.

She didn't live long after those days at the clinic.  She steadily declined that summer and though she had plateaus, we finally lost her in November.  Though I've said this before to people, and in this blog, those two, sometimes hellish, weeks at Mayo Clinic are some of the most treasured moments I will ever remember.  God gave me two uninterrupted weeks with my parents.  Two weeks of chuckles and giggles at silliness, sitting and watching episodes of the Golden Girls, holding close to each other in our fears and just being together.  Was it hard?  Yes.  Was it something I wanted to have over with?  Yes.  Would I trade it for anything in the world?  No way.

So, as I sit here, in comfort and minimal stress this May 10th, 2011,  my mind goes back to May 10, 2009.   A time I thought horrific that now has become sublime. 

That's a message to all of us.  Make each birthday special.  You don't have to be showered with gifts, you don't have to eat until you pop, you don't even have to be at home.  Just enjoy the moment.  Remember the good times, try to make the bad times less bad, and remember those that love you.

I may never be the number one priority to anyone on my birthday that I was when my mom was alive, but the memories I will have will be enough to get me through the rest of my birthdays.

Memory Lane-Good, Bad and Ugly

Last evening a good friend of mine from high school was here visiting his sick mother, so a few of us got together.  Some of these folks I haven't seen in over 20 years.  Times like this are great while they are happening and its fun to reminisce about the old days and laugh about times gone by.  But for people like me, who think deeper thoughts than they really should sometimes, events like this bring up all sorts of feelings.

Though I am not what you call "old" by societal standards, you still realize how fast time goes.  Your parents always told you that time goes faster the older you get.  As teens you "poo-pooed" that and just wanted to be 21.  But, as with most things that they told me, they were right.    This morning I started thinking about how different a person I am from then, but then conversely, how little I actually have changed.    In some ways I don't even remember the person I was in high school.  I was very outgoing, but down deep pretty insecure.  Aren't most teenagers?  But then I thought, has that really changed?    Yes, I am more secure in myself now than I was then, but aren't we all just nervous 13 year olds under the skin?

Grown women worry about what their friends will think of them and if they are too fat.  Grown men worry about whether the will be accepted by their peers or succeed.   The playing field may be different but the games we play with ourselves are the same.   

My Mom was 65 years old and near the end of her life and she was still playing mind games with herself.  She said she was being punished because of how she took care of her Mother and Father in their failing years.  I thought she was nuts.  My Mom was the example of how to take care of your parents.  She did more for them than anyone else in her family and shaved years off her life doing it.  My Mom had a phobia about going to resturants and sitting alone because of something mean girls did to her in middle school.  She carried this into her late adult life.   Yesterday, as I got ready to go meet my friends, I worried if my thighs looked fat. 

So when you chastise your young child or teen to not worry about what everyone else thinks, don't be too hard on them.  Yes, its a good lesson, but remember before you teach it, "physician-heal thyself!"

Happy Easter, for real

Easter means many thing to people.  For some its an excuse to gorge on chocolate a peeps (a personal favorite).  For some its a time for family, fun and watching the Ten Commandments on TV.  (This was mostly what my childhood was like, mind you.)

But something happend to me a couple of years ago when I went to Wal-mart the day before Easter.  I needed some ingredients for a supper I was making for my Mom and Dad.  I had no idea that this would be the last Easter I would spend with my Mom.  But that's another story.  As I walked into the super store, people were running around crazily, buying baskets, ribbons, and chocolate.  Stuffed bunnies were stacked along with stuffed chicks in carts and people were nearly running each other over to get the now discounted items before the big day. 

Normally I would ignore all this chaos and just go get my spices and get out of there.  But a feeling overwhelmed me and I nearly broke into tears in the middle of the aisle.  These people don't get it.  They really, really don't get it.  Now, don't me wrong, there could have been Christians in there getting bunnies and baskets and I don't think there is anything wrong with that aspect of Easter.   But I didn't get the impression as they hoarded their peeps that they cared very little about the empty tomb, the cost and sacrifice that was given to allow them the chance to get more from life than a box of sugar covered marshmallows. 

The point to all this isn't that people don't really get it.  You already knew that.  The point was that it bothered me.  It really, really bothered me.  So either I have grown up and suddenly loved mankind more or God has finally penetrated the crunchy candy exterior around my heart.  I am thinking the latter, because frankly, as I get older I dislike people more under my own power.  But with God's influence, I love them more.  Freaky huh?

So, I got my stuff, and drove home to my husband who was mystified at my tears streaming down my face as I carried in my little plastic sack from "The Walmarts". 

I told him what happened and he smiled at me.  I told him it wasn't funny, but he said he didn't think it was funny, he just thought it was something he would never see from me.  Back story, as a group, people annoy me.  I yell when I drive.  I call people names on the TV that are stupid.  I have a real problem loving thy neighbor.  So, yes, this was miraculous. 

So as you eat your peeps (still ok with them by the way), watch Ten Commandments, and watch your kids color Easter eggs, please remember that a divine being decided that all us annoying people, those that yell at people when they drive, fight over discount chocolate at "the walmarts" and watch too much reality TV, are worth saving and loving.  This particular divine being became a person like us, that more than likely felt like yelling at stupid people (since he was divine that meant everyone), smacking his disciples around and saying FIGURE IT OUT, but acted perfectly and lived a sinless life.  Then, get this, he LET the Jews and the Romans, beat him up, strip him naked, drag him through the street and nail him to a cross so we would have the chance to not be stupid people in God's eyes.  He, on purpose mind you, because he could have stopped all this at any time, died and  went into the tomb for three days.  I hate going into funeral homes, let alone going into a grave, on purpose. 

He did it for us.  For the woman that yells at her kids at the walmarts, for everyone. 

That is what Easter is all about Charlie Brown. 

Joy in Adversity-or not

Caution:  Christian content ahead.  If you would rather not read, I'm sure there is a re-run of Law and Order playing somewhere.  Flip to TNT and I will join you in a bit.

The Bible says in Romans 5:3  that we are take joy in our suffering, as it leads to perseverance.  We have been discussing this in Sunday School as well.  Grieving allows us to help others, it draws us closer to God. 

Let me preface by saying I agree with all of this.  But when adversity starts to pile on top of adversity, you kind of get a little prickly. 

I found out this week that my great Aunt, the lady that we all thought would live forever, may have cancer.  Though I haven't talked to the doctor yet, he blithely said to her that he would not do surgery on her due to her age.  O.K, I agree with this too.  If it would make her last few days, months or years on earth less enjoyable or make her quality of life less, I agree with this.  But that isn't what I am talking about today. 

Joy in adversity is something that I have found to be totally misunderstood by the general public and non-Christians.  I had someone tell me once that, "Don't you Christians look for ways to suffer so your God will approve of you more?  Aren't you supposed to smile all the time when bad stuff happens to you?"  Uh.  No. 

Christians aren't masochists.  We don't flog ourselves each night to more approved of Christ.  (Well I don't anyway.)

God knows we need time to grieve.  He knows we don't want to lose our loved ones to terminal illness or even to old age.  He knows we have a limit.  That's why we are supposed to lean on Him ALL THE TIME, so that when these things happen, it isn't foreign to us to do it. 

I agree that I am a little depressed today.  Another death or illness so quickly will be very difficult for me to go through, even with Christ's help.    But to know real Joy in your life, you are supposed to rely on God for all things, so we can be ready for the good and the bad.

That doesn't mean I won't take to my bed, watch hours of Law and Order and Bones and eat a pizza, peeps (hey its Easter) and anything else I can find until I feel like facing the world.   God gets me, after all.  That's why he's God. 

"The Suicide Tourist"

The other night, I watched a documentary on PBS' Frontline program.  The show was called "Suicide Tourist".  It portrayed the struggle of Craig Ewert, a middle-aged man that contracted ALS (Lou Gehrig's Disease).  His disease progressed rapidly, as ALS is wont to do.  In three months he was already on a ventilator.  For those of you that do not know what ALS is, it is the wasting away of the muscles in the body.  This includes all muscles, the heart, the lungs everything- but your mind remains intact.  Its not uncommon for people to end up on machines, not even able to blink their eyes, but be literally trapped in a shell of a body. 

Mr. Ewert chose to go to Switzerland, helped by an organization called Dignitas, to assist in ending his life.  The documentary followed his decision, how his family reacted, and the eventual ending of his life. 

To preface, I watched this while my mother, who was dying of disease very similar to ALS, was still living.  I watched it again on Tuesday night.    Though I recommend this program as a naked examination of the process someone goes through to get to this decision, I don't recommend it if you are not able to handle it.  It does show Mr. Ewert die. 

So after the program I ventured online to read the comments on PBS.org's site dedicated to this program.  The comments, overall, were better thought out than most that I see on websites that welcome comments.  But there was much about the program and the people's reaction to it that disturbed me.

Let me state at the outset that I am not in favor of or believe in suicide as a solution to anything.  As a Christian, I believe it is a sin to take out of the hands of God the decision of when you are to die.  But I am not a hyprocrite.  I do know that I daily take out of the hands of God things I should not.  So I don't believe I am somehow more righteous than others because I don't believe in suicide.  Sin is sin, not matter if its gossiping, taking the Lord's name in vain or taking ones own life.

However, what disturbed me was the way that Mr. Ewerts family seemed to easily allow him to do what he wished without even suggesting alternatives.   A former college professor who had decided to live abroad after he retired, his wife in tow, who was getting her PHD late in life as well, was an agnostic and obviously well educated.  But, as with many in our society that rise to the level of "education" that he had achieved, they think that their lives end at our last breath and that he is in control of everything.  When he lost that control, it was easier to say adieu.  I am speaking as one that watched a loved one die of a disease very similar to this one.  In the documentary, his wife didn't say once that she didn't want him to do this, even when he said he was scared.  When he said he didn't want his children present, because he would continue to talk to them and not want to go through with it, didn't the children say, ok then I will come, because I want you to live longer? 

I can hear the shieks now.  That would be for them, not him!  He is dying a horrible death and in his own words " I have the choice of death or suffering and death.  I choose the former."  I talked to my mother about this documentary after I watched it during one of our many heart felt talks those last months.  She said she found it selfish and could never do such a thing.  This was a woman who needed help to facilitate her bowel movements and couldn't swallow without choking.  This was a woman who had taken "mustard" (the stuff the nazis gassed the Jews with in the camps) in liquid form through the veins in her feet as a cancer treatment.  If anyone was ready to die many times, I'm sure it would have been her. 

As I watched it again, post her death, I felt sadness for Mr. Ewert that only someone who has been on the front lines of these diseases will ever know.  I knew why he was doing it.  Any rational person would choose it.  But when something like this happens to you, rational isn't enough.  There is more to us than a body with a disease.  We have souls-something Mr. Ewert flatly said he didn't believe.  I was sorry for him because of that, not just his ALS.    Just because you didn't believe it, sir, doesn't make it false.  He said he would hope for the best, if he was wrong.  Isn't that something we shouldn't leave up to chance? 

Then there were the comments.  So many people were angry at those that didn't support his right to choose this.  Unfortunately, there are those in power in this world, that would love to Euthanise those that are considered a "burden" on society.  The mentally infirm, the physically ill.  This is why many are so upset about the health care debate.  You've heard of the "death panels"?  If it were up to the government to decide who gets care and who doesn't depending on a line on a graph, my mother would have died years ago.  So when I see people commenting that everyone should have that right, and we should have it legal here.  I wonder if they really think these things through.

I could go on and on, but I won't.  I get why Mr. Ewert did what he did.  But as he sipped the medication that was going to end his life to the strains of Beethoven and his wife patting his hand, I felt a little sick.  Sick that he had to go through it and sick that he felt he needed to do it. 

And I wept.

Twitter, Short Attention Spans and Grieving.

I am standing up and saying for all to see, yes, I have a twitter account.  I am contributing to the glut of information we are already exposed to and the short sound byte's of information that come through in an almost constant stream to the world.  People tweet about everything from important news events of the day to what color their child's poo was that morning.  Sorry, I know that was nasty.  But it just shows you the craziness of our information age.    At least Facebook, though just as trivial, does have the ability to see a fuller picture of something.  Twitter is somehow an abbreviation of the already abbreviated way we communicate.    I find it difficult to sit through an actual 2 hour movie without messing with my IPAD or flipping to another channel during the commercials.  Was I always this way, or has the constant stream of information, tweets, texts, posts and blogs made me somehow ADHD?  To completely honest, I find it difficult to sit through a 1 hour tv show without doing the same. 

I tried to think of all this in relation to my grieving process.  Grieving is a long, messy, drawn out process that takes years to totally work through.  Even at that you sometimes never truly get through it.  I know people, friends and family, that have grief come back on them decades after a loss.  So how does this fit in our twitter culture?  In many respects, it doesn't.  People expect you to be over things quickly.  They expect that friend with the sunny personality or the quick wit to be there all the time for you and not be depressed or sick with grief.  What people don't realize is that grieving isn't a one-size-fits all situation.  Some people will move past things relatively quickly, while it takes far longer for others. 

I am dealing with some of that right now.  I am on edge a great deal of the time and find myself physically and mentally exhausted more often than I ever remember.  I put it off to job stress, financial woes and a million other things that it could be.  But, to be perfectly honest, I think it stems back to grief.   

Do I function day to day?  Yes.  Am I weeping in the corner every night?  No.   But grief is a subtle thing.  You put your trust and faith in God, and wade through the deep waters.  There are days you feel like your legs are mired in quicksand and you can't move another inch.  You push and push until there is nothing left and then you push some more.  You mechanically move from task to task, appointment to appointment and make it through your day. 

To Christians out there who think that people who grieve this nakedly are not relying on God enough for their strength, I have something to tell you.   This IS with me relying on God for all my strength.   I would be a frightening person otherwise. 

Childless by Choice?

You see this phrase more and more these days.  There are websites called "childfree by choice", or "Childless and loving it".  The reasons are varied.  Some think the world is already over-populated and don't want to add to it.  Some people don't want their lives disrupted.  There are many other reasons I won't go into.  I have been thinking about this lately.  My husband and I are childless.  The phrase itself denotes a life that is less than complete.  Child-less.  I can see why people who don't have children for reasons other than most might find societial pressures frustrating.   This is no more evident than in the Church.  Couples that don't have children, though they are accepted into the fold, are somehow set aside as different.  This would also include adult singles, to a degree.  Let me say at the outset, we have never been treated differently at our church because of our lack of children.  But this hasn't always been the case.

Why am I bringing this up now?  With my mother's death, you begin to think about your own mortality.  I have no children to look after me when I am old and sick.  I won't have someone to look after my affairs when I become infirm.  Not a reason to have children on its own, but makes you think.    So I began to look at the our choices in this area a little more closely.  My husband and I never made a conscious decision NOT to have children.  It was something we discussed at length several times, but could never decide when the time was right.  I also don't think we are able to have children, but that is for another discussion.  But that aside, now its more than likely too late.

I will state plainly that I never yearned for children like some women.  I didn't even play with baby dolls as a kid.  I liked Barbie and Hot Wheels.  I enjoyed playing war with my male cousins and "Dallas" and "Dukes of Hazzard" with my female cousins.  I wasn't what you call, maternal.  My mom always said that I had it in me, the way I took care of her foundling kitten and other animals.  But even she agreed, it wasn't in my DNA.

So as I drove to work this morning, I was listening to Moody Radio and there was a lady on there talking and she sounded just like me.  The difference was, she had children, and was still not acting very maternal.  She said God changed her desires when she started acting more like a mother.  It made me think, if I had acted more maternal growing up, would I have wanted children more?  Would I have tried when my husband and I were younger and probably more able to conceive?   But then I thought, what if I had children and I realized it was a mistake?  You can't take a child back to the pet store.  Its a life time commitment.  When I was younger, I know it was selfishness, but when I grew older, there were other concerns.  Genetic disease is a real factor in my family, societal concerns, etc.    God knows best and I feel now that if I had been meant to be a mother, God would have made that happen.  Who knows, he still could.  Look at Abraham and Sarah.  Yikes!
Wow, what a thought.  Please God, don't give me a child when I'm 100! 

But something to think about.  Don't pre-judge someone who doesn't have children or is single.  Don't assume they are driven career people who just didn't want the hassle.  Don't assume things about anyone. 
One more thing.  Don't assume its ok to ask people about it either.  Sometimes people are happy tell you.  But sometimes, its a sore subject. 

Food for thought.

Heart Felt Talks

I'm on a mini-vacation this week.  I find that by February, I can't take another minute of  the "get-up-scrape-off-my-car-go-to-work-work-scrape-off-my-car-go-to-lunch-scrape-off-my-car-go-home" rollercoaster and I must have some time off.  Considering this winter has been more active than most, it is even worse than normal.  I found out the other day at the dentist that I am grinding or "bruxing" my teeth in my sleep.  Joy.  I read somewhere stress causes most "bruxing".  Well duh.

So, get to the title, right?  Why heart felt talks.  Well as part of my vacation I have allotted time to my Father.  I went up to his house today to take my car to the dealership to fix my brakes.  While we waited, we sat and slowly started talking about my Mom.  Just as aside, though we mention my Mom all the time, we hardly ever "talk" about her.  Specifically her last few months, days and hours.  It's nice that we can talk now without it becoming a major problem and my dad getting up and saying "let's talk about something else."

We talked together for a good long time.  He listened mostly, but was open to the experience.  It was a good day.  It brought me some places I never intended to go today, but I was glad that we went there. 

So, hopefully this mini-vacation will help me "brux" less and come to some more conclusions about my life.  I just intended to rest, play some spider solitaire, watch TV and read a few books.  I suppose I can fit in personal allumination somewhere. 

What dreams may come

Dreams are funny things, aren't they?  They can be crazy, mixed up bits of nothing that make no sense or they can be profound snapshots of our sub-conscious.    Every so often I get the latter.  If you have seen the movie "What Dreams May Come" with Robin Williams, you will get an idea of what I am talking about.    In the movie, the character Robin Williams plays loses both his children in an auto accident, where his wife survives.  Years later, Robin Williams himself dies in an accident.  The place he goes to is a surreal version of what the hollywood mind can imagine heaven will be like.  There are places his wife imagined in paintings that are now real, people are with loved ones and doing whatever they wished they could do in their living life, even their pets are there.  Its very dream-state, though in this case it is supposed to be what he experiences after death.  Unfortunately, his wife, who was overcome with sadness, commits suicide and ends up in a dark hole where those that take their lives are put because they didn't value life enough to live.  Its the basic Hollywood mish-mash of  mistaken theology, new age ism and wishful thinking.  But one thing it does bring to mind is that feeling of dreams being real.

About once a month, less or more depending on my life, I have dreams that could be described as "visits" from those that have left this world.  Whether wishful thinking on my part or actual touches from the beyond, these dreams sometimes leave me blue and other times leave me feeling uplifted.   A few weeks ago I had a dream where I woke up and I was in my parents house.  I had been sleeping in my old bedroom though I was the age I am now.  I walked out into the living room and my mom is preparing to decorate for Christmas.  The house is in the shape it was prior to 2000 when my parents redecorated.  Old carpet, paneled walls, etc.   My mom turns and smiles and says, "did you sleep well?"  The rest is kind of a blur, this one not being as clear as other dreams.    But the point was, sometimes I dream like this.  Everyone that has passed that I loved is usually there, happily going on with their lives.

It made me ponder.  Is this what heaven is like?  I know that heaven will be about worshipping God and that we will all be transformed to where that will be our primary job.  But according to scripture, we won't be floating around on clouds playing harps.  We will have duties, jobs and things we carry out.  Of course we won't tire like we do now.  Also we will have houses.  I doubt they are like my parents house with the old brown shag carpet.  But who knows?  If that is where I was the most happy, maybe that will be my house.

Who knows what happens beyond the veil that seperates this life from the next.  But what I do know is that all those that went before me still exist.  I imagine my brain could not fathom how that works, so God dumbs it down for me.  I appreciate he allows for my limitations without too much scolding. 

Now if I could just do that for myself.  Life would be must less stressful.

Snow, Ice, and stress

When I was kid,  I loved snow days.  What kid doesn't?  No school, right?  The one major kid responsibility, go to school, is taken away and you are left to your own kid devices.  As an adult, there is a little bit of kid inside us when they start cancelling stuff.  We know down deep that we probably won't get out of going to work, but we still hold out hope.    We listen, like the kids we still are, as the commentators rattle off school after school and business after business.   Some people might get to stay home, but for some reason I always seem to work for company that never, ever closes.     This tends to stress you out when you are a manager.  Your people think, wow the company doesn't care about me.  Why are all the other companies closing early and we can't.  For the most part I let that roll off my back. 

I finally had my fill of that on Saturday.  I sort of told my boss what I thought about it, via text.  Not the smart thing I guess, but I did it.  She never answered me either, so I am left hanging to what she is going to say about it.  Luckily, I am not stupid.  It wasn't an angry, disrespectful text.  It was just expressing my disappointment.  Oh well, I guess I will find out soon enough what will happen.  More than likely, she hasn't even read it.  Texting is rather new to her anyway. 

But it has burbled over my stress level now that was ratcheted up by the layers of ice and snow in my driveway, yard and my city.   So, as I it here, Sunday services cancelled because of the weather, I ponder my life right now.  I am pondering why I am obsessing over a text that was, frankly the truth, and probably isn't going to make a hill of beans of difference to the reader.   Is my life going to be all about this stupid job now?  What would my mom say?

I know what she would say.  Don't borrow trouble, Deb!   Just take your medicine! 

I've been missing my mom  quite a bit lately.  If you follow this blog, you've read some of that.  But its quiet mornings like this, when something is eating at me, that I miss her the most.  I can't pick up the phone and listen to her wisdom calm me down.  I can't hear her voice chuckle at me when I crack a joke. 
I only get to hear her in my dreams now.  Luckily she still visits me there.

So I guess I will wait to see what happens.  If you worry about something long enough, you get to the point where you just don't care anymore.  I'm almost there with this!

Full moons and Home Parties

I always hear the expression, is it a full moon today?  It's usually an expression of someone who is having a bad day or dealing with nutty people with attitudes.  Well I work with the public, so, let me tell you, if it wasn't a full moon last night, it probably should have been.

I won't bore you with the details of my day, just the high points.  I had a candle party today.  Well, sort of a party.  Our bank allows employees to have a party of sorts of the break room during lunch.  I had a candle party.  Not many showed up, but it should be enough to make a decent showing.

The home party biz is an odd thing.  I can speak from experience because I've been one of those ladies.  I used to sell jewelry on the side.  Daytime banker nighttime jeweler.  Cute, I know.  The company I worked for was what I call, one of the good ones.  However, I sometimes wonder at the personalities that this kind of business draws.  To be a salesman, whether you are selling electronics or make-up, all have to have a level of confidence that some people shrink from.  When I see someone take on the knock-down-drag-out world of home party sales that can't say hello to you without looking at their hands, I cringe.  I give them two weeks and a huge dent in their bank account from all the supplies they had to order. 

The real hard sellers are the ones that get others like me to do this.  I was told I had the "gift" to recruit others to sell.  I was already using that gift to get people to take out mortgages and buy annuities.  I was replete of the energy to add to my plate.  Selling the bling was not that hard.  Most ladies like jewelry, selling the biz was not my cup of tea.  I was successful as a jewelry lady, my life changed suddenly, so I had to let it go. 

I guess the moral of this rambling post is for you to choose your career wisely, don't let it choose you.  If you are going to be a Mary Kay lady, be the pinkest and most Mary Kayer you can be.  If you are going to sell jewelry, be a perky jewelry lady.  I could go on. 

Today it was candles for me.  In the less than correct vernacular of the folks, "I love me some candles!"

Too much of a good thing....

I remember not too long ago that I was commiserating about the fact that my husband was out of a job.   As a musician for most of his life and a Army National Guard retiree, he has had at least two careers.  But as a musician, he, like many of his brethern, seem to have varying job success.  Most people who hire look at the experience of someone who has spent most of his adult life performing as less than ideal.  What they fail to realize is that someone who has the dedication to learn an instrument, practice it and get to the level where people PAY you to play it is someone you need to have in your company. But I digress. 

Luckily Dan has been working now, for about a year, at a local auto parts plant.  He works third shift, so he sleeps during the day while I'm at work.   Initially, we felt, that this wasn't going to be that much of a change in our lifestyle.  It hasn't been too bad,  until January.   Now he is working 7 days a week, and sometimes 12 hours a day.  Dan is a hard worker, but he isn't 25 anymore either.  This is seriously kicking his butt and also making it difficult to do anything but eat, sleep and work.   The worst is that he has not been able to go to church with me for at least 3 weeks.  We both play in the services, but without his "melody" trumpet, my "harmony" trombone would sound very odd.  So if he doesn't play, neither do I. 

So, I am happy and blessed that he was work and that he is making some desperately needed money right now.  But, this morning he said he doesn't know when this is going to end and he has to go in early tonight.    So, for the foreseeable future I will be a work widow. 

Morale of the story is be careful what you pray for, you might just get it! 

Coming back to life

If you are a follower of this blog, you realize that Sunday, and the week preceeding it, were not the best of times for me.    However, as I woke this dreary Indiana morning to the rain pelting down, melting the snow, fog rising as people bustled back to work in the Irelandesque damp cold, I found myself revived.  It doesn't take much these days for me to realize how fortunate I am.  That is what death and grief gives you, the ability to see beauty in even the most unwelcoming of days.    The temporary respite of winter that came in the form of cold rain showers is going to be just that, temporary.  We have snow and possible ice to look forward to this afternoon and later in the week, but I will get by. 

My husband, Dan, is working 7 days a week right now.  Poor guy.  Third shift isn't that fun 5 days a week, let alone 7.  I try to baby him as much as I can while putting in my own 40-50 hours a week.  He seems to like it, so I continue to do it.

So those of you reading, take heart.  I am back among the land of the living.  Hope you can find beauty in your day, depsite how cold or dreary it might be outside. 

One Fine day: A venting post for Sunday

You live day to day.  Getting out of bed, going to work, going to church, doing tasks.  You go to the grocery, you talk to people, you answer emails, you pay your bills.    The list could go on and on, but suddenly, on one fine day, the sun is shining-you feel pretty good about yourself and the world and....WHAMMO!!!!

You look around your home, your office and even your car and you start to see all the things that your loved one touched, gave you are talked to you about.  You reach for your cell phone and want to tell this person about the great joke you saw on the Internet that day, or ask them how they made that special you dish you liked.  You see the flower they made you standing in your office, still dripping with the love and attention that this person took to make it special and nice.  You realize that the love that person gave to you in this life will never be duplicated.   Then the doubts start.  Did I really listen to everything they had to say the weeks leading up to their death, or did I simply dismiss them as the ramblings of a degenerating mind and not really take to heart what they said.  Did they resent that when they stepped over the river to take the hand of God?  Did they think, why wasn't she there with me holding my hand as I died?  Why couldn't she be there as took that last breath? 

As you can see, these aren't just the doubts of some random person, they are mine.  I wasn't with my mom when she died.  I wasn't with her every minute as she went through the "process".  That is a guilt I will take with me the rest of my life.  But as my husband so sagely said, "your cup was full"  you couldn't take another minute of the pain.  That is why I was stepped in and the rest of the family did to let you and your Dad deal with it how you could.   My husband was with my mom when she died, so was my dad and the hospice nurse.  Not me.  Not the person that was intended for that.  Not the person that my mom showered so much love on her entire life.  Not the person that, in her own words, was the reason she kept living when she had cancer as a young woman.  I know my Mom isn't in heaven right now sitting around with my Grandmother and Grandfather saying how disappointed she is with me or how heart broken she was that I wasn't there. My mom wasn't that type of person in life, so why would she be that type of person in death?   But, to me, I know I hurt her by not being physically present and this is a hurt and pain I deal with on a daily basis. 

Grief is funny.  It isn't like any other thing you will ever go through.  It hides and relaxes, taking a nap for months on end, then it appears out of nowhere and decides it wants your attention again.   One of my friends mentioned that it wasn't the daily pain it was the emptiness.  That is what it is.  Emptiness. 

I have a full life, don't get me wrong.  I live daily with the love of Christ, my family and friends.  I have a good job that takes my time and a church family that is supportive and loving.  But its what the veterans call the "empty chair".  It's when I go to the Chinese restaurant with my Dad and my husband and they say table for three?  No!  It should be table for FOUR!!  Its the anger I get when I hear someone chatting about how they went shopping with their mother over the weekend, they called their mom and she said this or that.  My mom was only 65 years old!!  I was supposed to be having silly conversations with her, decorating Christmas Trees, going shopping and laughing about the stupid stuff my dad does sometimes for at least another 20 years!  My dad shouldn't be going from room to room in a house dripping with her essence wondering what he will do that day that will take his mind off the searing loneliness that is permeating his life!  It isn't fair!! 

Sigh.  Sorry, I had to say that.   Years ago, I wondered if I would lose my mind when my Mom died. She hadn't been what a normal person would call "well" for decades.  We knew her death was not that distant of a possibility.   I wondered if I would collapse mentally, have to quit my job, and retreat into myself for years.  I would lay awake at nights wondering what it would be like.  When that didn't happen, and life sort of went on, I thought, wow, this isn't as bad as I thought it would be.  And, for the most part, it really hasn't been.  But there are days, even weeks, where I wonder if I can put one foot in front of the other.  As with most people, I hide myself in busyness.  But the body can only take so much before it says "no" and you must rest.  I had thought about taking a leave from work, but what good would that do I wonder.  Work has kept me focused and given me something to direct my energies.  I don't think that is a solution.  Running away from life, is never a solution-only a temporary respite.

So, as I felt the world crashing in on me yesterday I felt the still, small voice of God saying.  Come to me and I will give you rest.  Take my hand, sit down and just be quiet.  So that is what I did today.  My husband had to work 7 days this week and he is asleep in the other room.  There is no TV on, no Radio, no IPOD, no sounds but his distant snoring and the occasional irritated meow from my cat as he insists I come back to bed with him.  Tomorrow is a holiday, so I have it off too.  I intend to slowly listen to what the Lord is going to say to me, in the quiet of my home.  I will listen as I have never listened before. 

Every persons walk down the grief trail is different.  This, just happens to be mine. 

The New Year

Between all the Weight Watchers commericals, the exercise equipment ads, and the shows about new years resolutions, you would think that all we care about in this country is eating, our appearance, and ourselves.  Which, is pretty much the truth.  I mean, honestly, I am sitting her writing a blog. There is nothing more self-centered than a blog if you come to think of it.  You talk about yourself or something close to your heart and hope others will read it.  The little kid in you hopes that you will get lots of comments. 

To keep with the spirit of this blog, my Mom was about the most un-self-centered person I knew.  She thought of everyone before herself, until she had to only think about herself just to survive.  I was talking to my father the other day and he made the comment that someone told him he looked younger than he was.  I mentioned that if he hadn't had all the health worries with my Mom, he would look even younger.  I then thought about that with me too.  I probably have more gray hairs and bags under my eyes because of it.

But, would either of us have done anything differently?  No. 

So as you watch all the "me" commericals this time of year, remember.  Doing for others has its rewards, even if it means Jenny Craig, the Total Gym, and your local plastic surgeon may be getting your money.