It's been a memorable Memorial Day but one completely different from those of my youth. When I was younger, we would watch the parade down Main Street as Dad marched w/ the veterans (Dad was in WW II). Then when I was in high school I marched w/ the band down this same street, the street that Mom also marched on Memorial Days, first as a trumpet player and later as a baton twirler. She taught me how to twirl a baton, a little silver metal one w/ white tips that had multi-colored tinsel-like streamers coming out of the ends. I think I got it for a birthday present when I was about eight. Mom would get out her baton that she twirled in the high school marching band to demonstrate how to hold it and do simple, one-handed twists and then spinning it like a propeller, one hand over the other. Standing on our front lawn, she always made it look so easy. Dropping the little silver baton on my toe never really hurt, but when I tried to twirl Mom's larger one, it would inevitably find my feet. Hers had a large ball on one end that was hard but w/ age had worn-through so that the metal end shown through. I'm lucky I still have all 10 toes as many times as I dropped that baton. That's probably why I was on the pom pon squad instead of a twirler!
She told me once about the first marching band contest that she went to w/ the band. She was so worried about missing the bus to get back home that she left her baton sitting on the sidewalk. Her parents were not very pleased in having to buy another one. Her telling me that story was probably why I became concerned about getting forgotten when being driven to the Presbyterian Church Camp on West Lake Okoboji, three hours from home. The night before I was to leave for camp, I had a nightmare that the woman who was driving me stopped at a restaurant and then left w/o me in the car. This was before cell phones, and I didn't even know how to make a long distance call at that point in my life. I know Mom comforted me after that nightmare saying Dotta, the woman driving me, wouldn't do that. I didn't really believer her, but I went anyway. It's rather ironic that I live near Lake Okoboji now, and today while we were in our boat on West Okoboji, we drove by the church camp. I went there two years as a camper and one year as a counselor. All three times had good and bad memories, one of these days I'm going to go back on-site to relive them.
Summer won't officially be here for about three more weeks, but Memorial Day always marks the beginning of the summer season of softball, mowing lawn, church camp, swimming, and carefree days. This was a memorable Memorial Day that evoked lots of memories.
Monday, May 31, 2010
Sunday, May 30, 2010
Sunday, 30 May 2010 -- Day 161 (174)
(I'm continuing the story I started w/ yesterday's post. I did make some more changes to the Saturday, 29 May 2010, post if you'd like to go back and re-read it.)
On Friday, June 21st, I returned to have the tumor on my left kidney removed. The tumor was 5cm, but b/c it was mostly on the kidney, only two percent of my kidney had to be removed. The Mayo brothers were the first to introduce the biopsy procedures in the operating room to allow the surgeon to slice until acceptable margins were reached. Having my kidney sliced and diced repeatedly, however, made it feel like I'd gone 40 rounds w/ Mike Tyson. There's a reason why kidney punches are illegal. In the recovery room, I recall being in excruciating pain and it seemed like no one was listening to me. If you've ever seen a movie w/ patients moaning after a cataclysmic event, that was me. I always considered myself to have a high tolerance for pain, but apparently I hadn't prepared myself enough mentally. Finally a male nurse or doctor or angel, came to me and offered some calming words. It was enough to get my mind to take over the pain. I still wanted as many pain killers as they'd give me, but I knew I could endure the rest. It was at that time that I learned for the first time that the tumor was malignant.
When they finally brought me to my room, which was incredibly small and was shared w/ another cancer patient, they moved me from the gurney to the bed. Doug had to wait outside the room during this transfer, and said he'd never heard any such scream of pain by human or animal. The only way I made it through those first hours was through pain meds and Doug reading to me. On the morning of the 22nd, I tried to eat some oatmeal and wanted to try walking. Again, I felt that the sooner I took nourishment and walked, the sooner I could go home. Well, this time that attitude backfired. While walking w/ Doug at my side, I became incoherent, collapsed, and had, what the neurologists later labeled, an episode. This episode won me another trip to ICU where my head was wired w/ electrodes. At least I had a big room all to myself!
Twenty-fours later, they determined I had a brain, and it was functioning normally. The coil was still in place and all was well...........well, except for needing to now recover from the kidney surgery. My next room was on the oncology floor w/ a new roommate and more space. My roommate had undergone a much longer surgery for ovarian cancer. This was rather ironic since this was the first type of surgery that my mom had when I was four. And it was the thought of my mom surviving two different cancers that helped me know I could do this. I also recalled shortly after the diagnoses, what I can only describe as, a presence that told me I was being given a second chance. This feeling pervaded every appointment, every test, every procedure, every surgery and helped me know I would be okay. I think the only time I cried during this time was when my urologist yelled at me for trying to get out of the hospital earlier than he was ready to release me. He pointed his finger at me and sternly said, "You don't seem to realize that you're a very sick young woman." I got the message. Some may think his bedside manner was atrocious, but I figured if he's yelling at me then there's hope. Being sweet and overly sensitive would've been a sign to me that I was beyond hope.
On Friday, June 21st, I returned to have the tumor on my left kidney removed. The tumor was 5cm, but b/c it was mostly on the kidney, only two percent of my kidney had to be removed. The Mayo brothers were the first to introduce the biopsy procedures in the operating room to allow the surgeon to slice until acceptable margins were reached. Having my kidney sliced and diced repeatedly, however, made it feel like I'd gone 40 rounds w/ Mike Tyson. There's a reason why kidney punches are illegal. In the recovery room, I recall being in excruciating pain and it seemed like no one was listening to me. If you've ever seen a movie w/ patients moaning after a cataclysmic event, that was me. I always considered myself to have a high tolerance for pain, but apparently I hadn't prepared myself enough mentally. Finally a male nurse or doctor or angel, came to me and offered some calming words. It was enough to get my mind to take over the pain. I still wanted as many pain killers as they'd give me, but I knew I could endure the rest. It was at that time that I learned for the first time that the tumor was malignant.
When they finally brought me to my room, which was incredibly small and was shared w/ another cancer patient, they moved me from the gurney to the bed. Doug had to wait outside the room during this transfer, and said he'd never heard any such scream of pain by human or animal. The only way I made it through those first hours was through pain meds and Doug reading to me. On the morning of the 22nd, I tried to eat some oatmeal and wanted to try walking. Again, I felt that the sooner I took nourishment and walked, the sooner I could go home. Well, this time that attitude backfired. While walking w/ Doug at my side, I became incoherent, collapsed, and had, what the neurologists later labeled, an episode. This episode won me another trip to ICU where my head was wired w/ electrodes. At least I had a big room all to myself!
Twenty-fours later, they determined I had a brain, and it was functioning normally. The coil was still in place and all was well...........well, except for needing to now recover from the kidney surgery. My next room was on the oncology floor w/ a new roommate and more space. My roommate had undergone a much longer surgery for ovarian cancer. This was rather ironic since this was the first type of surgery that my mom had when I was four. And it was the thought of my mom surviving two different cancers that helped me know I could do this. I also recalled shortly after the diagnoses, what I can only describe as, a presence that told me I was being given a second chance. This feeling pervaded every appointment, every test, every procedure, every surgery and helped me know I would be okay. I think the only time I cried during this time was when my urologist yelled at me for trying to get out of the hospital earlier than he was ready to release me. He pointed his finger at me and sternly said, "You don't seem to realize that you're a very sick young woman." I got the message. Some may think his bedside manner was atrocious, but I figured if he's yelling at me then there's hope. Being sweet and overly sensitive would've been a sign to me that I was beyond hope.
Saturday, 29 May 2010 -- Day 160 (173)
Six years ago today, I woke up w/ double vision. Quite frankly, it's a miracle that I awoke at all. But on that Saturday morning of Memorial Day Weekend 2004, I had no idea what was happening to me. After about 45 minutes my vision returned to normal, and later in the day the girls and I went to a nearby flea market where Doug's parents had a booth. I told them about it, and we all agreed it was odd, but I was scheduled to see my doctor in a few days anyway b/c of severe headaches and inordinately high blood pressure. I was already on hypertension meds so I figured the doctor would get to the bottom of it when I saw him. The next couple of days continued w/ the same pattern in that I awoke w/ double vision, but it would dissipate within an hour. I saw my regular doctor here in town who wanted to keep me in the hospital overnight, but I told him I would rest and we would proceed w/ some urine tests to see if I had kidney problems that were impacting my elevated blood pressure. I also promised to return the next day for x-rays and a head CT. I also went to our local eye doctor, who took my blood pressure but didn't seem at all concerned about my vision problem and then proceeded to spend more time talking about sporting events than about my double vision. Yea, I found a different eye doctor the next day. The new eye doctor sent me to an eye specialist in Spencer, who was the first person to use the word stroke.
By about the third day, I decided to carry on w/ my plans of scraping one of our sheds in preparation for painting it. By this time, however, the double vision wasn't leaving. I was constantly seeing ghost images of everything........one behind the other. I was also teaching two online classes and conducting chat rooms w/ one eye closed so I could read students' responses and my own typing. Back to the shed.....I was literally outside in 90+ temps scraping paint. I had to wedge a piece of folded, black construction paper behind protective eye gear to cover my left eye. Doug came running out to tell me he'd been talking w/ a cardiologist friend of his from Des Moines who, after hearing all my symptoms, told him to get me to Mason City (it's closer than Des Moines) to see a cardiologist colleague of his there.
In Mason City I underwent a barrage of tests. The locker I had been given to store my personal belongings was #3, my lucky number. At this point I was looking for any sign of good fortune, but for the most part I was numb. I went from one test and doctor to another relaying my condition and waiting for what I had to do next. I had a complete body MRI for which I had to have an IV for contrast to be administered, and I had to drink some type of barium, I believe, over the course of several hours. Since I was beginning to suffer from White Coat Syndrome, I asked if I could have a reprieve and release from the hospital. Doug and I went to my favorite store.........Goodwill. While we were in the parking lot, I contacted the eye specialist I had seen in Spencer to ask if he could make a special lens that would override my double vision. Back at the hospital w/ the MRI completed, I was in the holding area waiting for an endoscopy to examine my heart and lungs. The cardiologist came in to tell me, however, that we wouldn't be doing the procedure b/c they'd found a lesion on my brain stem and a mass on my left kidney. At that point she said I needed to go to Mayo Clinics in Rochester, MN.
My first impressions of Mayo were of efficiency while maintaining warmth. I saw a cacophony of ologists: neurologist, oncologist, nephrologist, urologist, and optometrist. I had more and more and more tests over several days until they decided that the lesion on my brain stem must be dealt w/ first otherwise it was unlikely I would survive any surgery on my kidney. I was functioning on auto-pilot at this point. Thank God for my husband who became my ears and my consciousness. They said the lesion could be a tumor, which would mean brain cancer or it could be an aneurysm. On Friday, 18 June 2004, the surgeon went in through my groin and, similar to how an angiogram is performed, ran a camera up to the brain stem to have a look around. On the operating table my head had to stay in a helmet-like device to prevent any movement, obviously. Discovering that it was an aneurysm was really the best-case scenario. I returned on Monday, the 21st, for the surgeon to place a stainless steel coil to essentially block off the aneurysm and relieve the pressure it was putting on the fifth optic nerve of my left eye. The coiling procedure went well, but I had to spend the night in ICU for observation. The next morning I wanted to get up and move around b/c I knew the doctors wouldn't even consider sending me home unless I was ambulatory. To my request for a walkabout, the ICU nurse responded, "I don't know. No one ever walks around in ICU." Later that day, once the doctors knew the surgery was successful, I asked the same nurse if I could go home now. Again she responded, "I don't know. I've never discharged anyone from ICU before." She did, and I left.
By about the third day, I decided to carry on w/ my plans of scraping one of our sheds in preparation for painting it. By this time, however, the double vision wasn't leaving. I was constantly seeing ghost images of everything........one behind the other. I was also teaching two online classes and conducting chat rooms w/ one eye closed so I could read students' responses and my own typing. Back to the shed.....I was literally outside in 90+ temps scraping paint. I had to wedge a piece of folded, black construction paper behind protective eye gear to cover my left eye. Doug came running out to tell me he'd been talking w/ a cardiologist friend of his from Des Moines who, after hearing all my symptoms, told him to get me to Mason City (it's closer than Des Moines) to see a cardiologist colleague of his there.
In Mason City I underwent a barrage of tests. The locker I had been given to store my personal belongings was #3, my lucky number. At this point I was looking for any sign of good fortune, but for the most part I was numb. I went from one test and doctor to another relaying my condition and waiting for what I had to do next. I had a complete body MRI for which I had to have an IV for contrast to be administered, and I had to drink some type of barium, I believe, over the course of several hours. Since I was beginning to suffer from White Coat Syndrome, I asked if I could have a reprieve and release from the hospital. Doug and I went to my favorite store.........Goodwill. While we were in the parking lot, I contacted the eye specialist I had seen in Spencer to ask if he could make a special lens that would override my double vision. Back at the hospital w/ the MRI completed, I was in the holding area waiting for an endoscopy to examine my heart and lungs. The cardiologist came in to tell me, however, that we wouldn't be doing the procedure b/c they'd found a lesion on my brain stem and a mass on my left kidney. At that point she said I needed to go to Mayo Clinics in Rochester, MN.
My first impressions of Mayo were of efficiency while maintaining warmth. I saw a cacophony of ologists: neurologist, oncologist, nephrologist, urologist, and optometrist. I had more and more and more tests over several days until they decided that the lesion on my brain stem must be dealt w/ first otherwise it was unlikely I would survive any surgery on my kidney. I was functioning on auto-pilot at this point. Thank God for my husband who became my ears and my consciousness. They said the lesion could be a tumor, which would mean brain cancer or it could be an aneurysm. On Friday, 18 June 2004, the surgeon went in through my groin and, similar to how an angiogram is performed, ran a camera up to the brain stem to have a look around. On the operating table my head had to stay in a helmet-like device to prevent any movement, obviously. Discovering that it was an aneurysm was really the best-case scenario. I returned on Monday, the 21st, for the surgeon to place a stainless steel coil to essentially block off the aneurysm and relieve the pressure it was putting on the fifth optic nerve of my left eye. The coiling procedure went well, but I had to spend the night in ICU for observation. The next morning I wanted to get up and move around b/c I knew the doctors wouldn't even consider sending me home unless I was ambulatory. To my request for a walkabout, the ICU nurse responded, "I don't know. No one ever walks around in ICU." Later that day, once the doctors knew the surgery was successful, I asked the same nurse if I could go home now. Again she responded, "I don't know. I've never discharged anyone from ICU before." She did, and I left.
Saturday, May 29, 2010
Friday, 28 May 2010 -- Day 159 (172)
In an email from my cousin, Elaine, from Colorado, she mentioned how she and our grandfather used to go out to the cemetery every Memorial Day to plant flowers on Grandma's grave. Grandma died in 1933, and Grandpa died in 1973. He tended her grave for 40 years, and now Elaine continues the care. The measure of a life can be weighed by those left behind to account for it.
I only remember Grandpa Koop as an image in my life for about five years so I never really thought about him as anyone other than an old man that I saw once a year at Christmas. I never thought of him as a man who had lost his wife. That's why it's so important to learn the songs of our ancestors to appreciate them as more than a one dimensional character who makes a brief appearance in Act III.
Dad will go to Mom's grave this Memorial Day and care for it just as my grandfather did for my grandmother.
I only remember Grandpa Koop as an image in my life for about five years so I never really thought about him as anyone other than an old man that I saw once a year at Christmas. I never thought of him as a man who had lost his wife. That's why it's so important to learn the songs of our ancestors to appreciate them as more than a one dimensional character who makes a brief appearance in Act III.
Dad will go to Mom's grave this Memorial Day and care for it just as my grandfather did for my grandmother.
Thursday, May 27, 2010
Thursday, 27 May 2010 -- Day 158 (171)
I watched the movie, Australia, today. Several times throughout the movie the little aborigine boy says to Mrs. Boss (Nicole Kidman) whenever they're about to be parted, "I will sing you to me," to which she responds, "And I will listen." This little boy's walkabout is an important sub-plot. In the movie they explain a walkabout as an Aboriginal boy's rite-of-passage for him to learn the song of his ancestors. It's a time for him to remember where he comes from so he has his own story to tell when he's a man. I'd like to think that Mom's just on a walkabout, that this is her "spiritual journey" to commune w/ her ancestors and learn their songs. Then sometime in the future, she'll call me to her so she can teach them to me. I'll be listening.
It occurs to me, however, that what would happen to someone who has gone on his walkabout but has lost all those memories and songs due to a stroke or Alzheimer's, for examples. Merle is an octogenarian man who walks his two dogs past my house every day, and has for almost 11 years. The other day he asked me if I'd met Jack, the younger dog that he got a few years ago. I told him I had, and my surprised tone must have been enough for Merle to inform me that he had a brain aneurysm last winter that resulted in a great deal of memory loss. My first thought was quite selfish as I again thanked God that my brain aneurysm six years ago didn't have any lasting effects. Then I thought, I hope Merle shared all his memories w/ someone so his song isn't lost.
It also occurs to me that this blog has become my virtual walkabout. I'm on a spiritual journey toward understanding death and mourning. This blog is a platform for me to recall memories that I hope will be helpful to my daughters in learning their songs someday.
It occurs to me, however, that what would happen to someone who has gone on his walkabout but has lost all those memories and songs due to a stroke or Alzheimer's, for examples. Merle is an octogenarian man who walks his two dogs past my house every day, and has for almost 11 years. The other day he asked me if I'd met Jack, the younger dog that he got a few years ago. I told him I had, and my surprised tone must have been enough for Merle to inform me that he had a brain aneurysm last winter that resulted in a great deal of memory loss. My first thought was quite selfish as I again thanked God that my brain aneurysm six years ago didn't have any lasting effects. Then I thought, I hope Merle shared all his memories w/ someone so his song isn't lost.
It also occurs to me that this blog has become my virtual walkabout. I'm on a spiritual journey toward understanding death and mourning. This blog is a platform for me to recall memories that I hope will be helpful to my daughters in learning their songs someday.
Wednesday, May 26, 2010
Wednesday, 26 May 2010 -- Day 157 (170)
I'm gonna do a little braggin' about my Maddy May. But first I need to provide some background information. Her 8th grade science teacher is retiring, but he has already left before the end of the school year due to health issues. Apparently his doctor recommended that he do so b/c the students were elevating his already-high blood pressure. Maddy had told me throughout the year some of the shenanigans her classmates had pulled on this teacher, plus his daughter died in a car accident earlier this year.
This is where my bragging comes in. Out of the blue this afternoon Maddy asked me if we had any stamps. Now, I can't remember the last time she used snail mail for anything so I was a little curious as to why she wanted a stamp. When I asked her, she said she was mailing a letter to this teacher, apologizing for what she and her classmates put him through this school year, thanking him for teaching her about science, and wishing him well in his retirement. This letter was completely unsolicited and unprovoked. She felt compassion for this man and needed to let him know how she felt. What an awesome kid I have!! There have been numerous times in my life when I wanted to thank someone or congratulate someone through a card or note, but most times I never took the time to do so. Maddy did. I'm so proud of her compassion as well as take-charge attitude to express that compassion.
My mom used to brag about me too, especially about my writing. I remember a poem that I had written when I was about 12 or 13. I don't think it was a school assignment but somehow Mom found it. She was so impressed w/ it that she read it aloud to Dad. That was a big deal; it was like taking it to the President. I can still see her walking w/ it into their bedroom while I stood out in the living room and listened to her not only read it but give it rave reviews. She said I had a wisdom beyond my years. I was so proud and so embarrassed.
There was another time when my parents reading my writing embarrassed me. I was in second grade and had to write a thank you letter to the chief and assistant chief of our town's volunteer fire department. These two men always came with the fire truck during fire safety week to give a talk and demonstration to the second grade classes, there were two. Afterward, the entire grade had to write thank you letters to them. Since my dad was the assistant fire chief, I carted the letters home w/ me after school. Dad didn't get home until 5:00, and I agonized for an hour and a half about him reading my letter. When he finally got home and sat at the kitchen table w/ his after-work Old Milwaukee, reading the letters, I hid in the closet off the kitchen, standing in the toy box behind the coats. When he was done, Mom opened the closet door to tell me he was done and that my letter was very well written. Each subsequent year when Dad got these thank you letters from the second graders, I would correct the spelling and grammar. Yes, even the teacher way back then.
It's important for parents to brag about their children; it gives them a strong self concept. And it's important that the bragging be not just to the child but to others as well, and that the child be aware of this boasting. Mom was very good at "talking-up" her children and singing our praises to anyone who would listen. She did this when we were growing up and even after we were grown. Sometimes after we were grown, however, we didn't always know about the bragging, which sometimes made me think that she would boast to others about us but not to our faces. This was probably my own fault for not calling home more when I was first on my own. Bottom line is, she was always a proud mother and grandmother who loved to brag about her children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren.
This is where my bragging comes in. Out of the blue this afternoon Maddy asked me if we had any stamps. Now, I can't remember the last time she used snail mail for anything so I was a little curious as to why she wanted a stamp. When I asked her, she said she was mailing a letter to this teacher, apologizing for what she and her classmates put him through this school year, thanking him for teaching her about science, and wishing him well in his retirement. This letter was completely unsolicited and unprovoked. She felt compassion for this man and needed to let him know how she felt. What an awesome kid I have!! There have been numerous times in my life when I wanted to thank someone or congratulate someone through a card or note, but most times I never took the time to do so. Maddy did. I'm so proud of her compassion as well as take-charge attitude to express that compassion.
My mom used to brag about me too, especially about my writing. I remember a poem that I had written when I was about 12 or 13. I don't think it was a school assignment but somehow Mom found it. She was so impressed w/ it that she read it aloud to Dad. That was a big deal; it was like taking it to the President. I can still see her walking w/ it into their bedroom while I stood out in the living room and listened to her not only read it but give it rave reviews. She said I had a wisdom beyond my years. I was so proud and so embarrassed.
There was another time when my parents reading my writing embarrassed me. I was in second grade and had to write a thank you letter to the chief and assistant chief of our town's volunteer fire department. These two men always came with the fire truck during fire safety week to give a talk and demonstration to the second grade classes, there were two. Afterward, the entire grade had to write thank you letters to them. Since my dad was the assistant fire chief, I carted the letters home w/ me after school. Dad didn't get home until 5:00, and I agonized for an hour and a half about him reading my letter. When he finally got home and sat at the kitchen table w/ his after-work Old Milwaukee, reading the letters, I hid in the closet off the kitchen, standing in the toy box behind the coats. When he was done, Mom opened the closet door to tell me he was done and that my letter was very well written. Each subsequent year when Dad got these thank you letters from the second graders, I would correct the spelling and grammar. Yes, even the teacher way back then.
It's important for parents to brag about their children; it gives them a strong self concept. And it's important that the bragging be not just to the child but to others as well, and that the child be aware of this boasting. Mom was very good at "talking-up" her children and singing our praises to anyone who would listen. She did this when we were growing up and even after we were grown. Sometimes after we were grown, however, we didn't always know about the bragging, which sometimes made me think that she would boast to others about us but not to our faces. This was probably my own fault for not calling home more when I was first on my own. Bottom line is, she was always a proud mother and grandmother who loved to brag about her children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren.
Tuesday, May 25, 2010
Tuesday, 25 May 2010 -- Day 156 (169)
Days like today give me hope that I can deal w/ my grief and loss. My fast track students were presenting their informative and impromptu speeches today. One girl's impromptu topic was a quote about not being able to enjoy life w/o death. As she spoke and gave her examples, I was able to listen, smile and nod in acknowledgement of her points w/o fear of tearing up. And I didn't even have to employ my usual tactics of focusing my thoughts on anything other than her words. I didn't have to detach my feelings from my mind. This is progress!
Monday, May 24, 2010
Monday, 24 May 2010 -- Day 155 (168)
And so it begins..........softball that is. Kenzie's first games were tonight. Three hours of sun, wind, and blowing dirt..........I love it!! Mom and Dad came to my home softball games and always sat on the top bleachers. I don't know if they cheered for me; I always blocked that stuff out, but they were there watching w/ big smiles when I came to talk to them at the end of the game. Kenzie's team is wearing softball pants for the first time this year. Thank goodness they're black, maybe not so good for Kenzie, but good for me not to have to scrub out grass stains. My softball pants were white, and I was an outfielder so Mom had a lot of grass stains to get out. Mine were always the white-est on the team. I never appreciated until I became a mother how much time is spent washing uniforms, but Mom always washed my softball, cheerleading, and track uniforms by hand, whereas I simply toss the girls' uniforms in the washing machine. Doesn't mean I love my girls any less, just means I have less time.
Sunday, May 23, 2010
Sunday, 23 May 2010 -- Day 154 (167)
It's commencement time of year. We went to a relative's reception this afternoon, which really got me thinking about how Kenzie will be graduating from high school next year and how Mom won't be hear to help me plan and prepare. It's just so hard to fathom how she could be here for all of Kenzie's other major life events: birthday's, holidays, baptism, confirmation, braces, dance recitals, but not be here when Kenzie commences into the next stage of her life. Mom would always come to my house at least a day in advance to help me clean and cook. We always talked while we worked, reminiscing about something from her childhood or mine or catching up w/ the latest activities of family.
Lately I've been thinking a lot about the night Mom died, how she gasped her last breaths after the breathing tube was removed. It's probably b/c my breathing has been so labored this last week that I've wondered how she could've gone so peacefully while still struggling to breathe. I remember very near the end, when her breaths were becoming fewer and farther apart, thinking at any minute she would breathe her last. There were a couple of times when I thought she was gone, but then she would take a deep gasp as if she'd been holding her breath for a long time and had to fill her lungs as quickly and deeply as possible. She was a fighter, but every fighter knows when to give up the fight, knowing that losing the battle can still mean winning the war. Winning means a new beginning.
Commencement means beginning. Life is about beginnings, not just the beginning of life but all the beginnings of new phases and stages of life. Mom helped me through all of them thus far for not only me, but for my daughters too. Now we're going through a commencement, a beginning, of a stage w/o her. We always celebrate beginnings. They're exciting. The beginning of a relationship is always the most intense. The birth of a baby is heralded. It's the maintenance of that relationship and the raising of that child that aren't always as glorious and celebrated. That's why we have anniversaries and birthdays to remind us of how we felt in the beginning. As I commence into life w/o Mom, it's not exciting and fresh. I don't want to celebrate it each December 10th, but I know as each anniversary of her death rolls around, I'll remember. And then I'll commence w/ living.
Lately I've been thinking a lot about the night Mom died, how she gasped her last breaths after the breathing tube was removed. It's probably b/c my breathing has been so labored this last week that I've wondered how she could've gone so peacefully while still struggling to breathe. I remember very near the end, when her breaths were becoming fewer and farther apart, thinking at any minute she would breathe her last. There were a couple of times when I thought she was gone, but then she would take a deep gasp as if she'd been holding her breath for a long time and had to fill her lungs as quickly and deeply as possible. She was a fighter, but every fighter knows when to give up the fight, knowing that losing the battle can still mean winning the war. Winning means a new beginning.
Commencement means beginning. Life is about beginnings, not just the beginning of life but all the beginnings of new phases and stages of life. Mom helped me through all of them thus far for not only me, but for my daughters too. Now we're going through a commencement, a beginning, of a stage w/o her. We always celebrate beginnings. They're exciting. The beginning of a relationship is always the most intense. The birth of a baby is heralded. It's the maintenance of that relationship and the raising of that child that aren't always as glorious and celebrated. That's why we have anniversaries and birthdays to remind us of how we felt in the beginning. As I commence into life w/o Mom, it's not exciting and fresh. I don't want to celebrate it each December 10th, but I know as each anniversary of her death rolls around, I'll remember. And then I'll commence w/ living.
Saturday, May 22, 2010
Saturday, 22 May 2010 -- Day 153 (166)
The muse is asleep tonight. I think I coughed it out in one of my numerous coughing spells today. Maddy's tucked in. Kenzie's home from work. All is right w/ the world so I can go to bed now.
Friday, May 21, 2010
Friday, 21 May 2010 -- Day 152 (165)
I forgot to mention in last night's post that I think I was more inclined to feel Mom's presence the other night b/c of something Dad told me when he was at the cemetery recently. The corsage I had placed on her head stone on Mother's Day was in a different spot. I distinctly remember placing it on the east side of the stone, which is the side where her casket is buried, but Dad said the corsage is now on the west side. Also, despite having been there for a week-and-a-half, it looks as fresh as when I placed it there. I can't explain it, and I don't want to try. I just want to believe that it's possible for Mom to watch over us whenever we need her. But I don't want to need her too much b/c she deserves her place in heaven.
Thursday, May 20, 2010
Thursday, 20 May 2010 -- Day 151 (164)
I'm such a baby! Last night I couldn't sleep, partly b/c I couldn't breathe and partly b/c of the shot of Prednisone. Thank goodness for late night, or rather early morning, TV. Maybe it was the episode of Star Trek: The Next Generation followed by an episode of Ghost Whisperer that had me in a supernatural, Sci-Fi state-of-mind, but I felt Mom's presence. I was trying to fall asleep in our "blue chair," the overstuffed arm chair w/ ottoman that is so comfortable our international student threatened to take it back to Amsterdam w/ him a few years ago. Anyway, I went for the chair so I could be in a more upright position. This wasn't really working b/c I was still coughing A LOT. I was actually getting a little scared that I was having an asthma attack so I said aloud, "I really need my mom right now." Then, knowing the power of touch in calming the attack, I put my right hand hand on top of my left hand. But it didn't feel like my right hand, it felt like Mom's. This sensation sent me into a bout of crying that led to another, even more intense, bout of coughing. W/o even realizing it, my right hand went up to massage my brow, a gesture that Mom first did after my kidney surgery six years ago to help me to relax. Whether Mom was really w/ me last night, or whether I perceived she was w/ me, I felt calmed and was able to fall asleep. And ultimately it's what we believe that controls us. I believed Mom was w/ me, and I felt better.
When I was a little girl, sleeping in my room all by myself, I'd sometimes get scared if I heard an unfamiliar sound. I'd lay my hand across the other side of my bed and ask God to hold my hand. Within a short while, I'd feel my hand get heavier and knew God was w/ me, holding my hand and protecting me. I remember one night in particular, I heard a scratching noise coming from inside my closet. I knew God wouldn't be enough so I mustered the courage to go downstairs to get Mom. She came up and sat beside my bed until I fell asleep. That's how I felt early this morning; Mom was sitting w/ me, holding my hand, rubbing my brow until I fell asleep.
When I was a little girl, sleeping in my room all by myself, I'd sometimes get scared if I heard an unfamiliar sound. I'd lay my hand across the other side of my bed and ask God to hold my hand. Within a short while, I'd feel my hand get heavier and knew God was w/ me, holding my hand and protecting me. I remember one night in particular, I heard a scratching noise coming from inside my closet. I knew God wouldn't be enough so I mustered the courage to go downstairs to get Mom. She came up and sat beside my bed until I fell asleep. That's how I felt early this morning; Mom was sitting w/ me, holding my hand, rubbing my brow until I fell asleep.
Wednesday, May 19, 2010
Wednesday, 19 May 2010 -- Day 150 (163)
Yea!! I'm back on track. I've uploaded all my entries from the last five days. I did continue to write every night, but this post and the previous five will all reflect the same date of posting.
I guess today was "Doctor Day." Maddy and I went to the doctor this morning. I got a shot of Prednisone in my hip and some antibiotics to take care of the sinus infection. Maddy got the same medicines for the same illness, but she chose to have her Prednisone in pill form. She's a little skittish around needles so I told her, "When you've had as many medical problems as I've had, you get used to needles." Then I thought, "No. I hope she never gets used to needles." Unfortunately Kenzie is so accustomed to needles that she gives herself shots of Humera every two weeks.
Dad also went to the doctor today to get a spot by his ear removed. The doctor only had to numb it a little and scrape it off, no cutting or stitching was necessary. Tonight when I talked to him he was feeling okay about the spot but was concerned about his stomach hurting and the blood they found again in his urine. Mom had frequent stomach aches and blood in her urine. It's only natural that the first thought to enter Dad's mind would be cancer. I know after my brain aneurysm, I worried about every little headache I got. I tried to reassure him that there can be a lot of reasons for his symptoms. I hope I helped. He did say, that whatever happened would happen. I remember several months before Mom died she told me while we were sitting in a booth at Stinky's, the restaurant in Aplington (funny how I can see her so clearly), that she wasn't afraid to die. I don't think Dad is either, but he's not necessarily ready just yet either. Reminds me Doris Day's theme song, "Que Sera Sera, whatever will be, will be. The future's not ours to see. Que Sera Sera."
I guess today was "Doctor Day." Maddy and I went to the doctor this morning. I got a shot of Prednisone in my hip and some antibiotics to take care of the sinus infection. Maddy got the same medicines for the same illness, but she chose to have her Prednisone in pill form. She's a little skittish around needles so I told her, "When you've had as many medical problems as I've had, you get used to needles." Then I thought, "No. I hope she never gets used to needles." Unfortunately Kenzie is so accustomed to needles that she gives herself shots of Humera every two weeks.
Dad also went to the doctor today to get a spot by his ear removed. The doctor only had to numb it a little and scrape it off, no cutting or stitching was necessary. Tonight when I talked to him he was feeling okay about the spot but was concerned about his stomach hurting and the blood they found again in his urine. Mom had frequent stomach aches and blood in her urine. It's only natural that the first thought to enter Dad's mind would be cancer. I know after my brain aneurysm, I worried about every little headache I got. I tried to reassure him that there can be a lot of reasons for his symptoms. I hope I helped. He did say, that whatever happened would happen. I remember several months before Mom died she told me while we were sitting in a booth at Stinky's, the restaurant in Aplington (funny how I can see her so clearly), that she wasn't afraid to die. I don't think Dad is either, but he's not necessarily ready just yet either. Reminds me Doris Day's theme song, "Que Sera Sera, whatever will be, will be. The future's not ours to see. Que Sera Sera."
Tuesday, 18 May 2010 -- Day 149 (162)
Well, it turns out the Internet problem was from our end the last few days. Mediacom was experiencing problems for about three days, but then we discovered that our router got switched off. I hate it when that happens. And I hate the realization that being w/o, or at least thinking I'm w/o, the Internet can paralyze my activities. I guess I haven't been paralyzed; I just had to find an alternative means for keeping this journal. I don't think we should ever become too dependent on one thing or person. Kinda like the old saying, "Never put all your eggs in one basket." Diversification, that's the key. I think that's why I was always so afraid that Mom would die when I was younger b/c she was everything to me. As I got older, I became interdependent w/ a lot of other family and friends, which has shown me that even though at one time I thought I would die if Mom died, I've discovered that my life will go on. I've even been able to talk about Mom's death w/ my students in this fast track class that I'm teaching now w/o any catch in my throat. I still wonder if it's too soon to enter the acceptance stage of the grieving process. Maybe my cold has dulled all my senses so that I couldn't cry even if I wanted too.
Monday, 17 May 2010 -- Day 148 (161)
Internet is still down. Just as well, I have a really bad cold, and the NyQuil is kicking in. Can’t formulate coherent thoughts anyway. Hope all will be better tomorrow.
Sunday, 16 May 2010 -- Day 147 (160)
Internet is still down.
I think I’ve mentioned Sarah before. She’s the young woman from Mom and Dad’s church who has been bringing Dad food and visiting w/ him. I thank God for Sarah, and I thank God that Mom was such an amazing woman to make such a strong impression upon Sarah. Sarah’s daughter, Libby, was in one of Mom’s last Sunday School classes, and I think Sarah feels a need to give back some of what Mom gave to her daughter. Today she invited Dad along to see her parent’s greenhouse in a town about 75 miles away. He was absolutely tickled as he described the size of the greenhouse and how the customers use little wagons to transport their flowery purchases. These little outings keep Dad from crawling inside himself. He’s even going to graduation parties w/ my aunts. I know he’s doing it b/c it’s what Mom would’ve had them doing if she was here, but I’m still very proud of him for staying active and involved w/ the human race.
I think I’ve mentioned Sarah before. She’s the young woman from Mom and Dad’s church who has been bringing Dad food and visiting w/ him. I thank God for Sarah, and I thank God that Mom was such an amazing woman to make such a strong impression upon Sarah. Sarah’s daughter, Libby, was in one of Mom’s last Sunday School classes, and I think Sarah feels a need to give back some of what Mom gave to her daughter. Today she invited Dad along to see her parent’s greenhouse in a town about 75 miles away. He was absolutely tickled as he described the size of the greenhouse and how the customers use little wagons to transport their flowery purchases. These little outings keep Dad from crawling inside himself. He’s even going to graduation parties w/ my aunts. I know he’s doing it b/c it’s what Mom would’ve had them doing if she was here, but I’m still very proud of him for staying active and involved w/ the human race.
Saturday, 15 May 2010 -- Day 146 (159)
Our Internet is down so I’m writing this into my computer and will transfer it whenever out Internet is back up.
I think I'm coming down w/ a cold. I probably should've dressed warmer sitting out on the deck last night by the fire pit. Staying up until 2:00 a.m. probably didn't help either....."not as young as I used to be." That's a strange expression. None of us are ever as young as we used to be. In fact, I'm already older right now, this second, than I was when I first started this post ten seconds ago. Each second takes us that much closer to death. I'm starting to feel okay w/ that. If I died tomorrow, I'd feel that my time on Earth served some small purpose. When I worked at Strait Music Company in Austin, Texas, the bookkeeper, whom I later replaced, used to say things to me like, "I'm going to show you where I keep these files so if I get hit by a bus and die tonight, you'll know where to find them tomorrow." No, I didn't replace her b/c she died, although when I returned to Austin years later to attend a conference, I learned that she died of a heart attack. I hope whomever she was working w/ knew where she put the files. Is it insensitive to be glib about death. She was someone's mother and wife and sister. Would I be offended if someone made a remark like that about my mom? Actually I think I'd be happy to learn some little foible she possessed that I never knew about.....something about her daily life that I didn't get to share.
Well, this post took a different turn that I didn't intend, and now I don't even remember what I did intend. Not sure I can pull it all together, but here goes. Coming down w/ a cold makes me feel old; feeling old reminds me of my own mortality; mortality causes me to make every second count; counting reminded me of the bookkeeper I used to work w/, which made me think of one of her little foibles; thinking about the little things we remember about people makes me appreciate all the memories I have.
I think I'm coming down w/ a cold. I probably should've dressed warmer sitting out on the deck last night by the fire pit. Staying up until 2:00 a.m. probably didn't help either....."not as young as I used to be." That's a strange expression. None of us are ever as young as we used to be. In fact, I'm already older right now, this second, than I was when I first started this post ten seconds ago. Each second takes us that much closer to death. I'm starting to feel okay w/ that. If I died tomorrow, I'd feel that my time on Earth served some small purpose. When I worked at Strait Music Company in Austin, Texas, the bookkeeper, whom I later replaced, used to say things to me like, "I'm going to show you where I keep these files so if I get hit by a bus and die tonight, you'll know where to find them tomorrow." No, I didn't replace her b/c she died, although when I returned to Austin years later to attend a conference, I learned that she died of a heart attack. I hope whomever she was working w/ knew where she put the files. Is it insensitive to be glib about death. She was someone's mother and wife and sister. Would I be offended if someone made a remark like that about my mom? Actually I think I'd be happy to learn some little foible she possessed that I never knew about.....something about her daily life that I didn't get to share.
Well, this post took a different turn that I didn't intend, and now I don't even remember what I did intend. Not sure I can pull it all together, but here goes. Coming down w/ a cold makes me feel old; feeling old reminds me of my own mortality; mortality causes me to make every second count; counting reminded me of the bookkeeper I used to work w/, which made me think of one of her little foibles; thinking about the little things we remember about people makes me appreciate all the memories I have.
14 May 2010 -- Day 145 (158)
Commencement at the college was tonight and then I held the post-graduation faculty/staff party at my house. This is why this entry is actually being posted “the day after.” This post is also late b/c our Internet hasn’t been working all day. It’s not possible to have squeezed one more activity into my day, but fullness is good……and exhausting. Again, I wonder if I take-on so much as a way to avoid thinking about Mom. That if I continue to deal w/ daily events and activities, one breath at a time, I won’t see the big picture of being motherless for the rest of my life.
When I was in grad school at the U of Iowa, I remember sitting by the bank of the Iowa River and writing in my journal. Nature has always been my refuge and my muse, and on this particular day it was my consoler ( I don't think this is a word, but it fits). I don’t recall what was troubling me at that particular time, but I do remember focusing far into the distance and watching the river. As I brought my thoughts closer and closer, I noticed a putrid odor. As I brought my vision in closer to match my thoughts, I noticed at my feet a bloated and decaying fish. I then wrote in my journal that I was so focused on the big picture that I was missing the small details right in front of me. Now I think I’ve gone the complete opposite. I’m so focused on the small, daily details of living that I’m missing the bigger picture of life.
As I begin summer vacation in a couple of weeks, I’m going to try very hard to forget all the little details of the day and enjoy people, the outdoors, and a more carefree attitude.
When I was in grad school at the U of Iowa, I remember sitting by the bank of the Iowa River and writing in my journal. Nature has always been my refuge and my muse, and on this particular day it was my consoler ( I don't think this is a word, but it fits). I don’t recall what was troubling me at that particular time, but I do remember focusing far into the distance and watching the river. As I brought my thoughts closer and closer, I noticed a putrid odor. As I brought my vision in closer to match my thoughts, I noticed at my feet a bloated and decaying fish. I then wrote in my journal that I was so focused on the big picture that I was missing the small details right in front of me. Now I think I’ve gone the complete opposite. I’m so focused on the small, daily details of living that I’m missing the bigger picture of life.
As I begin summer vacation in a couple of weeks, I’m going to try very hard to forget all the little details of the day and enjoy people, the outdoors, and a more carefree attitude.
Thursday, May 13, 2010
Thursday, 13 May 2010 -- Day 144 (157)
Today would've been Mom's 80th birthday. For the past five years, ever since we threw a big birthday bash for Dad's 80th, we'd been talking about what we'd do for Mom's party. My gift to Dad five years ago was a biographical narrative of the places he's lived and worked and the people who have been a part of his life. I was planning to do something similar for Mom, but I wanted it to include all the reasons people are thankful she's a part of our lives. When her cancer doctor gave us the two-year prognosis a little over a year ago, I knew I should write it then and give it to her for Christmas. But I was in denial and couldn't bring myself to start. Christmas of 2008 came and went. Then I thought about writing it as a gift for her birthday and Mother's Day in 2009. I didn't. I finally started writing it this past December, but by then it was too late. I did at least tell her many of the things that I was going to write, but I never did what I wanted to do, which was to create a Thanks to you.... narrative that would include pictures and stories and artifacts from her life and loves.
I first got this idea when attending the visitation of a co-worker who died from cancer about four years ago. Her daughter had made a memory-book, of sorts, w/ pictures and stories and funny sayings that were special to them and had given it to her mother a few years earlier. I guess that's why I was never able to write my thanks narrative to Mom b/c I could envision it on a table at the funeral home. And so I did nothing. Mom didn't get my gift and she didn't get a party. Now that I think about it, she didn't even get a party when she retired. We gave Dad a retirement party. Why didn't we do one for Mom? Probably b/c she was always the one planning the parties. That's no excuse. We gave her wedding anniversary parties, but we never gave her a party just for her.........until her funeral. Her church family did recognize her w/ cards and gifts and a cake when she retired from teaching Sunday School several months before her death. But her own family fell short. This is one of those regrets that I was talking about the other night, and that's why I'm crying.....again.
This is Mom's first birthday in heaven. It's comforting to know that she's spending this birthday w/ her mom and dad and brother and sister. It's been a very, very long time since she's been able to do that. I hope she's riding a bicycle or a skateboard or flying a kite or jumping on a trampoline. These things always put a smile on her face so I hope she's doing them now. I hope she has cake (one she didn't have to bake) and ice cream and tuna-salad sandwiches, and that she wins the High Woman prize at Rook. Mostly I hope she knows how special she is for making all my birthdays and holidays and graduations so special. I'm sorry, Mom, that we didn't get to give you that big 80th birthday party so you could've seen how many people love you and are thankful for you. Some day when we meet again in heaven, I'm gonna throw you the biggest birthday party ever!
I first got this idea when attending the visitation of a co-worker who died from cancer about four years ago. Her daughter had made a memory-book, of sorts, w/ pictures and stories and funny sayings that were special to them and had given it to her mother a few years earlier. I guess that's why I was never able to write my thanks narrative to Mom b/c I could envision it on a table at the funeral home. And so I did nothing. Mom didn't get my gift and she didn't get a party. Now that I think about it, she didn't even get a party when she retired. We gave Dad a retirement party. Why didn't we do one for Mom? Probably b/c she was always the one planning the parties. That's no excuse. We gave her wedding anniversary parties, but we never gave her a party just for her.........until her funeral. Her church family did recognize her w/ cards and gifts and a cake when she retired from teaching Sunday School several months before her death. But her own family fell short. This is one of those regrets that I was talking about the other night, and that's why I'm crying.....again.
This is Mom's first birthday in heaven. It's comforting to know that she's spending this birthday w/ her mom and dad and brother and sister. It's been a very, very long time since she's been able to do that. I hope she's riding a bicycle or a skateboard or flying a kite or jumping on a trampoline. These things always put a smile on her face so I hope she's doing them now. I hope she has cake (one she didn't have to bake) and ice cream and tuna-salad sandwiches, and that she wins the High Woman prize at Rook. Mostly I hope she knows how special she is for making all my birthdays and holidays and graduations so special. I'm sorry, Mom, that we didn't get to give you that big 80th birthday party so you could've seen how many people love you and are thankful for you. Some day when we meet again in heaven, I'm gonna throw you the biggest birthday party ever!
Wednesday, May 12, 2010
Wednesday, 12 May 2010 -- Day 143 (156)
"The theatre, the theatre. What's happened to the theatre?" Well, tonight the theatre was rockin'!! Tonight my intro to theatre class presented their final project, a one act play entitled, All I Really Need to Know I Learned by Being in a Bad Play. I was so proud of these students. They did an awesome job. They've been working really hard for the last three weeks: directing, acting, costuming, lighting, staging, etc., etc., My main role was producer so I got to enjoy the learning process w/o most of the aggravation and frustration during rehearsals. Memories of productions that I've acted in or directed will stay w/ me forever.....all the way back to third grade when I did a solo recitation about a little girl who gets stuck on top of the cupboard in her attempt to get a cookie from the cookie jar. I've had a couple of opportunities to work w/ my daughters in productions. Both my girls, when they were four and seven, were in a community theatre production that I directed. Kenzie had a small part in another of my intro to theatre's productions, and Maddy videotaped tonight's performance. I used to bring Kenzie w/ me to rehearsals when I was directly high school productions. I'd purposely let her run around on stage while running scenes to ensure that my actors wouldn't break character. It worked....both for the actors and Kenzie. She and Maddy both have been performing on stage since they were three. That's part of why they're so confident.
Mom and I never had the opportunity to act together, but she loved to perform. She was in some productions in school, I think, and I know she did a community theatre production years and years ago. I never got to see it b/c I was living in Texas at the time, but she had to play an Italian woman so I helped her w/ her accent. Last night I talked about my delight in performing w/ my daughters, but I didn't mention the times that I got to perform w/ my mom. I accompanied the senior church choir in which she sang, and I accompanied her "Lucy's Kids" for most of my school years and then some. Memories of getting out of my own Sunday School class early so I could play for her class. Memories of driving to a nearby town where her "Kids" sang at a nursing home every summer. There are hundreds of people who will forever know Zacchaeus and Jesus Loves Me b/c of my mom. That's so cool.
I think it's essential that parents and children find common interests. It doesn't matter what it is: acting, dancing, playing tennis or softball, sewing, or bird watching. Find something that you both like or can learn to like. It doesn't matter what it is b/c the activity will soon play second fiddle to the time spent together and the memories created. Memories makes me think of Cats, which returns me to the theatre.
Mom and I never had the opportunity to act together, but she loved to perform. She was in some productions in school, I think, and I know she did a community theatre production years and years ago. I never got to see it b/c I was living in Texas at the time, but she had to play an Italian woman so I helped her w/ her accent. Last night I talked about my delight in performing w/ my daughters, but I didn't mention the times that I got to perform w/ my mom. I accompanied the senior church choir in which she sang, and I accompanied her "Lucy's Kids" for most of my school years and then some. Memories of getting out of my own Sunday School class early so I could play for her class. Memories of driving to a nearby town where her "Kids" sang at a nursing home every summer. There are hundreds of people who will forever know Zacchaeus and Jesus Loves Me b/c of my mom. That's so cool.
I think it's essential that parents and children find common interests. It doesn't matter what it is: acting, dancing, playing tennis or softball, sewing, or bird watching. Find something that you both like or can learn to like. It doesn't matter what it is b/c the activity will soon play second fiddle to the time spent together and the memories created. Memories makes me think of Cats, which returns me to the theatre.
Tuesday, May 11, 2010
Tuesday, 11 May 2010 -- Day 142 (155)
I was so proud watching Maddy in her final middle school concert, playing xylophone in the band and singing a solo in the 7th/8th grade choir and also performing w/ the Sixth Street Singers, a smaller ensemble. She played and sang w/ heart. I actually surprised myself at keeping it together while she was performing, and while I was accompanying. I only teared up a little when Maddy presented me w/ flowers and a gift from the director since this was my last middle school concert too. I think many of the tears I've shed in these months since Mom's passing have been out of regret, regret for words not spoken, feelings not shared. Tonight I felt no regrets. I've shared my love of music w/ Maddy, and we've been fortunate to perform together these last four years. I hope she looks upon these years w/ the same fondness that I do. See.......even now..........no tears......no regrets.
Monday, May 10, 2010
Monday, 10 May 2010 -- Day 141 (154)
Rainy days and Monday's!! I can't say that this rainy Monday got me down, probably b/c I purged all emotion yesterday. Two, two-hour finals then rehearsing w/ the middle school choirs for two hours has left me purged of all reasonable thought as well. Good night!
Sunday, May 9, 2010
Sunday, 09 May 2010 -- Day 140 (153)
I started the tradition around 30 years ago, when I was a poor teenager in need of a Mother's Day gift for my mom. I continued it as a poor undergrad then a poor grad student then a struggling new teacher until finally it just became expected that I would be the one to buy Mom's Mother's Day corsage. I continued the tradition even today. I knew this was going to be a difficult day, and although I went to Mom's grave yesterday, I had to go back this morning, before church to give her her Mother's Day corsage. When I bought it a few days ago, the florist told me to be sure to keep it refrigerated until I was ready to give it to my mom. I did. I took it out of Dad's refrigerator this morning then Doug and I drove out to the cemetery. I placed the corsage at the base of the stone above Mom's head then I said a prayer asking God to draw her close.
Doug and the girls wanted to buy me a corsage, but I adamantly refused. Perhaps it's selfish of me to want this to be a tradition that only I could do for my mom even though children all across the country bought corsages for their mothers. Doug understood my reasoning, even w/o me having to explain. Maybe they can buy one for me next year.
Today was definitely an emotional roller coaster. I had the joy of my daughters and husband showering me w/ gifts and love. I had the sadness of putting Mom's corsage on her grave instead of her chest. I had the delight in seeing my Aunt Irene celebrate 90 years (her birthday is actually on the 11th) as friends and family gathered to honor her. She and Mom used to always celebrate their birthdays together. We always had a tradition that the aunts, uncles, and cousins would get together to play cards (Rook mostly) and eat ice cream, cake, and tuna-salad sandwiches. Mom always made the sandwiches. No matter whose birthday or at whose house, Mom made the sandwiches. We had cake and punch and coffee and mints and nuts for Aunt Irene's 90th birthday, but no tuna-salad sandwiches.
Doug and the girls wanted to buy me a corsage, but I adamantly refused. Perhaps it's selfish of me to want this to be a tradition that only I could do for my mom even though children all across the country bought corsages for their mothers. Doug understood my reasoning, even w/o me having to explain. Maybe they can buy one for me next year.
Today was definitely an emotional roller coaster. I had the joy of my daughters and husband showering me w/ gifts and love. I had the sadness of putting Mom's corsage on her grave instead of her chest. I had the delight in seeing my Aunt Irene celebrate 90 years (her birthday is actually on the 11th) as friends and family gathered to honor her. She and Mom used to always celebrate their birthdays together. We always had a tradition that the aunts, uncles, and cousins would get together to play cards (Rook mostly) and eat ice cream, cake, and tuna-salad sandwiches. Mom always made the sandwiches. No matter whose birthday or at whose house, Mom made the sandwiches. We had cake and punch and coffee and mints and nuts for Aunt Irene's 90th birthday, but no tuna-salad sandwiches.
Saturday, May 8, 2010
Saturday, 08 May 2010 -- Day 139 (152)
Ron and I used Mom's recipe to make some Rhubarb Upside Cake this afternoon. It's not as moist and juicy as Mom's, but we didn't do too bad. Nothing a dollop of whipped topping can't solve. Afterward he and I and Dad went to the cemetery. My daughters and husband didn't want to go. I didn't push. Ron had made a silk arrangement that he wanted to put on the shepherd's hook that was in the hole that Dad and David had previously drilled. Dad made some little wooden shims so the shepherd's hook will fit snugly, and he brought some copper wire to secure the basket onto the hook. He worked w/ such tenderness and diligence as he knelt by her grave. He wants to make sure her grave is adorned while at the same time not creating more work for the man who mows the cemetery. Dad has a knack for being practical and sentimental all at the same time.
I always thought the dead were buried on the side of the headstone that shows the names and dates, but it's actually on the other side. When I mentioned this to Dad, he said that it had to be the other way so that when he and Mom sit up, they'll be facing east as the sun rises. He was on the verge of tears as he said this so I didn't pursue its meaning. I have a feeling it was something he and Mom discussed many times as to how they would lie side-by-side in death, her on his left, just as they had slept together in life.
I'd like to plant some rhubarb or a lilac bush or some tulips by Mom's grave to show that here lies a woman who could take the sour things in life and make them sweet and delicious and had a way of making everything and everyone around her more beautiful.
I always thought the dead were buried on the side of the headstone that shows the names and dates, but it's actually on the other side. When I mentioned this to Dad, he said that it had to be the other way so that when he and Mom sit up, they'll be facing east as the sun rises. He was on the verge of tears as he said this so I didn't pursue its meaning. I have a feeling it was something he and Mom discussed many times as to how they would lie side-by-side in death, her on his left, just as they had slept together in life.
I'd like to plant some rhubarb or a lilac bush or some tulips by Mom's grave to show that here lies a woman who could take the sour things in life and make them sweet and delicious and had a way of making everything and everyone around her more beautiful.
Friday, May 7, 2010
Friday, 07 April 2010 -- Day 138 (151)
Whenever we went riding in the car when I was young, we sang silly songs. We didn't have Walkmans or iPods or cassette players or even a descent radio, so we sang......songs like Ja-Da and Down in the Meadow and Maresy Doats and Dosey Doats. Don't quote me on the titles or the spellings. The only one I am sure of is the first one. They had goofy words like:
"Oh, maresy doats and dosey doats and little lambs edivey a kiddle edivey too, wouldn't you. Maresy doats and dosey doats and little lambs edivey a kiddle edivey too, wouldn't you. If the words sound queer and funny to your ear, a little bit jumbled and jivey. Sing, 'mares eat oats and does eat oats and little lambs eat ivy.' Oh, maresy doats and dosey doats and little lambs edivey a kiddle edivey too, wouldn't you." AND
"Down in da meadow in an itty, bitty, poo, fam fee itta fitty and a Mama fitty too. Fim fetta Mama fitty, fim if foo tan, and de fam and de fam all over de dam. Boop, boop, diddum, doddum, wha dum choo. Boop, boop, diddum, doddum, wha dum choo. Boop, boop, diddum, doddum, wha dum choo. And de fam and de fam all over de dam. Top tedda Mam fitty, ooh uh det ost, but da fee itta fitty didn't unna be bossed. Boop, boop, diddum, doddum, wha dum choo. Boop, boop, diddum, doddum, wha dum choo. Boop, boop, diddum, doddum, wha dum choo. And de fam and de fam right over de dam."
Mom taught me these songs so I of course taught them to my girls during our long car rides. We sang them w/ gusto and delight and w/o a clue as to what they meant or if they even made sense. We still do. I was reminded of them today while rehearsing w/ the 5th and 6th grade choirs who are singing Ja-Da in their concert next week. I hope I can make it through b/c it's really hard to see the piano music through tears. Today in rehearsal I had to concentrate on the notes in the accompaniment rather than on the words the kids are singing. If I break that concentration, I know I'll break down. I'm already on emotional overload w/ Mother's Day in two days and Mom's birthday in six so it won't take much to set me off. We're leaving for Aplington tomorrow, and at some point this weekend, we'll go out to the cemetery. My first time since the funeral. I'm praying for strength.
"Oh, maresy doats and dosey doats and little lambs edivey a kiddle edivey too, wouldn't you. Maresy doats and dosey doats and little lambs edivey a kiddle edivey too, wouldn't you. If the words sound queer and funny to your ear, a little bit jumbled and jivey. Sing, 'mares eat oats and does eat oats and little lambs eat ivy.' Oh, maresy doats and dosey doats and little lambs edivey a kiddle edivey too, wouldn't you." AND
"Down in da meadow in an itty, bitty, poo, fam fee itta fitty and a Mama fitty too. Fim fetta Mama fitty, fim if foo tan, and de fam and de fam all over de dam. Boop, boop, diddum, doddum, wha dum choo. Boop, boop, diddum, doddum, wha dum choo. Boop, boop, diddum, doddum, wha dum choo. And de fam and de fam all over de dam. Top tedda Mam fitty, ooh uh det ost, but da fee itta fitty didn't unna be bossed. Boop, boop, diddum, doddum, wha dum choo. Boop, boop, diddum, doddum, wha dum choo. Boop, boop, diddum, doddum, wha dum choo. And de fam and de fam right over de dam."
Mom taught me these songs so I of course taught them to my girls during our long car rides. We sang them w/ gusto and delight and w/o a clue as to what they meant or if they even made sense. We still do. I was reminded of them today while rehearsing w/ the 5th and 6th grade choirs who are singing Ja-Da in their concert next week. I hope I can make it through b/c it's really hard to see the piano music through tears. Today in rehearsal I had to concentrate on the notes in the accompaniment rather than on the words the kids are singing. If I break that concentration, I know I'll break down. I'm already on emotional overload w/ Mother's Day in two days and Mom's birthday in six so it won't take much to set me off. We're leaving for Aplington tomorrow, and at some point this weekend, we'll go out to the cemetery. My first time since the funeral. I'm praying for strength.
Thursday, May 6, 2010
Thursday, 06 May 2010 -- Day 137 (150)
I hate conflict. I just wish everyone could get along, appreciate and respect differences, understand each other, and move on. Mom was never afraid of dealing w/ conflict. She always met it head-on. If something or someone upset her, she let it be known. She was even doing this on her death bed when she made it be known that she wanted Dad and Lori to resolve their differences and get along. But, Mom, it didn't last. Now what do I do?
Sometimes I take the "ostrich-approach" and stick my head in the sand hoping that when I re-emerge the conflict will be gone. Yes, I know this is a chicken-shit approach that usually leaves someone else responsible. But there are times when I do "take the bull by the horns." For example, Mackenzie has had difficulty w/ one of her teachers regarding missed assignments that have resulted from missing school due to doctor's appointments, procedures, and general Crohn's symptoms. We have a 504 Accommodations Plan in place w/ the high school to prevent these educational difficulties, but inevitably we have to remind some teachers about it. I sent an email to this teacher yesterday, and after her passive-aggressive response, sent another email tonight. As a teacher, I hate to have to do this, but I have to fight for my child.
Sometimes I take the "ostrich-approach" and stick my head in the sand hoping that when I re-emerge the conflict will be gone. Yes, I know this is a chicken-shit approach that usually leaves someone else responsible. But there are times when I do "take the bull by the horns." For example, Mackenzie has had difficulty w/ one of her teachers regarding missed assignments that have resulted from missing school due to doctor's appointments, procedures, and general Crohn's symptoms. We have a 504 Accommodations Plan in place w/ the high school to prevent these educational difficulties, but inevitably we have to remind some teachers about it. I sent an email to this teacher yesterday, and after her passive-aggressive response, sent another email tonight. As a teacher, I hate to have to do this, but I have to fight for my child.
Wednesday, May 5, 2010
Wednesday, 05 May 2010 -- Day 136 (149)
I think I've turned a corner. At least I think that's what therapists say whenever a patient makes a monumental step toward healing. What I've discovered is that I need to own-up to my feelings no matter what they are or when I'm having them and to stop berating myself for having these feelings. I had a much better day today b/c yesterday I finally fessed-up to the fact that I've been feeling frustrated and hurt and pissed.
I highly recommend blogging to everyone. It's a great alternative to therapy and much, much cheaper!!
I highly recommend blogging to everyone. It's a great alternative to therapy and much, much cheaper!!
Tuesday, May 4, 2010
Tuesday, 04 May 2010 -- Day 135 (148)
One of my favorite scenes from the movie, A League of Their Own, comes when Dottie Hinson, played by Geena Davis, leaves the women's baseball team b/c her husband has returned from WW II. Coach Jimmy Dugan, played by Tom Hanks, tells her that she's the best player in the league and that she'll regret leaving the game. She responds by saying, "It just got too hard." To which he counters, "If it was easy, everyone would do it." I guess life has just gotten too hard lately, and I just want to quit. No, suicide hasn't entered the picture. I just feel sometimes that if my life were ever easy, it would be b/c I'd be dead. For fear of anyone asking me if I'd like some cheese w/ my whine, I'm just going to have a small pity party right now. My mother is dead. My daughter has Crohn's Disease. My other daughter is home sick today w/ a bad cold. My students are extremely crabby as finals approach. My final concert w/ the middle school choirs is a week from tonight, and I haven't worked up the music. Mother's Day is coming up this weekend, and my mother is dead. Life is hard.
Dottie ends up returning to play in the championship game, and I guess Coach Dugan's advice applies to me too. If living was easy, everyone would do it. Most people don't really live. We just go from one day and event and activity to another. We have lots of moments in our lives, but we rarely live every moment. I would estimate that there are millions of people feeling exactly as I do right now: life is just too hard, and what's the point of it all. I guess I'm not in a league of my own after all.
Dottie ends up returning to play in the championship game, and I guess Coach Dugan's advice applies to me too. If living was easy, everyone would do it. Most people don't really live. We just go from one day and event and activity to another. We have lots of moments in our lives, but we rarely live every moment. I would estimate that there are millions of people feeling exactly as I do right now: life is just too hard, and what's the point of it all. I guess I'm not in a league of my own after all.
Monday, May 3, 2010
Monday, 03 May 2010 -- Day 134 (147)
I'm going to take my ball and go home. I don't want to play anymore.
Sunday, May 2, 2010
Sunday, 02 May 2010 -- Day 133 (146)
The baby Robins have hatched. It sounds simple and common enough, but it's been a rare treat to be able to watch so closely as the parents feed the babies. All I can see at this point are four upturned beaks, barely visible above the rim of the nest as worm pieces are fed to them. This reminded me of when Mackenzie was little and first eating popcorn. We were living in what we affectionately refer to now as The Mouse House, and we had two recliners w/ walking space in-between. One-year-old Kenzie would go back-and-forth b/w these two chairs getting popcorn pieces from Doug and me. We'd bite off the hulls so she only received the soft parts, and it was all we could do to keep up w/ her little upturned beak. Just before bedtime tonight, Maddy suggested we name the four baby birds Ron, David, Lori, and Mari w/ the mama being named Lucy. This is rather ironic since I had made a similar reference a few days ago to these four eggs being like my three siblings and me.
Well, speaking of Maddy. She drove a stick-shift for the first time today. She didn't think it went well until I told her that I went through the same difficulties of stalling it, shifting to the wrong gear, and not giving it enough gas once the clutch is out so that it starts jumping back-and-forth before it stalls. Ron had a brown Toyota to which this last thing happened to me, and Lori and a chartreuse car, can't remember the make, to which the first two proved problematic for me. In fact I didn't really get the hang of driving a five-speed until I was in my 20's and living in Austin, Texas. That was trial-by-fire, and I told Maddy about me sitting at a traffic light for at least five light changes b/c I couldn't get it in first gear. Sometimes learning something new means stepping away from it for awhile. I think I may have pushed too hard w/ Mackenzie b/c she gave up trying just a few months after turning 14. I let Maddy go more at her own pace.
Parents learn from experience just like children do, and maybe if I had 10 more kids I'd start to get the hang of it. I certainly wasn't a good teacher my first few years in the classroom, but each year I learn a little more and try a few new approaches in hopes of being better than I was the year before. I think parenting is the same. I wonder if Lucy Robin will grace us w/ another nest next Spring, or if another year will make her wiser and decide that the Burns' family was just too nosey!!
Well, speaking of Maddy. She drove a stick-shift for the first time today. She didn't think it went well until I told her that I went through the same difficulties of stalling it, shifting to the wrong gear, and not giving it enough gas once the clutch is out so that it starts jumping back-and-forth before it stalls. Ron had a brown Toyota to which this last thing happened to me, and Lori and a chartreuse car, can't remember the make, to which the first two proved problematic for me. In fact I didn't really get the hang of driving a five-speed until I was in my 20's and living in Austin, Texas. That was trial-by-fire, and I told Maddy about me sitting at a traffic light for at least five light changes b/c I couldn't get it in first gear. Sometimes learning something new means stepping away from it for awhile. I think I may have pushed too hard w/ Mackenzie b/c she gave up trying just a few months after turning 14. I let Maddy go more at her own pace.
Parents learn from experience just like children do, and maybe if I had 10 more kids I'd start to get the hang of it. I certainly wasn't a good teacher my first few years in the classroom, but each year I learn a little more and try a few new approaches in hopes of being better than I was the year before. I think parenting is the same. I wonder if Lucy Robin will grace us w/ another nest next Spring, or if another year will make her wiser and decide that the Burns' family was just too nosey!!
Saturday, May 1, 2010
Saturday, 01 May 2010 -- Day 132 (145)
My baby is 14. Her 14th birthday started w/ her passing the test for her learner's permit. She drove Papa's (my dad's) van first then Doug's pickup twice: once coming home from her dance recital and the other to pick up her friend. She also took her moped out for a few spins.....once to get me soy milk. Yes, it's been yet another eventful day. Tomorrow I think I'm going to attempt teaching her how to drive my car, which is a five-speed. We'll use the college parking lot before trying the highway. God grant me patience. Actually she does a wonderful job, especially when driving to pick-up her friend just a little bit ago....in the dark. I'm so pleased that she meets challenges head-on w/ a confidence that makes me proud while she remains cautious so as not to be easily manipulated, which makes me more comfortable. It's refreshing to see her embrace her new-found freedom. As I watched her ride up the hill, I realized she isn't going to need me as much now. Although I will miss my little girl, I'm looking forward to the times I get to spend w/ this emerging, young woman. I know it will take a great deal of courage for me to let her become this, but I take lesson from Mom. It had to be incredibly difficult for her to watch me, at only 20-years-of-age, move 1000 miles away, but she all she ever wanted for me was to be happy. My birthday wish for you, Maddy May, is that you live a happy, helpful, and productive life. I pledge to help you do this in whatever ways possible and whenever you need me; it's the gift my mom gave to me and one I pass on to you.
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