Bittersweet

His prickly chin and scruffy morning's laugh

bring Christmas to life,

animating the tree's lights with just his smile.

Torn paper and tangled ribbon

grow in piles of color

scattered by the cats.

We're foolish in our joy,

all together, happy here.

His robe is wrapped tightly, tied around the waist,

and just a hint of plaid flannel peeks

out from under the sleeves.

Father holds the key to Christmas and unlocks it with his love -

felt from a thousand miles away or from across the room.

The three wise men?

I have but one, and he holds me close

strong arms holding tight the bond.

Written Christmas morning, 2004

I awaken and it feels like Christmas, and I am amazed. An e-mail from my sister reminds me that I am well in my soul, in the places where the constants in my life live. I am well in body, thanks to the miracles of medicine. I am well in mind even when I am in this place of inconstancy. I am well in spirit because of my relationship with God. That will not change no matter what happens in life. Because I trust Him. That decision, for me, is made.

So good morning and Merry Christmas! A new day, a new reminder of my hope. I think I can find ways to miss Dad and be sad, but celebrate his memory too. So once again, I find myself in a place of gratitude.

A good place to be on Christmas morning.

Good night

Candles flickering, carols in the air, surrounded by friends in the half-light of Christmas Eve. "I am in the bosom of my family," I thought tonight as I worshiped the Newborn King, the Savior King, the Risen King, warm tears running down my cheeks.

Tough hours. I'm missing Dad so much thinking of our many wonderful Christmases. Stories we would tell around our family table. Memories we shared.

But tonight was calm and peaceful. Tim and I enjoyed it in our own special way, and were able to spread some love to a good friend who was in need of it.

I am going to bed feeling so loved by so many. It is an incredible gift that I hope I will never take for granted. Christmas Eve after an incredibly difficult year. And the year is almost over. A relief, to say the least.

I go to bed sad, but at peace, warm down to my toes, filled with love and a kind of deep, abiding joy.

Back to the yoyo

Was it just yesterday that I wrote I was feeling better than expected? That only lasted about 1/2 the day. I guess that's better than none, though. The afternoon and evening were pretty tough.

I won't detail the yucky stuff here. Suffice it to say I am not working to process my feelings. I need to do a little more of that and try to keep my sadness from turning to ugliness inside me - anger, irritability, etc. I also need to cut myself some slack and just get through this. Things will look a little better on the other side.

Not because anything will have fundamentally changed in me, but because the high expectations, the hoopla, and the demands of the holiday will be over. January will be quiet.

I am missing Dad terribly. Everywhere I go I see something that would make a perfect present for him, or I see parents and their children. Or I think of something I'd like to tell him.

And now having no parents makes me miss Mom again in a more poignant way. This parentlessness is a strange thing. Can't really explain it, but I feel unmoored, without an anchor, somehow floating.

So today I'm going to focus on doing the tasks that need done. Wrapping presents. Cooking for tomorrow. Making a few phone calls. I'll listen to music, watch a little TV, maybe journal some. Drink hot tea. A quiet day. Hopefully a restful day. Then tomorrow with my family. Sunday with Tim's family.

And I'll try to keep in the forefront of my mind why we're doing this, and how I can give back to those I love in ways other than their small gifts.

Better than I thought

December 23. Whew! Just 3 more days and my holiday season is past. It will be a relief.

I must say, though, that I am feeling less outright pain than I thought would be the case. Instead of the constant throbbing it was after Mom died, this pain comes and goes. Granted, in heavy waves that toss my little boat, but at least it's intermittent.

This loss of Dad feels so very different than losing Mom did. My age, his age, the duration of his illness, the stability of my marriage. I suppose all those things have combined to make this seem just a little bit easier.

And I am surrounded by the most incredible friends. I can't emphasize this enough. Don't get me wrong. My family is wonderful and I value them incredibly. But having this many friends who deeply care about me, nurture me, look out for me, listen to me, help me laugh, allow me to talk - I cannot adequately express my heartfelt thankfulness for them. As I told someone recently, "They are like a hammock in which I lie."

So today I'll finish up odds and ends, then there's a mad rush for 3 days, then it all settles back down, like a cloud of dust on a dirt road after the roaring pickup truck drives by.

So thankful for the Gift that is the motivation for all this hoopla. So thankful that I can express my gratitude all year long. Thankful for many things...

Almost there

Ladies' fondue Christmas party attended

Care package sent to my bro at Colorado State

Fudge and cookies made for friends and neighbors

Invitations to the church's interactive nativity handed out in the neighborhood

Shopping list made

Tree decorated

.......................................................................................

The trappings of Christmas surround me, and I find myself feeling just a tiny bit less sad then I thought I would. After all, I am surrounded by people who love me and are giving me unbelievable support. I am loved beyond words by my amazing husband. And the truth of Christmas, the reason for all this celebration is undiminished by losing Dad. That is wonderful and beautiful.

And all those things - the parties, shopping, baking, friends, the beautiful tree - they remind my heart of Dad's love.

I miss him. He loved Christmas. He gave all my Christmases a special touch.

But I can still find joy, and that in itself is a wonderful and beautiful thing.

Back home

Where have I been? Is it already December 13th? I have nothing profoud to say, but I'll write a little update anyway...

My week in Breckenridge ended with a bang as the car I had borrowed pooped out on me. Long story short - it all worked out, I didn't end up stranded somewhere on a mountain pass, and a ride home materialized in an amazing way! Other than the car operating perfectly, it couldn't have been any smoother, really.

I arrived home and dove back into life...perhaps a little deeper than was wise. Last week was crazy busy, but I'm going to try to scale back a little more, and not just for the next couple weeks. I'm still carrying a heavy emotional burden, and until that lifts, I need to create and maintain a little more space for feeling, writing, thinking, crying, etc.

Christmas is fast approaching, and I just wish the whole thing could be ignored this year, but there's not much chance of that. So instead of digging as deep into a hole as I can, I'm going to try to focus on the many good and wonderful things in my life. That way, while facing life, even with the hard stuff in plain view, I'll also have a clear view of all the good.

After all, I continue to contend that I live a blessed life with innumerable amazing and wonderful gifts. I'll try to keep that my focus.

Glich

I woke up this morning feeling much better -more myself. I was having a great morning when I suddenly felt like going home. The sky was blue and clear, tomorrow more snow is expected, and my inner old lady popped up and said, "Go home today and then you can just enjoy the drive instead of fighting snow." Sounded good to me! :-)

And I was surprised at myself. At the beginning of this retreat, I'd wondered if I'd ever want to go home. I guess one can get enough of solitude and reflection - wouldn't make a very good nun, huh? :-) I decided to pack up, have a leisurely lunch, then head on home.

I did, however, need to take my friend's car (which I borrowed for this trip) to a mechanic to get it topped up on coolant before heading back over the mountains. You see, a couple days ago I discovered a puddle of antifreeze under the car. Bad news.

I took the car to a mechanic who said they could fill me up before heading home. But there was worse news. The car has a cracked radiator.

Good news? I didn't discover this halfway over Hoosier Pass or in the middle of South Park. And, I still had one day on my condo, so I just checked back in. And I've already got a ride home from a friend who has been in Glenwood Springs visiting friends.

So, I got a few things out of the car (including pjs, dinner and breakfast stuff), the mechanic gave me a ride back to my condo, and here I am chilling for one more night.

I guess it wasn't time for me to go home, after all. And, actually, I'm thankful for one more night of solitude. The weird feeling is gone, my soul feels satisfied, and my weary heart is finally feeling rested after the crazy months since Dad came home and all that followed.

All good. (Except for my friend's car.)

Finishing up

I feel weird. I think it might be spending 6 days alone. I am, after all, an extrovert.

It might also be because I thought this would be a really emotional week and it hasn't been.

And it could be that I have worked on the tasks I assigned myself for this week, but I don't actually feel any different. Was I supposed to? I'm not really sure what I expected, since I've never done this before. I've sure enjoyed the time, but did I get out of it all I could have? I'm just not sure.

Anyway, I'm wrapping up my second to last day, and just thought I'd throw all that out there.

I did take the most beautiful walk today. Little, tiny snow flakes fell all day and it was absolutely gorgeous. I couldn't even see the top of the slopes, and I can only imagine that it was a pretty slow day for the lift operators.

The Blue River runs right through Breckenridge, and there's a lovely path that follows it through town. I had just heated up my lunch when I looked out my window and saw that the tiny flakes had turned to fat, feathery ones. "I have to be out there!" I said to myself, threw on my snow boots, etc. and practically ran out the door.

As I walked along the river, enjoying the falling snow, I listed things for which I'm thankful...

my parents
dog prints in the snow
good food and fun restaurants
a warm coat...

It was a pretty long list. And it was a lovely walk. I think I'll do it again tomorrow.

So I'm off to bed, feeling this weirdness. Not sure what it's about, but I hope it just means it's time to go home.

Three days left

I'm having a great week - incredibly relaxing and meaningful to my soul. I'm trying to stay focused on the tasks I've set for myself, but yesterday didn't do as much work as I'd planned. Just couldn't get there. I did some journaling about Dad and finished C.S. Lewis's A Grief Observed. As with the first time I read it years ago - I took copious notes.

Today I'm going to hit the books again - journal and reading, that is. I'm going to go for a walk in the cold, sunshiney day. And I'm going to try to do some writing - not just journaling. We'll see how it goes.

I wrote last night in my journal that I had a suspicion I wasn't going to want to go home. So I asked myself "why?" I'm giving that some thought, and am going to try to get myself in a place where I want to go home on Friday - be in a place where I can enjoy what I have at home. Because what I have, the life I have, is a blessed one. And that's something I need to always remember.

Yes, this time alone has been remarkable and incredibly refreshing. But I can take these lessons of time reading, journaling, praying, and put them to good use at home too. It is just a matter of not boxing myself into a corner with busy-ness.

I can do that if I choose to.

Still life

I didn't bring my camera with me ... too bad.

Because the wooden basket on the dining table is now filled with the most beautiful apples, mangoes, lemons and clementines.

Pretty to look at and deeply satisfying to my heart. Could it be because of Dad's love for fresh fruits and veg? That's probably it ...

I'm on a week-long personal retreat in the beautiful Colorado mountains. I've never done this before, but it is something I really need. I'm here to journal and think, pray, reflect, read, and have a little quiet time for my soul. Do some grieving for Dad - crying, remembering, writing, grieving about not being a mom - more crying and writing, work on some personal issues, and rest. Spend time with God. That actually is not only primary but essential.

This is something I really need, and am so looking forward to.

My groceries are bought, my books and journals are laid out, my iPod is ready to go. I have some of my favorite movies, a nice bottle of wine for the evenings, and my comfiest slippers and pjs.

What more could I need?

Will I get lonely? Maybe, but I doubt it. I do already miss Egg - thought about bringing him. So lonely in the bed without his fuzzy little body. But sunshine and God are here with me, and all the love and prayers of my friends and family who said to me, "Go! Do this for yourself!"

Still life on my table, still life in my heart in a week of quiet and reflection.

Thanksgiving Day

My cat has a cold. An actual sniffles, sneezing, congestion, wheezing cold.

Or maybe its a sinus infection. I'm not sure which.

How many cats get colds? In all my years...

When he sneezes, yes, I wipe his nose with a tissue. I give him extra snuggling (not much of a burden), and I comfort him when he feels crummy. Too bad I can't give him hot tea to drink. :-)

Sometimes, when life seems extra hard, its the littlest things that bring us that extra touch of joy. My poor kittie has a cold, but his little face, his warm body, his purring (even with a stuffy nose) do that for me.

Today is Thanksgiving, and there is much for which I am thankful. Here's just a sampling...

my kittie, of course

being able to make a rockin' good pie (crust included)

beautiful yarn

hot tea in the mornings

my amazing husband

sisters with whom I have wonderful relationships

my God who sustains me and holds me in the cup of his hand

May your day be filled with family, love and delicious food!

The holidays begin

We're slogging through the holidays over here. Thanksgiving with my family was accomplished yesterday with some pains. That's about the best I can say about it.

I'm leaving Friday for a week long personal retreat. I can't wait for these days alone in the mountains. I have some tough work to do on my insides, though, so it won't be all fun and games. I really need to process through some of my toughest issues - forgiveness, grief, resentment. I hope to do lots of reading, journaling, crying, praying. I hope to have hours and hours of quiet. And I'm thinking of taking my sewing machine and spending some hours making something pretty.

Today will be a quiet day. Tomorrow Thanksgiving with Tim's parents. Friday I leave.

And then December I'll try to control the whirlwind of holiday activities - practice saying "no" even though I'm not very good at it.

The best news? I've received the all-clear from my surgeon, a gyn and my primary physician. I'm good to go, with just a little bit of healing left to do. I'm getting my energy back, and that feels tremendous. So thankful to have come through all this with only one scar - granted, an 8" scar.

At the table yesterday some of said in quite voices what we were thankful for. Tim said, "I'm thankful for my wife who makes each day better than it would have been without her."

I said, "I'm thankful I don't have cancer."

Tough days ahead as I continue mourning Dad and work on some boundaries in my life that have needed some attention for quite some time. But I will work through it. And come through to a better place, a better me.

Now and forever more

The song fills my house...

I will lift up mine eyes to the hills from whence cometh my help,

my help cometh from the Lord,

the Lord which made heaven and earth.

He said He would not suffer thy foot, thy foot to be moved;

the Lord which keepth thee - He will not slumber nor sleep.

Oh, the Lord is thy keeper, the Lord is thy shade

upon thy right hand.

No, the sun shall not smite Thee by day, nor the moon by night.

He shall preserve thy soul even forever more.

My help, all of my help, cometh from the Lord.

I miss Dad so much. I think a lot about those days in the hospital, the quiet hours passing, our conversations, the precious moments. I see Dad lying there in the dim light, knowing the truth of these words - that our Lord was right there. And now, still, He is right here with me.

I think about Dad's journey - the one he had to walk alone - and what must have been going on in his mind, and how often we spoke of God and His plan, the appointment of our days. I think about God being my keeper, my shade - right there beside me, beside Dad as we sat there hour after hour. The words of the song ring true - Lord is thy keeper, the Lord is thy shade

upon thy right hand.

How can I adequately express the truth that I have not been abandoned by God - to the contrary. The Almighty, the One, the I Am who held us close to his bosom through the dark hours, the saddest days, is still holding me, is still my shade, stands at my right hand ready to lend me aid.

And my father, my daddy, now sits by His side and he shall no longer feel the heat of the sun or the cold of the moon. His soul is preserved forever more. The help he called on is the God he now praises forever.

And that is the same God I love.

I lift up mine eyes unto the hills.

All of my help cometh from the Lord.

I lift up my eyes, overflowing with tears, and I am sad, thankful, in awe all at once.

All of my help cometh from the Lord.

Fall into winter

When winter days come, and the sunshine is muffled by clouds, and socks stick to my wool sweaters as I fold laundry, I snuggle down into my life and breath a sigh of relief.

It is as if the hustle and bustle of summer is over. The extra hours of daylight, the extra hours of work in the garden have once more passed into snowy afternoons and evenings of firelight and board games.

Soup will simmer on the stove, my knitting basket will always be within reach, and we'll snuggle deeper into our blankets.

I breath a sigh of relief as I see the clouds coming over the mountains, darkening the day and hastening evening. My hands smell like dryer sheets, Egg sleeps contentedly on my coat thrown onto a dining room chair, and I can see Tim out in the garage, bundled in an old fleece jacket.

My favorite time of year.

And although this year, fall changing into winter brings with it more pain and more healing as we progress along the road of missing Dad and learning to live without his warmth, his smile, his presence in our lives, I can still choose to treasure each day, each leaf that crunches under my feet, each morning I awaken with Egg snuggled in my arms and Tim getting dressed in the cold bedroom.

"Pain is not bad." I've said it a hundred times. And it remains true. If I face my pain, if I allow the thoughts of missing and sadness to fill my eyes with tears, it brings with it healing. If I push it to the side, ignore it, and try to just "get on with it", I will suffer, as if dragging a growing boulder behind me.

So I'll face it, and I'll choose to be encouraged and uplifted as I see Earth turning and revolving through space, shifting her face away from the Sun and once again journeying to the colder side of our year.

Nasty business

I've put it off for way too long, because I just couldn't face it. It seemed too painful, too complicated. Just too hard.

That dreaded stack of insurance statements and bills from our summer of hell.

Seems like it shouldn't be such a big deal - just a task, an accounting job. But it has somehow become tied up with all the emotions and struggles of the summer - losing Dad, the stress of getting sick right after his death, the physical trauma I've undergone, the stress of Tim being unable to work for almost 10 weeks, and on top of all that, the financial strain that has come along with all of this.

But the task, for today at least, is accomplished. Every bill that isn't being contested is paid. I have all my little piles organized. I'm just waiting on word from the insurance company on some details.

What a huge relief.

And I only cried once. And it does feel incredibly good to have it done (almost). And it didn't feel like going back under the knife or freshly burying Dad.

But it did somehow feel like I was doing a reckoning of the losses of the past 5 months. It did almost feel like I was counting the cost of missing Dad, of not spending the summer hiking or gardening, of not seeing the golden aspens this fall, or having the energy or strength to wrestle with my nephews.

Because I'm not very good at compartmentalizing. I'm not like a box of crayons where every piece of my life is clearly labeled and easily discerned one from the other. I'm like a crazy pointillist painting where the whole that you see from a distance is made up of many tiny pieces. I think we're all like that. And sometimes the colors blur, and sometimes this bleeds into that. Beautiful, complex, sometimes hard to understand, with all our emotions bleeding into each other, affecting how we feel from seemingly unrelated points of influence.

But that's one more step taken toward healing and a whole heart. One more step toward peace and away from worry and burden. One more step taken with my hand being securely held by my Father Above.

Big sigh.

Layers

I measure out the flour, silky and white on my hands, leveling the cups with a shiny knife.

And the night's dreams, filled with screaming and anger, flicker through my mind like a movie. Glad to be awake and safe, warm in my kitchen; glad the dream isn't an accurate reflection of those relationships.

Next into the bowl are sprinkles of salt, a little sugar, some cinnamon. I mix it all together with my pastry blender, enjoying the tactile pleasure of working with flour.

I hear an actor's voice talking about his father, the years he's enjoyed with him, the pleasure of watching him through the phases of both their lives. And tears salt my flour as I wish for my father, gone from me, and I'm only 41. How I long for his voice, his affirmation, his love, his laugh. The twinkle in his eyes, the wrinkles around his smile, those rough hands that held mine with such tenderness and almost unbearable love.

The shortening is pure white and curls prettily under the spatula and into the measuring cup. I cut it into the flour mixture, working to make crumbs and readying it for the buttermilk. This is something I do know how to do - make a tender biscuit, a tender crust - with just enough salt to tingle on the tongue, and just enough fat to make it melt in your mouth. I cut it in without having to think, the movements of my hands effortless.

Music plays and tugs on my heart, drawing out more tears. Thoughts from the morning flicker across my mind's eye. Baseball season is over, but I'm already anxious to hear that sound of ball on bat and cheer for my boys. The nights are cold now, too cold to leave any windows open and I miss that fresh air on my face. And I'm unpacking my sweaters, so happy to see each one, old friends that hug me in warmth and softness winter after winter. And how glad I am to be well enough to be back in my kitchen, cooking, enjoying, creating.

I gently stir in the buttermilk, soured with just a little extra vinegar so my biscuits will have a tang to contrast with the jam and honey. The dough forms, purposely uneven, and I carefully incorporate the loose bits in the bowl, unwilling to get it all in there as too much effort will toughen my pastry. The lightly floured board waits and I hand-press the biscuits, cutting them with a knife.

They'll come out of the oven twice as high, hot, layered, and flaky.

This is my life. This is where I live. This is who I am. And today it feels good to feel, to let the tears fall, to cook what my heart wants on a chilly, fall morning, and to not push away memories. Not really enough words, or perhaps no adequate words, to describe where my mind is, where my emotions lie today as they are conflicted and convoluted.

Today I'll just be content knowing that both the comforting and the painful can rest in my heart, bed-fellows of my dreams and my days.

Bright lights

I drive down the street through a modern-day Babylon. The brightly lit buildings lure me with their plush clothes, and even the broad street's twinkling river of lights seems a reflection of the river that flowed through the middle of that great city.

I am both thrilled and repelled by those lights, those temptations.

What makes this place a Babylon? The excess, the variety, the endless choice? Not necessarily bad things, but they do tend to draw my heart away from what is real, what is important, what gives my life meaning and significance.

I keep driving - home to Tim, home to a cuddly kitty, home to our simple life, filled with (yes, things I love), but also filled with relationships, tasks, and patterns that fill my heart and draw me into peace and joy.

This day

Quiet house, music playing, the shush-shush of the dishwasher...

Golden autumn sunshine streaming in my windows, fresh laundry lying folded on the couch, and a fat kitty asleep on the bed...

A hot breakfast in my belly, the day begun in quiet and love, I suddenly feel ready to tackle the grief inside me. Finally after months and months of staggering, I feel strong enough to take care of my home and my heart. Perhaps it is the newly-given permission to take better care of myself. I feel released, somehow allowed now, to have a quiet fall, with lots of days for me to cook, pray, sew, journal, spend time alone, time with God, with friends, family.

My time is my own, and I choose to give this piece and that piece away. But it is right, it is healthy, it is good for me to save a quantity just for me, so that I will be able to give away what I choose with a glad heart and a healthy spirit.

Not new thoughts, but certainly newly reclaimed and taken into my heart and mind with an urgency and truthfulness.

Thanks, friends, for reminding me of these truths and walking this path with me. You are loved. I am loved.

Tender mercies

Thank God for small mercies!

I went to visit Janice today, dreading walking down that hallway I paced for 7 days while Dad was there.

Would she be in the room at the end of the hall I disappeared into to make phone calls? Would it be the room where the friendly man laid? Would it be the room that had the most inviting sunlight in the early afternoons? Would it be at the end of the hallway where I felt God's presence in a way I never have before (my "butter-dipped roll" story that only a few of you know)?

I almost lost it in the elevator, fidgeting, trying to not lose it.

We walked out of the elevator and checked the sign for her room number. Wonder of wonders! She is on a different wing!

I didn't even have to walk down the same hallway! My heart leapt! My tears disappeared, and I felt a wave of relief that almost knocked me over.

God is good all the time - I assert that, believe that, cling to that. But sometimes that goodness takes me by surprise in how committed He is to kindness and loving care. Yes, He would have enabled me to do what I needed to...but He is gracious and made my job just that much easier.

I love Him. I am thankful. I am encouraged.

Pain

Janice had knee surgery this morning. At the same hospital where Dad was. In the same building.

I didn't expect to be riding that elevator again quite so soon.

I couldn't stop the quickened breaths and fat, hot tears. The panic and welling pain in my deepest heart.

Will Janice be on the same floor? Will she possibly be in the same room?

I'm barely holding it together today.

Can I walk down that same hallway? Past that same nurses' station? To the same coffee machine that was my best friend for 5 days?

It feels unreal. Am I really here? Do I have to be here? And why am I here alone?

Not alone. God is with me. But my heart is breaking none the less.

Wonder

My dear next door neighbor Jill got married today. An amazing and wonderful celebration! A fun afternoon and evening. A beautiful party. She looked so beautiful and happy. He looked overwhelmed and relieved - at least by the the reception. :-) They danced, they roamed the room, they enjoyed their friends, they drank lots of wine.

And we all joined them, participated in those wedding rituals. We stood in her honor as she walked down the aisle, radiant on this day just for her and Jack. We lifted our glasses in toasts to them and their future. We ate a lovely meal, and watched them cut the cake - hoping that their lives will reflect the prosperity symbolized by the celebration.

I am so happy for her, to see that her heart is filled with love for this man. She has had some hard years, and I want the absolute best for her. I want her to have as happy a marriage as I have. I want her to find bliss with her husband, and find that path that leads through all the hard stuff, but the path on which you walk hand in hand, figuring it out together.

Marriage isn't all daisies and butterflies. We all know that. But, oh my, what a wonder it can be! What a blanket of warmth and comfort, an afternoon of laughter and sunshine, a quiet evening of soup and fresh-baked cornbread.

I love weddings. I love hearing the recitation of vows and saying them quietly in my head. And sometimes, if I look over at Tim, I can see his lips moving.

Ain't love grand?

America

My thoughts on arriving home from our road trip, written Oct. 10...

That ribbon of highway before and behind me, stretching, weaving its pattern on the map, criss-crossing our country. Sometimes straight and sometimes winding, paved in black and gray, even pink, made of concrete and asphalt. We zoom along, seeing things for just a moment, and then they're gone.

The White House, glimpsed through rush hour traffic.

Two deer, their eyes bright in the shine of our headlights as we drive through the Maryland night.

A fawn deep in the woods on Skyline Drive in Shenandoah National Park, Virginia.

The winding road through those famed hills of West Virginia, that song rolling through my head, and the lyrics ring true as we make our own way home, wishing we were already there ...

The radio reminds me of my home far away And driving down the road I get the feeling that I should have been home yesterday, yesterday... Country roads, take me home to the place I belong...

Miles and miles of crops through Ohio, Illinois, Missouri, and Kansas, whether pan-flat or beautifully hilly, clouds of dust rising from the combines working. The bread basket of the world.

That little boy I saw in a convenience store, his father angry and harsh, for whom I've prayed every day since I saw his pain and felt fear for his future.

The sunrise behind me as we make our twisting way through Topeka.

The Golden Arches ... a perfect to-go cup of iced tea.

The steeples of distant churches all across Kansas, beautiful in the distance.

Beautiful and plain, touching and harsh, prosaic and extraordinary. Not just a drive - a winding journey home.

In the back

I ate out today at a prosaic, run-of-the-mill Chinese buffet. Nothing exciting, nothing to blow your socks off.

Ironically, I was reading a book written by a chef. Seemed a strange dichotomy.

It did, however, make me think about all the people behind the scenes who make our lives easier, those unseen folks who do all the things we don't want to, who work unthanked, unappreciated.

Think of all the people in the kitchen of your favorite restaurant, chopping vegetables, making the same sauce day after day, browning pound after pound of onions. Thank you to them!

And on our trip we stayed in a couple hotels. I didn't give a thought to the maids who would change my sheets, vacuum those floors, bring in fresh towels, replace the shampoo and soap that I stashed in my suitcase. Thank you!

All those gas station attendants, convenience store workers, road construction crews, tire changers, fast food slaves, and National Park rangers who every day get out of bed in order to serve behind the scenes - anonymous, living from one paycheck to the next.

Tonight I say thank you, and I'll do so the next time I run into any of them.

Thank you!

Witness

You are my witnesses. Isaiah 43:10

Those words inscribed on a wall of black granite - that's the first thing you see when you walk into the U.S. National Holocaust Memorial Museum. A humbling beginning.

We spent two full afternoons at the Holocaust Memorial. There is much to disturb the mind and heart within those walls, iconic photos and stories all around, Hitler's voice booming out, artifacts that shake you - a pile of thousands of shoes confiscated from prisoners arriving in Majdanek, a section of the train tracks that led into Treblinka. A thousand more.

Two things stood out to me - the row of tall, inward curving fence posts from Auschwitz itself, and the pile of square stones quarried from Mauthausen forced labor camp. The prisoners were known to say that each stone quarried there cost the life of one man. And there those stones lie - 193 stones, 193 lives. And those fence posts. How many lives were lost because of them? They were a dividing line between life and death.

On the ground floor of the Museum is a beautiful Hall of Remembrance. It is a solemn, simple space designed for reflection and memorial - a large, circular room lit only by a rose window in the high ceiling and tall, narrow windows, at the same time imposing and inviting. Directly across from the entrance is a rectangular altar of black stone inside in which lies dirt from 38 concentration camps and a cemetery in Europe where American soldiers are buried. The dirt was brought to America in urns and deposited inside the granite block by Jewish survivors of the Holocaust.

Above the altar a large candle burns, and this inscription from Deuteronomy 4:9 is inscribed into the stone wall:

"Only guard yourself and guard your soul carefully, lest you forget the things your eyes saw, and lest these things depart your heart all the days of your life. And you shall make them known to your children and to your children's children."

On either side of the room in small alcoves are banks of tiny candles. I lit a candle in memory of Tim's Uncle Eugene who fought in Germany, and almost gave his life in a POW camp; in memory of our family's trip to Dachau in Germany and the impact that had on my young life; and in memory of those who suffered and died at the hands of both evil and complacent men.

Evil and complacent men.

www.ushmm.org

Expectations and fulfillments

We drive through D.C., and I am feeling disappointed, my head filled with thoughts of all the amazing things I didn't get to see. So much left unseen and undone ...

But there, suddenly and unexpectedly, is the Kennedy Center for Performing Arts - that beautiful building, its gold trim shining in the sun. My heart is buoyed.

And there! The Watergate complex. How many books did I read about the Watergate scandal throughout junior high and high school? A minor obsession for a time. I'm pretty excited!

And again! Out the car's side window is that emblematic memorial of the capture of Iwo Jima - the raising of the flag. Books, movies, songs - all memorializing the event in truth and in myth. I used to know all the names of those flag raisers. So cool to see it!

Wonders in my eyes, leapings of my heart, joy as we pass by.

So much to see and do. Too much for 3 short days. Yet my heart is full with the experiences we did have.

Our first day, there was a major protest at the Lincoln Memorial, and although the loud, jostling crowds in some ways detracted from our personal experience and ability to access the monuments, it was a wonderful and amazing experience to see democracy at work - to see and hear so many people exercising their right to free speech.

And as we walked down Constitution Ave., one building after another drew our eyes, the buildings' names etched in stone summoning up awe and respect - Department of Justice, National Archives, Smithsonian Museum of Natural History, and on and on. These buildings, this city, designed to awe those visiting.

One evening we took a detour to the Dupont Circle metro stop hoping to find a local place to grab a snack. And what did we find when we examined the map before riding that long escalator up and out into the late afternoon? Well, we were just blocks from the Indonesian Embassy! My heart thrilled as we quickened our pace and found the entrance. Oh, my home flag flying high and proud! My picture taken in front of the gates, and a few tears shed for my dad who loved Indonesia as much as I do.

And on our last day, as we walked from one museum to another, we unexpectedly passed the National Archives, and decided to go in. And there, in the dim rotunda, were those icons of our nation - the Declaration of Independence, the Constitution, the Bill of Rights. The actual documents, the ink fading, some of the signatures still legible, iconic, conjuring up the stories of our history. Quite amazing.

So, ok, I didn't get to see everything I wanted to. Who ever does? And in 3 days, we actually did quite a bit. Especially considering the major surgery I had just a couple months ago. I left feeling full and satisfied, thrilled with all we did see. A wonderful time!

As Tim said to me with the cutest smile on his face, quoting Forrest Gump: I'm glad we were here together in our nation's capital.

Home

Boy howdy, am I glad to be home! Seriously. I can't tell you how happy I am to be here ... in a deep down, soul-contented way.

The trees are donning their fall coats of many colors, my tomato plants are covered with ripe fruit, and the heat of summer is past for the year.

Tonight I did the minimum of unpacking, then headed straight to the kitchen. A simple supper of roasted tomatoes and pasta salad. It felt so good to be back in my domain where I have some control and expertise.

Ah, my spirit can relax into my house, my routine, back into my life. I don't really have words for how tiring the past week of traveling was. Even though I was with wonderful people who I love, my heart just wanted to be at home. Yes, I even enjoyed seeing some of D.C., but I wanted to be at home. And I do indeed love traveling with Tim. We have a great time together. But I wanted to be at home.

And now I am. I can pull out my calendar, figure out my priorities for this fall, and settle back. I can cook when I want, plan my own day, and take care of my husband.

Last thoughts for the night?

I am thankful for safety while driving over 2,200 miles, for fresh tomatoes, and for my very comfy couch.

Welcome home ... to me!

A week

What a difference a week can make. My heart has been encouraged spending time in the Bible, spending time in my house, just resting my heart. I had quiet evenings, beautiful days filled with sunshine, easy meals.

I had some hard days, too, but overall it was a good week. I am so thankful!

I am especially thankful to feel better emotionally, because I'm on a somewhat non-voluntary vacation. It's a long story.

Whatever the case, Tim and I have spent the last 3 days in Washington, D.C., staying with his cousin and wife. They are such wonderful people - fun, easy to be with, inviting! I used to feel nervous when family gatherings of Tim's family were on the horizon. Would people like me? Would they accept me? Would it be difficult to get into the circle?

Nope. Tim comes from a family filled with lovely, warm, and accepting people. They loved me as if they'd known me my whole life, and that has been true since day one. Amazing, heart warming. I'm thankful for that, too.

It has been great to be with Tim, too. At home, in my routine, I wasn't missing him too much. In fact, I was enjoying the quiet of the house, and the very small amount of mess just one person makes. ;-) But seeing him, getting my little kisses, spending time together - it's just wonderful. I do love him so much. And he's just so cute.

Tomorrow we head on to Blacksburg, Virginia, to spend a couple days with friends from Tim's graduate school days. We should have a lovely drive. Even though these three days have been quite nice, I'm looking forward to a few days alone on the road. And then we'll take our time getting home. They should be relaxing days. More good time for my heart.

I surely didn't want to leave home, but I think it has been good. I think it's been good to get out of my cocoon and make myself spend time with people. And it has certainly been very cool seeing stuff in our nation's capitol. More on that later. Tonight...on to bed!

Slogging

Negativity, frustration, sadness, anger, selfishness, insulation, avoidance.

That's where I am. That's what I'm feeling today.

All I want to do is sit in front of the TV and watch hours of nothing. And not answer the phone. And not get dressed.

I remember this. I remember the weeks and months of wondering where I had gone. But when Mom died, I had to get up and go to work every day. This time I have the luxury of closing myself in. Is that good? Somehow I'll find the balance.

At least I'm not surviving on chocolate and french fries. And I'm not crying myself to sleep every night. But I do dream, and awaken with my pillow and cheeks wet with tears. In the morning, I barely remember, but move with a heaviness.

This too will pass. This too will pass. This too will pass.

And then there are glimpses of joy.

A friend is going to help me deliver midnight snacks to the night shift nurses who gave me such great care after my surgery.

The leaves are beginning to change.

I get to go to one more baseball game.

And if I stop for just a minute, I can almost feel the love and prayers that surround me.

I remain sustained.

Grief

I've had a very quiet week at home with Tim gone, but a very busy one. But I'm looking forward to not doing much this coming week before I leave to join him. I'm working on a big house project, and I'd like to make a lot of progress in the next few days. That's hard considering my continued physical restrictions as I heal. But I'm being a good girl. :-)

And I am so tired! I'm crying a lot now, really missing Dad, hurting from it. It comes in waves all day, and I'm trying to not push it down, stuff it, but it is hard. I'd forgotten just how wearing this process is. I think I've said that already this go round. And I'm sure I'll say it again.

I remember now how insular I feel when I'm sad. It turns me from an extrovert into an introvert - wanting to just be alone day after day. I'd forgotten that for months after Mom died I didn't want to see anyone, talk on the phone, do much at all. I'd forgotten how selfish that looks from the outside.

I need to find the balance between loving those around me who love me, and taking good care of myself by giving myself the time alone I really need to process this grief. I'll work on that. I'll start asking God for the strength and desire to be with those who love me. I'll journal and get those feelings about Dad. I'll try to cry when it comes up, allow myself to feel those deep, cutting wounds.

Onward.

Oh my, so fine!

I'm back in the kitchen - my saddle, so to speak. :-)

Yeah! It felt so good to actually cook meals for my hubby two nights in a row.

And last night I made a cake - a glorious, decadent, easy celebration of summer. Wowo - was it delicious. Here's the recipe, courtesy of The New York Times Cook Book. This cookbook was a gift from one of the attorneys for whom I worked from 1994-1998, the last full time job I had. That was an incredibly difficult time in my life - my mom was dying of breast cancer, Tim was in grad school and very absorbed in that task, and (to put it in the mildest of terms) I had some troublesome relationships at my work place that made my life miserable.

When I quit that job, I was surprised and delighted to receive this wonderful gift from Mark. In the front he wrote, "Hope this book will help you to fill your newly found "free time" with joy. Good luck and best wishes." His recognition of my love of cooking, and his participation in my emancipation was such a lovely touch. I have appreciated his gift time and time again as I often reach for it on my cook book shelf.

Thank you, Mark. You have added to my life in a simple but meaningful way.

Peach Upside Down Cake
1/4 lb plus 3 Tbsp butter
2/3 c brown sugar
3 peaches, peeled and halved (and cut in half again if they are giant peaches)
1/2 c granulated sugar
1 egg
about 1 tsp vanilla extract (I seldom measure extracts)
1 1/2 c all purpose flour
1 1/2 tsp baking powder
1 generous pinch of salt
1/2 c milk

Preheat the oven to 375 degrees

Melt the 3 Tbsp butter in a 9" square baking dish and sprinkle with the brown sugar. Arrange the peach halves on top of the sugared butter.

Cream the remaining butter with the granulated sugar and beat in the egg and vanilla. Sift together the flour, baking powder and salt, and add alternately with the milk.

Spoon the batter carefully over the peaches. Bake for about 35 minutes, or until tests done with a toothpick. Let cake stand 5 minutes or so before inverting onto a serving platter. Serve warm with whipped cream.

Yummy, easy, satisfying, not low fat so don't worry about it. Just enjoy! :-)

More from last night...

So I came home from the party so tired, but then I couldn't sleep. I tossed and turned, I had bad dreams, I couldn't stop thinking about Dad and little tears would squeeze out of my eyes. And then in the middle of the night my *$!) incision site woke me up again! Frustrated!

Last week I developed two very small infections on it. I went to see the doctor right away, and his nurse wasn't worried. She gave me some additional cleaning instructions, told me to put triple antibiotic cream on them, etc. They've been healing nicely.

But then last night, where another stitch has come out or dissolved (not sure which is happening, or is it both?), there is another place that is red and tender. Do I just do what I did with the other two? I think I'll go with that.

Boy howdy, am I ready for this to heal and to not think about it quite so much. To those of you lifting prayers on my behalf, I continue to be very thankful. Don't know what state of mind I'd be in without your love. A mess?!

So, this morning I'm up early. Just couldn't go back to sleep. After getting close to overdoing it Sat, Sun and Mon, I asked Tim last night what I was allowed to do today. His response? "Pretty much nothing." I'll do just that. Pay some bills (from the couch). Watch a movie ("Slumdog Millionaire" which everyone said was so good). Scoop the kitty litter.

I'm hoping to both distract myself from all these thoughts, and work through some of them. Balance, right? It's all about balance.

Mixed bag

I went to bed absolutely exhausted, and quite pleased with myself! :-) The dish I made for last night's Indonesian community's celebration of the end of Ramadan (called Lebaran) was a hit - particularly with two ladies who asked for the recipe. Wow! I felt so flattered that they sought out who made it and then quizzed me on it. I guess that means they liked it. :-)

But there is another side to attending those Indonesian gatherings. It is a reminder of how Indonesian I am not. So much of me feels Indonesian. So much of me that most people don't see. But then when I'm surrounded by the beautiful brown skin, the language flying around, and I'm only catching about half of what's said, and they all know each other so well, I am the obvious outsider. Makes me sad.

And now with Dad's death, and having neither parent, I feel like I've lost my Indonesian root. I can't really explain that, except to say that my parents were two of the champions of the Indonesian within me. They understood better than almost anyone what parts of me were Indonesian, how I grew up longing to look like those around me, and the struggles all that has meant throughout my life.

Another loss, one more thing to process, another piece of the puzzle. Perhaps we all have to deal with some feelings of rootlessness when we loose both our parents, when we become orphans in this world. The oak from which our acorn fell is gone, and we are left tossed in the wind of the world.

Living in this truth, in this place, I am very thankful for my root in God. It defines much of who I am and what I am to do while on this Earth. I am thankful for my sisters and family who can remind me of who I am, where I come from, and the stories we don't want to forget. I am thankful for my friends who love me just as I am - Indonesian, American, or the strange mix that I am. And I am thankful for the Indonesia that is in me. To paraphrase Barbara Kingsolver from "Poisonwood Bible", I will never be able to wash the dirt, the smell, the culture, the love of Indonesia out of my skin.

Because it is a part of me. That is who I am.

Company

Two Indonesian gatherings in three days. Lovely! And both are potlucks, so we'll have lots of delicious food. Going to parties does, however, make me wish that I had company more often. And why don't I?

Well, there are a lot of reasons. But can I overcome them? Hmm...maybe. Ok, probably.

I'm hoping this fall to make my house a little easier to keep tidy - culling out junk and clutter, getting rid of stuff I never or hardly ever use, lots of trips to Goodwill. That will help.

And maybe I can discipline myself to do just a little more housework. A little more each day would make a huge difference.

And then I just have to make the effort to do it. I just have to remember to set aside the time, make the invitations, plan for it. Somehow my life here is busier than it was in Missouri. Haven't figured out why, but I guess that doesn't really matter.

Meanwhile, I'll enjoy the hospitality of my friends. I'll have fun at someone else's party. And I'll keep working on this lifelong task of self-improvement.

Frustrated housewife

I'm bored.

Frustrated, too.

Spending all day, every day in my house is making me acutely aware of all the work this house needs, all the projects I could be accomplishing, but for this stupid body! Can't lift much, can't even do much yet without feeling increased pain the next day.

I know. Take it easy. Relax. Give myself lots of time.

Bo-ring!

It seems strange to be such an emotional yo-yo. One day I'm crying, so relieved to not have cancer. A few days later I'm just frustrated that I'm not healing faster. And within those two days, there's no predicting when I'm going to feel a wave of missing Dad and burst into tears.

Such is my fall, though. Up, down, spin me round. All this will pass as I heal emotionally and physically. Meanwhile, I'll just keep riding those waves.

High tide

I don't have cancer.

Standing in my kitchen this afternoon, washing a few dishes, listening to some favorite songs, it hit me like the proverbial ton of bricks, in a flood of tears and crying.

I don't have cancer.

On this beautiful, early fall day, with the cool breeze and the golden sunshine, the day waning into evening, instead of looking at chemo, radiation, prognoses, I am healing from a simple surgery.

I don't have cancer.

With assurance, I can say that. With joy and an incredible sense of relief that has not really hit home until today. With a welling of unstoppable tears, and a crying out in thankfulness to God. With a sigh of relief for my sisters, husband, and family. With a tenderness in my heart I can say I don't have cancer.

Praise God from whom all blessings flow.


Praise Him all creatures here below.


Praise Him above ye heavenly hosts.


Praise Father, Son, and Holy Ghost.

Comfort

There's this adorable bundle of love who gives me such comfort!


That's my Egg Fu Yung. My snuggler. My hanger-on. My daily companion.


I think I can pretty safely say I like just about everything about this little guy. I especially like the way he starts asking me to go to bed around 8:30 every night.

He sits in the living room, near the hallway to the bedroom, staring at me. Every time I make a move to get a drink or adjust my pillow, he meows plaintively, "Come to bed." The time varies as the length of days change, but just about an hour after dark, there he is waiting for me. And the longer I take, the later I'm up, the more forlorn he sounds. It's too cute.


And does he love to snuggle! He shares my pillow every night, and the warmth of his little body, and the rumble of his purr lull me to sleep. It is my favorite lullaby leftover from a childhood filled with pets. It is a blessing and a joy. It touches something deep down inside me.


And on chilly mornings, as we snuggle in bed, dozing, enjoying the mutual warmth, this is the face I look at. It always makes me smile.

And during hard times and on hard days, his unconditional love, his tender snuggling, his enjoyment of our time together lifts my spirit. Yes, a small thing in the perspective of human lives, but a significant one. I'm thankful for my pet, my little cat, whose warmth and softness bring a deep comfort to my heart.

Late summer gift

I have managed to grow the most beautiful tomatoes! And I can hardly take any credit for them. All I did was plunk them in the ground in June, stake them as they grew, and give them enough water. Amazing!


Despite this being a summer of stress, illness, worry - definitely not a summer of gardening and tenderly nurturing my plants - look what God has gifted me with! Perhaps this is his special gift to me because of the tough summer. Whatever the case, I am very thankful.


Succulent, beautiful in color, full of the flavor of summer, these beauties are ripening almost every day.


Marinated in an herb-filled vinaigrette, eaten like an apple, sliced with just a touch of oak-smoked salt - no matter how we eat them, they are divine!


And the colors! Yellow and red - just perfect in my eyes. I am thankful beyond words for this late-summer gift. What a joy for early September!

Another day

I'm doing what I'm supposed to...mostly. Ok, so I might be doing a little too much, but it's all right. I started working off the vicodin yesterday, and I think that's going to go just fine. Ibuprofen every 6 hours, like clockwork, to keep inflammation and pain down. Should be fine. If I need the vicodin, I'll take it, but I'd rather not.

And today looks to be absolutely beautiful! And I have no visitors, which is is an unexpected relief. I have enjoyed every person who has come by, but I think the quiet will be lovely. And instead of spending my energy on people (which is how I prefer to spend it!), I'll give a little energy to the house. I might even marinate some tomatoes from my garden.

So very slowly, little by little, I'm getting better. I'm ready to hop on my bike, take a vigorous walk, go for a hike, but then my brain gets one step farther than the smell of fresh air, the wind in my face, and I think about this belly and how slowly it's healing.

Nope.

Instead, I'll maybe stroll around the block. :-)

Mixed up

I'm a bundle of emotions today.

I'm so thankful that I'm healing well, but I am already becoming impatient with the process and want to be well.

I can't lift my nephews, can barely push them on the swings at the park, or hold my youngest nephew's hand as we cross the street. If he falls or pulls too hard against me, I can feel it deep in my belly. Not a comfortable sensation.

And football season has started, and for the first time in many years I won't debate, tease, push Dad's buttons as we talk football, Broncos, the prospects of the season. I miss his passion, his frustration, his quiet determination as we watched games together. Will I enjoy football in the same way? How long will football make me miss him?

And fall is approaching with slow determination. Each night is a tiny bit cooler, and the days are slowly cooling, too. Soon these will be hints of color in the trees, and the hills will start to show the changing of the seasons. I love fall! It is my favorite season, but this year the prospect of it's beauty is making miss Dad.

So, joy and sorrow, light and heavy, sickness and health. A snapshot of life. Sometimes I just want to be and not have to think or feel. I know that won't happen. It just would be nice. This week, the events of my summer, all that has happened, feels heavy. It feels like a lot to carry around. For today, I'll try to just leave it in that basket by my bed and go back to my book. I think I can disappear there for an hour or so.

Saturday

It's a quiet day. Tim is off helping some friends, and then he's going on a bike ride. What have I been doing today?

Well, healing, of course!

I'm being such a good patient. Really, I am. I'm resting, reading, watching TV ... and that's about it. Ok, so every once in a while, I'm loading the dishwasher, picking a few tomatoes, or cooking myself breakfast. But really, I'm mostly doing nothing. It's kind of like a vacation - just at home. Good thing the scenery here is beautiful; otherwise, I might feel ripped off. ;-)

I'm getting better and better. My surgeon said I'm healing "perfectly", and that was good news indeed. I have much less pain than I would have thought, and I am feeling much better than I thought I would (granted, I'm doing practically nothing).

Finally.

All good news.

Fall comes

I miss my dad.

As surgery approached, and fear rose within me, I missed him.

As I laid in my hospital bed, and visitors came and went, I missed him.

And now, as I gain my strength, and heal from my surgery, I miss my dad.

As my tomatoes ripen and I harvest herbs, as my late summer flowers bloom and bloom, I miss my dad.

As the nights slowly cool, and I know fall is coming with the changing of the leaves, my favorite season, the most beautiful to my eye, which he also loved, and loved to share with people, I miss him.

I miss asking him for prayer.
I miss telling him little details about my life.
I miss sitting together, watching Zachary and Ethan play.
I miss the sound of his voice affirming me.
I miss the touch of his rough hands.
I miss his laughter as he would tell of his trips.

I miss my dad.

The day

Waking up from the blackness of general anesthesia is like that deep breath of surprise when you first find out startling news.

Inhale.

A long beat.

Then you know where you are.

In recovery, with nurses and a doctor standing all around me, so much noise, lots going on.

My name, they always remember to ask what you want to be called.

And this unbelievable pain. An axe in my belly! I just want to cry, but I'm not quite conscious enough for that. Minutes pass of procedure, movement, efforts to help me. A male nurse named Dennis who just emanates this body heat, has the gentlest touch, is a visceral comfort. An angel?

What's your pain level now? Now? And now?

Then finally, the epidural begins to work and I can think about something other than my pain. With the driest of voice, I whisper, "What did they do?" fully remembering that I went into the operation with everything from a simple appendectomy to a full hysterectomy as possibilities, knowing that they would do a freeze slide to see if I had cancer.

"What did they do?"

Someone kind tells me, "They took out one ovary and your appendix, honey."

I start to cry, and another nurse rushes over. "Is she still in pain?"

"No," her comrade says, "look at the smile on her face."

That smile must be pretty big. Everyone who walks by comments. The doctor returns to check on me, and doesn't even ask if the epidural is working. "Oh, she's smiling," and walks away.

And I ask for Tim, and they say he can't come back. So I lie there thankful, so thankful, and quiet tears run down my face. Thankful not just for me, but for him, for my sisters, my family.

I find out later I had a "hemorrhagic ovary" that had adhesed to my uterus, appendix, and colon. Yuck. They removed the ovary and appendix, and I stayed in the hospital 4 nights.

Much to say about that, but later...

I'm home, I'm resting, I'm healing - just perfectly according to my surgeon. When looking at my incision site, one nurse exclaimed, "Now that's what that is supposed to look like!" and smiled.

Bilbo Baggins

I, uh, I h-have things to do. I've put this off for far too long. I regret to announce — this is The End. I am going now. I bid you all a very fond farewell.

Don't read anything morbid into that. I just think it's funny.

Love you all! I'll be back soon.

Yoyo

Fear, worry, crying, a million phone calls, waiting, talking, confusion. A yoyo of a day. Roller-coaster. Whirlwind.


That pretty much sums up yesterday. There's a million details I could share in telling the story, but very long story short, there may or may not be more wrong than anyone initially thought. Conflicting test results. It will all have to wait until after surgery. Then we'll know - hopefully no more "we're just not sure".

We're more afraid than we were, but not much more. We did an awful lot of processing yesterday. I'm certainly more anxious than I was yesterday. Just another day of waiting? Who knows.

But I'll take deep breaths, each one giving back to God this whole situation. A deep breath, and I'll pray for his protection, submitting myself to his will. Another deep breath, and I'll think of the verses with which he's filled my mind.

And each time that cold fear creeps into my stomach, I'll breath, pray, think, and wait.

Under the knife

The big day is tomorrow - my surgery. I am so ready for it. I just want to get on with the business of getting better, rather than this limbo state in which I have to be so careful about what I do, what I lift. Yes! To feel better, and I am sure I will with time and healing!

So I'm on clear liquids today, and "evacuating my colon".

Too much information? Too bad! ;-)

It isn't quite as bad as I thought it would be, so all of you who have yet to have the joy of your first colonoscopy, don't worry too much about it. It probably won't be as bad as you think, either.

I've chosen the yarn for my "sicky project" - a gray vest. I love wearing vests in the winter, and I have this absolutely lovely alpaca yarn that I can't make a sweater out of because - come to find out - I'm allergic to alpaca. I can wear it if it isn't touching my skin, though, so a vest will be perfect. It is quite a fine gauge yarn, so it will take me a while, but I'll get cracking. Something to look forward to. :-)

In other good news, I found the cutest bed rest pillow at Target so I can sit-up in bed without too much effort. And to top off my summer, I've lost 12 lbs.! Unfortunately, it hasn't been because of exercise and fun activities, but once I'm well, I'll get back to those things and lose even more!

So I'm looking a little trimmer, I've got my ducks n a row for tomorrow, and I'm ready to heal-up and get moving again.

Lazy days

I am doing some serious chillin' this week while I wait for my surgery - doctor's orders! He told me to rest, and I'm trying to do just that. I made a list of the things I felt like I needed to get done before my surgery - paperwork, pay bills, do some laundry. Other than that very short list, I'm pretty much reading and watching TV. I must confess that it is pretty relaxing. A little boring, too, though - I have all these projects I'm ready to dig into, but I'll just wait.

Saturday I'm going to pull out my yarn and choose a project to work on while I'm bed-bound. Give my hands something to do. :-) I think I'll try a very simple vest. Should be easy to do while on drugs!

This morning promises to be a beautiful day! There's not a cloud in the sky, I'm on my way to the farmers' market, and tonight I'm cooking with a friend.

Lovely!

Knowledge

Well, now I know. I'll have surgery next Monday. They hope to do it laparoscopically, but it might have to be open abdomen if they get in there and can't quite manage with those tiny instruments.

I'm not really nervous. In fact, I'm relieved to know when we'll be doing this damn thing.

I woke up this morning with a song from church in my head, a song about Jesus...

And I, I'm desperate for you...
And I, I'm lost without you...

I opened my Bible, hoping God would give me a nudge to know where to read. Hebrews.

But what passage?

Hebrews 11. The faith chapter.

Kind of a cliche, I thought, to read about faith right before seeing the surgeon, but that's where I started.

And it was exactly what I needed. Abel, Enoch, Noah, Abraham - all men of faith who kept their eyes on God.

Hebrews 11:13 says, "These all died in faith, not having received the things promised, but having seen them and greeted them from afar..."

One more reminder to keep my eyes on Jesus and his plan for my life. I'm sure trying. This has been a challenging summer, a challenging three months. But God keeps calling out to my heart, drawing me back to him. When I get too anxious, when sadness or fear seems to overtake me, when I am frustrated beyond what is reasonable - he calls out to me, reminding me of his love, and that he's keeping me in his hands.

More rambling...

Take a deep breath. Put in a relaxing movie. Listen to some music. Spend some time praying and reading my Bible.

I saw my doc on Friday and I do, indeed, need surgery. His conclusion is that this abdominal issue is either a micro-perforated appendix or an ovarian cyst. Hmm...they still aren't sure, but hopefully the surgeon I see tomorrow will be certain it is either one or the other. Will I have surgery this week? My doc has a real sense of urgency about this, but who knows what the surgeon will think.

I am relieved! Relieved? Why? Because everyone is asserting it isn't cancer. Of course, it isn't cancer, but I just couldn't get it out of my head with my dad's recent illness and death. It just was hitting too close to home.

So surgery. That's not that big a deal, really. I've had laporoscopic abdominal surgery before, and it was a pretty quick recovery. Didn't take much more than a month to feel like myself - really!

I can do that.

Meanwhile, I'm supposed to rest, take it easy, not lift anything. Bo-ring! I'd rather be hiking, planting more flowers in my garden, throwing my nephews around. Ok! I'll be good. I'll rest. Today all I'll do is watch my nephews at gymnastics play time, do a little laundry, sort through some papers on the dining room table, and wash a few dishes. Ok, I might make a little dinner, too, but it will be simple.

Does that count as resting, Sue? ;-D Ha, ha!

Meanwhile, I feel so loved, so supported, so taken care of. All my friends have offered help with whatever I might need. They are standing right by my side waiting to be called on. I remain in the bosom of God's love and in the cup of his hand.

Worried? A little. No one like to have to have surgery.

Anxious? Sure, somewhat. I'd rather not hear that they just can't pinpoint what a 7 cm mass of what appears to be an infection actually is.

But at peace, too. How? It must be God carrying me through. And so I remain in a place of gratitude even in the midst of this crazy summer.


P.S. These pics are from google images - a very small representation of the beauty I just saw driving across Wyoming. I didn't have a camera with me, but I can't get the beauty of that vast land out of my head. I might just have to try to draw it. A challenge!

Scattered

I should be writing about what a wonderful weekend I had, how amazing and refreshing the hours spent with my friend Julie were, how incredibly beautiful Wyoming was, and how fun the wedding celebrations were...but I just can't seem to get those words out. Tomorrow, maybe?

All I can write about is my belly - and what in the world is going on in there? I'm quite anxious, to say the least, to find out what the 2nd ct revealed. Will it be clear and conclusive? Will I have to have more tests? Am I going to have to have surgery? And the lingering worry always in the back of my mind...do I have cancer?

I know, I know. I need to just relax and wait to find out.

Easier said than done.

But I see my doctor on Friday afternoon, so I will at least have some answers by then. And that's only a day and a half away.

Meanwhile, Lisa leaves tomorrow for the midwest before heading home to the middle east. Boo! I hate to see her go. I'm very sad. And her leaving somehow makes Dad's death seem more real. Yuck to both things.

Today is starting out stressful and sad, so I'd better put on my walking shoes and go for a stroll. Clear my head. Listen to some music. Refocus.

So then the question arises - when do I do all that, and when do I just let myself FEEL? Confusing... Today I think I'll try the walking/refocusing thing. Am I rambling yet? :-)

New growth

And by the way, my friend Tara's blog speaks so eloquently of who we are and a way we can choose to live that will prune us, help us grow to be stronger and more beautiful. Amen, sister.

http://whitesparrow.wordpress.com/

Check it out.

What now?

I don't know if you'll believe this, but we were in the ER again last night.

Everything is all right, but my mind can't stop asking, "What's next?"

Long story short, Tim has a kidney stone that last night moved from the kidney to the bladder - causing him more pain than I've ever seen him experience, and we've been in the ER plenty of times since we got married for various injuries. One time he had a bike wreck, then had to ride 10 miles back to the car before driving an hour to get stitches in his knee. Another time he was lying under a car, working on it, and the transmission fell on his face, cutting through his upper lip and breaking a tooth.

He never looked the way he did last night. Whew! Wifey didn't like that one bit!

I was a little freaked out to see him in so much pain. I rubbed his back and sang hymns. That seemed to miraculously help. Coincidence? Chance? God's faithfulness.

This morning is my 2nd ct scan, and I'm up early drinking that weird, thick stuff you have to drink beforehand. All that's happened this summer (Tim's bike wreck and shoulder separation in May, Dad's illness and death in June, my illness in July, and last night's episode) has put me on pins and needles. I know they're not related to one another, but they have gathered in one corner of my mind and have become one ball of yuck. Last night Tim asked what had me looking so worried. I told him I didn't think I could separate it all out anymore.

I hope to have my preliminary ct results tomorrow, and I will see my doc on Friday for the full report. My hope is that the ct shows no infection at all - complete healing! If not, then we'll go from there, and I'll just keep holding onto Jesus' hand as he walks beside me through all this weirdness.

Tired

My brain is on half-speed. I'm worn out from my crazy summer, including the last 2 days spent with 3 kids in a van doing 10 hour drives. I did, during that time, get wonderful time with my great friend Julie - and that was worth it all! :-) We were all at an amazing wedding celebration in Montana. Fun!

I am anxious to get my 2nd ct scan and find out what's going on in my belly. I hope to know by the end of this week. I'm actually getting a little worried about it as I've had these very slight pains last night and today. I just want to know! Argh!

Meanwhile, I'm trying to cram in as much time as I can with my sister Lisa before she returns to Jordan, but I'd also like to get back into some sort of routine. And I'd like to start exercising again, even if it is little bits at a time.

Today, though? Just relax, rest, and spend some time with my kittie.

Before and after

I was cleaning out the "Sent" box in my e-mail and received a stark reminder of my before and after.

Before Dad came home I was creating a new bread recipe, picking dates to go to Rockies' games, and hoping to ride bikes with friends. I had high hopes for a summer filled with gardening, hiking, and telling Dad everything that had happened while he was gone.

Then for about 2 weeks, every e-mail seems to be titled "Jim", "Dad's illness" or something like that.

I deleted most of the e-mails I sent. Instead of keeping the bad news, I've kept the letters and notes of encouragement and love from all my friends. Those I will keep and read again and again.

I'm trying to keep walking ahead on my road, while spending enough time looking back and crying, remembering, grieving. But I don't think I'll need e-mails I wrote to remember the sad news I had to share.

Today I'm feeling tired, worn out. Is it emotional or physical? Both, probably. Just so much to do in normal life, besides feeling weighed down by the extra things I'm carrying around. Keep trucking. Keep picking away at my tasks. Today I paid a couple bills. Tomorrow I'll do some laundry. And each day is a new day to process memories, cry a little more, heal a little more. Just keep walking.

Tranquility

I've had a crazy summer.

Tim's bike wreck in May that tore his shoulder and put him out of commission for 8 weeks (so far!).

My dad's illness and death in June.

My illness in July.

Is that going to be it for the summer? I sure hope so. I'd like nothing else to happen. I'd like quiet days, filled with hiking, gardening, job hunting (for Tim), getting back into some sort of routine.

And I thought I'd be well by now. I surely didn't expect what my ct scan showed - that I have an infection in my abdomen, but they can't tell what exactly it is. Hmm. Another 10 days of antibiotics; another ct scan. If the results aren't positive or conclusive, surgery to "clean it out" as the doctor said. Yuck! Surely don't want surgery, so I'm hoping this next round of antibiotics will work.

It seems that this isn't to be the tranquil summer I had in mind. I'm trying to just roll with the punches, but they're coming a little hard and fast. Quick, duck!

I must give credit to my friends who have been amazing! They have carried me through these tough weeks and months - from near and far. How can I thank them? How can I ever adequately convey to them what their love and friendship has meant to me. I probably can't, but I'll try to figure something out, and it will probably have something to do with food. :-)

Dad

Everything reminds me of Dad...

...the rock 'n' roll reminds me of his exuberant spirit.

...the Vietnamese noodle bowl reminds me of his love for food and fun.

...my vegetable garden reminds me of, well, all of him.

Few words, many emotions, unpredictable tears as the days pass. We keep walking down the road.

Can you tell I'm thinking about food?

I'm not quite hiking up Queen's Canyon, but wonder of wonders, starting last night I got to eat bland food! Such a relief. I wasn't starving, and that really surprised me. In fact, I was surprisingly not hungry. My body telling me to please leave it alone? Perhaps. But, there's only so much Jell-o you can eat before you get bored...

So today I plan to eat white rice and applesauce. Woo hoo! Thank goodness for me, those are two things I actually love! I won't eat very much, mind you, because I had a little bit last night (about 1/4 c of rice), and my tummy feels a little funny again this morning. I guess I really need to do what my body tells me right now...although my heart is telling me that a warm flour tortilla with a little pile of refried beans and avocado would be delicious. Woops! That one will have to wait. :-)


I've been encouraged as I've been reading about my new condition. I can still eat all the things I love - spicy, exotic, sometimes fatty, wonderful stuff. ;D I just need to make sure those things are the indulgences and not the regular items.


Of course, I already knew that, didn't I? It's as if I'm not really needing to do anything new - just make the changes I already intended, but with a little more urgency and purpose of mind. And that's never a bad thing.