The End of an Era

Mom passed away last night. After weeks of hanging on but not eating or even taking water, after shriveling up, losing her ability to move, then to speak, she went quietly in her sleep. It is the end of a generation. First, my Aunt Esther died, then Dad, then Uncle Loran (Mom's brother and Aunt Esther's husband) and now, the last and youngest of the siblings, Mom.

It feels as if an entire way of life has firmly closed the door. No one is left in our family who lived through the Depression or WW II or who had to deal with polio in their lifetime (my Father's Dad was stricken with polio as a child). There is no voice left to remind us to save everything because you never know when scarcity will hit (Dad was a recycler before the term was coined). Who now will recount with vivid accuracy the impact of the war on everyday life and the importance of working hard? Who will cry about sons going off to war and talk about prayer vigils? Who will interpret the pictures in our family albums and be able to tell us how Aunt Jane fit into the family and to whom she was married?

Gone. They are all gone. It is scary to realize there is no generation ahead of me to rely on. No wiser, more experienced person to turn to when important decisions hang in the balance. No one to listen with true care when I need a sympathetic ear. No elderly strength to draw upon or to share the joys of weddings and births and graduations. No, I am now that generation - the one with the gray hair and stiff limbs who gets invites to all the family doings. I am the one now to whom my children turn when they need someone to care and to just listen. I am the one for whom special consideration is given.

I am beginning to understand why my Mom had such a hard time when her mother passed. Her father had died a good decade before her mother. But when her Mom died, she too felt the weight of the passing of the baton. People joke that when both their parents are gone, they become orphans. That has always bothered me. Its not that I find myself an orphan in the sense of abandonment or desertion. Just that my connections have changed. True, I have not relied on my parents for help in some long time now. But I could have. Now I cannot. Now more than ever my hope must be in the Lord who is my source, my comfort, my support.

Funny how I am suddenly overwhelmed with memories of my grandparents. I was particularly close to my Mom's mother and learned much about life from Gram. Today, little glimpses of times we were together are surfacing. The way she held her coffee cup. The braid she wound around her head. The boldness with which she pursued life. Eating Fudgsicles together in the hammock on a hot summer afternoon. Weeding the garden and slurping a warm tomato right off the vine. Shucking peas and snapping beans out in the lawn chairs. Feeding the chickens in the dusty old hen house and setting out breakfast scraps for the birds. Enjoying the deep purple of her iris and laughing when she tipped Gramp - stubby half finger and all - all the way to the floor while he was sitting at the dinner table waiting to be fed. Love. Joy. Stability. That way of life has been long gone. I miss it.

 Now I am recalling snatches of life with Mom, a way of life I will now miss tremendously. Her timid smile and tilt of the head. Her gorgeous hazel eyes and the way she blinked constantly. Mom curled up on the couch reading to us kids while we brushed her hair. Her perpetual companion cup of tea. Her short rough fingernails and worn hands working over some quilting project or Barbie doll dress. Mom standing at the sink doing dishes. Mom tiptoeing into my room late on Christmas Eve to quietly lay a bulging Christmas stocking on the foot of my bed. Making Christmas cookies in the huge kitchen at 407 South William Street. Scrubbing the floor on our hands and knees every Saturday, making preparation for the Sabbath. Wearing matching home made poodle skirts. Mom's Heaven Scent perfume and her brooches and pins so tidy on her tailored suit jacket when she dressed for church. Her insistence that we share our deepest concerns not just with her but with Dad too.

I am who I am in large part because Mom was a great mother and taught me how to be a good mom. She read to all her children long before research showed how important that is. I just thought all mothers read to their children and I certainly read to all of mine. I still do. Mom insisted that she pass her limited knowledge of music on to all her children, a love that plunged deep into my being and speaks to my inmost soul. Mom's faith - even more than Dad's - was quietly lived out for us everyday. It was she who prayed with me when I was little. Her fierce caring, her resonance against unjust actions, her outreach to the world (she adopted 2 children after having 6 of her own) - all these qualities plus her organized way of keeping house have planted themselves in her children in so many beneficial ways. Most of all, I know how much and how often she prayed for me. Her prayers have saved me from a multitude of bad situations. Who will pray for me now?

I will miss you, Mom. I know you are in a far better place now. Your hurting has ended and you are where you want to be - reunited with Dad, the only man you ever loved. I hurt that you pined so hard for him after he died. I picture you young again and filled with laughter and lightness, joyous in your new place. I know your homecoming is being greatly celebrated and wish I could see all the people you are now embracing - Gram and Gramp, Dad, Michael my beloved son and Philip, Peter's twin. How I long to see them again. I know God will be with us, we kids who are now the front generation. May God grant us the grace to do as good a job as you have done, to run with integrity this last lap of the race before us, and to make you proud of us as we carry on good family traditions.

Love, Esther.

Update on Mom

Every day I FaceTime with my brother to see how Mom is doing. She has stopped being able to speak to me even for ten seconds. Most of the time she sleeps. She is turned every hour to prevent bedsores and has a nurse give her a sponge bath daily. Hospice checks on her routinely and they assure my siblings that Mom is on a usual course and in a typical place for someone dying in this manner. They monitor to make sure she is comfortable and have provided pain patches should she be in distress.

She has not been able to speak for awhile. Mostly mumbles and they guess what she needs. But yesterday she clearly said "My Mother." When they asked her what about her mother, she did not respond. They asked her if she knew her mother's name, she glared at them and said, "Nellie." Then back to sleep. We wonder if she is beginning to see over Jordan. Maybe.

One of my professors told us that dying is a process just like birthing. It takes work, labor, pain and time. Progress for birthing is documented by physical changes and in that same way, sometimes death can be measured by physical changes. Unfortunately, we don't really have any charts that mark what stage of labor the dying person might be in. It would make things easier on those of us who are standing by. Just as in a birth, you can't take on the pain for the mother to be, so in dying, you cannot do the work of the person passing. It is hard to watch, yet necessary that they not be left alone to do all the work.

So regardless of whether Mom is asleep, in a coma or awake, someone is sitting in the room with her. She is not left alone. Even the dog Cody has stayed with her and senses something unfolding. Medical professionals check on a regular basis and we all pray for a speedy labor. I cannot imagine what this must feel like for Mom and she cannot tell us.

I do think that those on the far side of Jordan are cheering her on, encouraging her to be "born" and expectantly looking forward to her arrival, just as we do with a new baby. God promised to prepare a place for us (like we decorate a nursery) and I am sure it will be perfect for Mom. All is ready. We await on both sides of the river.

Tuesdays With Esther

I wasn't sure how exactly this would work, but I figure its worth a try and if it doesn't fly, nothing lost. I invited people to come to the library Fireside Room on Tuesdays at 7 pm to create cards and prayer shawls for cancer patients. The first week there was one woman and myself. A humble beginning, but nice to ease into things gently. I have not done much card making, and certainly not on a scale people do it nowdays. Its a regular art form. My friend shows me the ropes and I discover how easy and how fun it is.

Week two brought four women and myself. One of the women brought a pre-made kit and we all made two cards patterned on her example with supplies she provided. Hey! I now have about 20 cards ready to give out this fall when PrayerSong resumes visiting Wilmot. Considering that on an average day in the infusion center at any given hour there are probably 50 or 60 patients, and if we visit once a month, I would need probably around 100 per visit or 1200 a year to give out. If we grow a bit and make about 40 or 50 a week, we could be about half way there by the end of the summer months!

Wouldn't it be wonderful if I could have enough cards to also provide them at Roswell in Buffalo and maybe even other centers here in Rochester? Think of all the cheer and encouragement we could send, something a little more personal and not mass produced, something with heart and soul we could share! Tonight, there are 5 ladies and me. We are blessed that 2 people are knitting prayer shawls. And one person brought a kit for us to make a card. Once again I find myself awkwardly following the example and ending up with not a carbon copy, but a similar yet unique card. That is what makes this work so well. These are not mass produced uncaring impersonal cards. They are individually and thoughtfully prepared, each one designed to bring a smile and lift a heart from heaviness, even if just for a moment.

Several people who wanted to come this evening were unable to make it but will be here next week. One of the ladies tonight said she has 2 friends who want to come. A person from the church cancer support group intends to be here next week. I am very encouraged. This seems to be working well! AND we have great conversation and fun while we are doing it. Yeah!

The Exodus

Today is the official holiday, but check out time is 11 am. This is why I reserved our space for another night. Not that I am planning on sleeping here again, but because I don't want to pack up at 11 and just hang around on the beach until I decide to go home. I waken early to the sound of the neighbors on our right packing up their big RV. It takes them some time to stuff all their gear in the specific compartment, then douse their campfire and back their pick up truck to the hitch.

I walk the dog and gawk at the line up of RVs waiting for a crack at the dumping station. They will be lucky to get through the line before 11 am at this rate!. The noise is incredible and people run about taking care of last minute stuff and chasing kids who don't want to be corralled. But by noon, the place is fairly deserted. We are the sole inhabitants of our loop. There are maybe a half dozen brave souls left out of hundreds of sites. The quiet is deafening.

Drew has invited a friend to come for the day. He has been a most attentive son indulging my wishes, but I know he is really wanting some freedom and fun and I am happy his friend can come. Sweet boy, he is beginning to suggest I might want to look around for a husband so I won't be alone after he has to leave and go off to college. He and his friend take off to explore while Sugar and I curl up by the fire and enjoy the peace and quiet. My main goal is to be packed before dark.

I have not done any work this weekend. How rare for me to take a complete hiatus. I haven't thought about stuff or been antsy in the least. I doze and feel the kinks and knots ease from my body - very much like sitting in Gram's yard after dinner of a sleepy summer day, watching the iris bloom and the tomatoes ripen while the breeze ruffles the leaves. God made the world to refresh us, but we forget to spend time in it resting. Even when we are outside, we are constantly doing something - mowing the grass, weeding the flower beds, building something or another. We forget how important it is to watch birds fly and flags flutter and gently rock back and forth in a hammock.

This is my time. I am loving it. I am not pressing for it to go on and on, but I am totally drinking it in and letting peace wash over me and restore my soul. Hope you have been able to enjoy some slice of ease this weekend too.

ReGrouping

I had planned to return home for church today anyway. I do have to conduct and I suspected that since this is our first camping trip in more than a decade, I would need things I had not anticipated needing. Like a camp cot, for one thing. And Drew is so disgusted at the picnic table at the site that he decided we had to find a portable folding table.

We went our separate ways for worship, then headed for the stores to scout up the required pieces. We found just the right things, then decided on Wegman's subs for lunch. Once again, we went home to the air conditioned living room and watched a Monk episode while we ate and Sugar recovered a bit. Then we headed back to camp with renewed vigor to continue pursuing our camping excursion.

Camping experiences of my childhood surface here and there in my memory as we do typical camp stuff. We certainly had our adventures. Twice we trekked across America to California where my father's father lived, staying in all the national parks along the way. I was so fortunate to camp in places like Yellowstone and Yosemite and Glacier Lake. Such beautiful sites. I clearly remember driving our car through the middle of a huge redwood tree and stopping at a little gift shop on the other side. We kids wandered through while Mom and Dad bought some little thing for Grampa. I found a small jewelry box with a forest scene on the top that smelled so good - made out of and fragrant as the redwood tree we had just driven through. I wanted it badly, but we had no money for such stuff. Years later, Mom recalled my little girl wish that I had sobbed about for miles and bought me a very similar box which I have treasured ever since.

But what really stayed with me over the years were the challenges that we met along the way. I suppose my parents would have called them misfortunes, but watching our family overcome things like hitting a deer with our new station wagon, losing a transmission ring and having to be delayed while a replacement was ordered, fighting traffic on twisty windy mountain roads, having our little camper trailer destroyed in an accident - these are the events that brought us cohesiveness and strength. If you can work through such stuff and come out the other side in one piece, then other challenges don't seem so daunting.

I am pretty sure Drew and I will not encounter challenges of that magnitude this weekend. But we will remember setting up the tent in the dark, cooking food in the great outdoors, sleeping in the tent and dealing with strangers for neighbors. Besides, being out here reminds me that life is not as easy as we normally experience it. It takes much more effort to carry out daily life here in the "wild." You have to work to make a fire to cook food. You have to work to keep your tent up and livable. Light is not automagic.

And even with all the 'roughing it' that camping entails, we are still living way better off than many people. We have a cooler full of food that we can easily replenish. We can go to the camp store and buy firewood already split and dry. We can bail out of it and go home anytime we want. We can put on a sweatshirt if it gets chilly and switch shoes when we walk long distances.

We do as a luxury and a vacation what so many are forced to do for life. I am humbled and blessed. And totally enjoying the crackling fire Drew has started while I sit in my recliner and enjoy being outside.

Things I Have Learned About Camping

Everything at camp smells like insect repellent - or as Drew says, bug spray. He happily coats every inch of bare skin, clothing, and then, for good measure, sprays it in the air and stands under the fallout shower. This does seem to be effective for mosquitoes (only saw one or two and didn't hear any), but attracts bees (we encountered three or four bumblebees and a good dozen wasps and hornets). As for the spiders, they have launched an all out frontal attack to take over the park. They tie everything up in cobwebs and for every spider killed, then send three replacements!

Everything at camp smells like sunscreen - and mixed with the bug spray, its pretty potent stuff. I have discovered that no matter how carefully you apply sunscreen, there is always some little slice of skin that didn't get enough and burns anyways. Especially for chemo people, direct sun is a no-no, but how can you walk on the beach and not be in direct sun? It's too hot to cover up (other than a hat), so we try to go in the morning before it gets TOO hot.

Everything at camp smells like smoke - what would camping be without a good fire? It has always been a guy thing to make fire happen. Something primal and manly about that. I have to laugh sometimes about the seriousness of the endeavor. It was all I could do to hold Drew back from lighting up until afternoon. He wanted to start when he got up (not exactly breakfast time, closer to lunch) and didn't think about the fact that we would have to thoroughly douse it every time we went for a walk. It's also true that no matter where you sit, the smoke is always in your face.

Canvas does not protect you from noise or light - a truism especially at 3 am when your restless neighbors are laughing and chatting and shining their flashlights in all directions without realizing that they are shining their light in your eyes even though you are behind a tent. You can hear every snore, every whispered comment, every dog whine, every child cry. I do appreciate the thinness of the walls for the purpose of hear the sounds of nature (leaves rustling in the wind, birds singing, animals burrowing, wind whistling) - providing you can hear them over the noise of humanity!

People either can't read or think they are the special exceptions to all the posted rules  - how can you walk right past a huge sign stating "Swimming Prohibited" and think it is OK to jump into the lake up to your neck??? I could understand wading, even maybe up to your knees though that is pushing it. But out so far that you can't stand up? We watched the poor police motion people out time after time after time. As for "Don't leave your dog unattended at any time (to me that's like saying don't leave your toddler alone while you go to the beach), well, judging by the howling and moaning we heard, that was pretty much ignored.

All things considered though, today was a great day of gentle moving (we walked the length of the pier and back - probably 4 miles) and peaceful resting. I did get to lean back in my new outdoor recliner and be entertained by the breeze making the leaves dances in delightful patterns of light and shade. The fire crackled merrily, the marinated chicken bronzed perfectly, the marshmallows blushed the exact shade of brown to taste delicious. Even Sugar curled up contentedly on the grass and snoozed. Yes, this is helping. I remember why I like to camp.

Fair Haven State Park

It took us forever to get packed. Neither Drew nor I had any energy to focus. We were in no particular hurry to get going. It was just a relief to be done with everything the day required. We decided to have a Bill Gray's hamburg dinner and ate it at leisure while sitting in the air conditioned living room and watching an episode of Monk. Then we slowly, with much resting in between, gathered what we thought we might need for camping. I packed shopping recycle bags with stuff and Drew got them in the car trunk.

In the back of my mind, I wanted to arrive while it was still daylight so we could set up camp before it got dark, but it just wasn't in the cards. Oh, well. I stopped at the ATM to get some cash, and finally we were on our way. It was still light out, but I knew that the hour or so it would take to get there would burn that away. Sure enough, we arrived at 9:30 in full darkness (not that there is such as thing as partial darkness, mind you). The ranger told us to use our car headlights to get our tent set up, so we did that.

Drew and I had never set up a tent together. He knew what to do, and I tried to get the gist of it, but I am pretty sure he was just a tad frustrated with my bumbling efforts. We did at last get things set enough for the night and each climbed into our tent and flopped down exhausted on air mattresses that we blew up with our battery operated pump despite the fact that quiet hour had descended. People were laughing and talking still, so we risked it.

What an extraordinary feeling to lie down with almost nothing between you and the big outdoors. Even as controlled as the set up is, you instantly feel connection with nature, with basic reality that is not plastered over with concrete and blacktop. Restorative. Healing. These are the reasons camping is good for you.

It took me some time to figure out that the deep repetitive low growling was a chorus of bull frogs! It didn't take long at all to figure out that the term 'air mattress' is bogus. They don't hold air (at least, not for an entire night) and they certainly don't function as a mattress! After two hours of shifting and turning and hips going to sleep (I am an old lady, after all) I gave up and climbed into the car, lay the front passenger seat down and pulled my hat over my eyes. Finally! No bull frogs and no aching body parts. I will definitely have to make other arrangements if I want to reap the benefits of sleeping in a tent.

Cottonwood Flufflies

Yesterday Drew and I took down our camping shelter gazebo awning thing. Is there a name for that? Mostly it is white netting designed to keep out the bugs but with green canvas - or plastic or whatever that material is - overhead for shade. The boys set it up to make sure it was all there because this weekend, for the holiday, for the first time in at least a decade and probably more like 2 decades, I am going camping! And I would like to set this up over the table.

We shall see how it goes. I am looking forward to some outdoors relaxation and a bit of getting away. I admit I am not a fanatic and I am not into making things hard on myself. Neither am I insisting on all the comforts of home. This cannot turn into so much effort that it defeats the purpose of taking a break either. I'll take it as it comes. But the idea of sleeping in a tent and hearing the sounds of (hopefully) nature (and not snoring from the campsite next door or the slamming of the bathroom door all day) has a certain appeal and recalls the camping days of my childhood.

I giggled this morning when I saw the patch of taller grass left behind by our shelter. They just mowed around it. But what made it seem like the lazy days of summer already, in addition to the warmth of the early morning hour and the bright sunny skies, were the tufts of white fluff floating gently down from the cottonwood tree. I am a bit surprised because the hanging pods are all green and small and have not yet opened. So I guess the open pods must be at the top of the tree where I can't see them.

Still, it gives a sort of romantic softening to the daily grind of life to see those white blobs floating about carelessly on the light breeze, getting into all sorts of nooks and crannies with no regard for the rules. Sugar is not quite sure what to make of them. She runs through the grass, stirring them all up, then sneezes as they tickle her nose. Ah, summer. And it isn't even officially summer yet!

Chemo Fog

I haven't had a ripping good case of chemo brain in some time. The fuzzy thinking, inability to multi task and confusion about where to begin and how to proceed was at its worst after the first round of cancer. It slowly petered out after a couple of years. I am glad because it was frustrating to watch yourself be incompetent. Since then, once in awhile, I would find some glaring error I made writing something or calculating something back around the time of a chemo, but these were isolated incidents.

Today, it is apparent to me that I am gently crashing from the most recent chemo. I took on so much steroids and other pre-meds that it is taking a long time to get out of my system. Last night I was aching and restless. My body seemed at odds with itself. I could not concentrate. After "Tuesdays With Esther" (every Tuesday from 7 to 8 pm a group of people gather to make cards for cancer patients - a take off on Tuesdays with Morrie, only instead of focusing on what it is like to die, we are focusing on bringing life and encouragement to those who are wrestling with cancer. Anyone can come - its in the Fireside Room of the Library) I wanted to do some reading for my coursework, but I couldn't do it. I gave up and watched the BBC Sherlock Holmes TV series I rented from the local library.

This morning I was adding up a column of figures, wrote down the sum, then puzzled over it for a moment. It didn't seem logical that adding 150 and 99 would result in a number less than 200. That can't be right. I redid the calculation and came up with a new sum and was happy to have caught the mistake. A few minutes later, my brain insisted that something was still wrong, so I looked at the figures again. Sure enough, it was off. I redid my calculations, then got smart and took out the calculator to make sure it was right. Phew! Disaster averted.

This is totally unlike me. My poor little fuzzy brain was just barely able to realize that my behavior is very chemo brain like. Could be I need to give myself a few days of not doing anything vital (like writing a paper!). I suspect the stress of the big gun meds are at least partially responsible. Meanwhile, I will do more walking and drink more water to flush stuff and trust that this, too, shall pass.

Breakdown

Not mine. My soon-to-be ex-daughter-in-law's. She has epilepsy, and apparently had a major seizure. I can't quite get all the details, but she must have fallen and hit her head. Now she says she can't remember the last three years. Doesn't recall having the baby or being arrested or on probation or initiating the divorce. Not sure what she does remember, but I am concerned for my grand kids again. How will this affect them? Why did she have the seizure? Will she have more of them? Does it put the kids in a risky situation? Sigh.

My first instinct was to drive out there and swoop in and make everything right. Of course, I can't do that. I ache with anguish over the whole mess, but no one there seems to think this is a big deal. It gives me some small appreciation for how God must look at me. I am sure he constantly wants to swoop down and fix all the messes I make. But he lets me be me and loves me without restrictions, always ready to help if asked and to protect when things really get out of hand. I sure wish I were able to be like him. Working on it, but its not easy.

Peonies!

Morning is bright and quiet. The deep warm blue of the sky is like the inviting waters of the Caribbean. Sugar and I take our time walking. The boys set up my camping canopy last night to make sure all the parts are there. It lufts gently in the morning air, beckoning us to come aside and relax, but we give the new hanging basket of white and blue lobelia a good long drink of water then head out for a longer than usual jaunt.

The neighborhood is peaceful, only a handful of people are stirring. Alongside the third building from my place I discover that the peony bush is beginning to bloom right next to the tiny French lilac bush. The perfume is heady and the delicate light lavender makes the pale pink of the peony seem more delicate and fragile. Even so, the flowers are already being danced upon by the ants - some things are so dependable!

I stand inhaling the beauty for as long as Sugar has patience, and then we quietly make our way back to our own stoop, up the stairs and into the already warming kitchen for a bite of breakfast.

Walking It Off

I have this theory that since the chemo attacks fast growing cells, and the faster growing ones get hit first, that the cancer cells are immediately addressed followed by good cells that I need but which also somehow get targeted - collateral damage as they say. My theory is that I need to flush the chemo as soon after it is administered to get it out of my system before too much collateral damage is inflicted. I figure the cancer cells take the brunt of the hit on the day the chemo is administered, but after that I need to help my body detoxify.
To that end, I drink a lot of extra water and try to move more, walk and not be sedentary as much as I can muster, which is not easy because my body is a battlefield expending lots of energy fighting the reactions, so I am tired. It takes no small amount of effort to make myself move. Drew laughs at me because I am in slomo. And I have taken to moaning and grunting while forcing myself to walk. It feels like my legs are made out of lead and that I am trying to force them to navigate through molasses. I keep having to stop to rest and I find myself huffing and puffing. It doesn't help that the steroids are also responsible for weight gain, just what I don't need right now.

But, what can you do? Just keep working on it and be grateful that you can. After all, with the darn cancer in my spine bones, I could well have ended up paralyzed. Grace of God the cancer is no longer in the bone or marrow. So I move. And move. And move. And move. Slow but persistent.

A Lament

In my coursework I am reading about the importance of lament. I have never tried to write a lament, but thought I would give it a whirl. Here goes:

Chemo Crying

Lord???



Are you there???
Can you hear me???



I huddle on the floor, curled up in agony.
Every joint screams with stiffness.
Every muscle writhes with spasm.
My head pounds with the thumping beat of my distressed heart.
My eyes burn.
The soles of my feet are on fire.
I am too exhausted to do other than breathe.
Slowly, air slides in.
Slowly air escapes.
I cannot cry.
I am barely conscious.

They have done it to me again.
I know they mean well. It is all they know.
They put that plastic ID bracelet over my wrist.
They tie me to the ceiling by my hands, my feet dangling off the floor.
They gather around, strategizing.
Then the beating begins. Baseball bats pound my body. Hard whacks well meant.
Enough! I scream, but it is not enough.
They need to beat the cancer out of me.
Over and over they subject my hurting body to relentless injections of poison.
Drink the antidote. Take more poison. More poison. More antidote. It is the only way.
They cram it into every possible place - in my blood, my skin, my stomach, my bones.
Work, damn you. Work. Chase the cancer out. Kill it.
Pound. Pound. Pound.
My helpless body sways and swings with each stressful stroke.
They keep hitting until I am senseless.

Finally, they cut me loose and I drop a bloody mess, a pool of whimpering flesh.
Go home. See if it worked.
I crawl. I creep. I moan.
Lord, where are you?
I collapse in the living room.
Two solitary tears slide down my face.
And suddenly, you are there.
You collect my precious tears, hard evidence.
You place your hand on my head and the thumping calms.
You swaddle my aching body in a warm blanket of love.
You are here. You lift me into the comfort of my soft bed, tuck me in.
You do not leave me. Gently you draw out the pain, the toxic crap, the agony subsides.
You sing to me of beautiful places filled with sunlight and laughter and joy.
It will not always be thus.
You hold my hand and I believe your promises.
I drift off to a peaceful sleep knowing You will not leave me or forsake me.
No matter what.

Chemo

New plan! Yes - last time I had chemo which was a disaster and I had to go home without finishing the whole course, we decided to use the big guns right up front and not wait for a reaction. Great idea. A little scary, but OK. Worth a try. I hate feeling like I am risking my throat closing up and breathing becoming a real issue. I have to admit, I have been dragging my feet though. I know what those big guns make me feel like, and I am none to hurried to go there.

I make Drew drive me in. He is reticent for sure. I should let the squirmer off the hook, but I am very sure I will be in no shape to drive myself home. I offer breakfast, and he finally drags himself down to the car. We arrive at 8 am. Everything is normal. Park in the garage, walk the hallway plank to the infusion center, check in, get a parking pass and a plastic ID bracelet, have your vitals taken, then be assigned to a pod. This time I am in pod A - and I get a window space. Yeah! I turn my chair to see out the window first thing - I won't be watching any TV and I would rather not stare at the other people in the pod. We are full up today.

My nurse is new to me, but I like her immediately. She is all business. There is a change in the approach that is coming soon for the infusion assignments. She tells me that each pod will deal with a different type of cancer, and the nurses assigned will be specialists in that kind of cancer. In this way they hope to learn better care and share information that will make the patients experience a better treatment. I like the idea. Today's nurse has come from the main floor where she deals with lymphoma mostly. She is very knowledgeable not just about the type of cancer, but she has read up on my case.

She spells out how we will start with the IV heavy pre meds and how we will space the Rituxan with the goal of having no reaction at all. She is not in any hurry to get me out in the designated 4 to 5 hours but says she will be there all day and is happy for me to be also if necessary. Drew makes a hasty exit to acquire breakfast while she accesses my port - she is done before two blinks and has already administered the first of the steroids before Drew returns with a strawberry cheese danish for me and a cinnamon roll for him. I am getting lots of IV fluids and waiting for the tylenol to take effect when we finish breakfast. Drew gracefully excuses himself on the pretext that he has a lot to do and promises to return with a Panera's lunch.

Good thing he leaves when he does. The nurse gives me the IV benedryl and pepcid and I turn a delicate woozy and am directly out of it. I try to read a Father Dowling mystery I have half heartedly worked through, but after reading the same sentence 3 times and still having no idea what it said, I give up. I open some gifts from my friends the church mice - they are so thoughtful and kind and have stayed with me through it all - I especially appreciate the chocolate aspirin! But soon I am snoozing. The nurse tucks me in with a warm blanket, tilts my chair back, starts the Rituxan and I am in lala land. I have definitely shifted into neutral.

I wake every half hour for blood pressure and temperature and to have the drip edged up another 50 drips per. Things are going well. No sign of reaction. The next time I wake, it is not because the nurse woke me. Why am I awake? Can it be? Yes, it is vague, but my feet are tingling. Just a wee bit. Not much. Hardly worth mentioning, but I know I must. When the nurse comes, I tell her. We agree that the best strategy is to hit me with one more big gun and prevent a little something from becoming major. I sigh. Yes, I get some Decadron now. And we go back down to 150. I make the decision to keep at 150 for a whole hour, and the nurse is fine with that. It will mean I will be there longer, but it is my decision and I am happy with it. Where else would I go anyway? Just home to recover.

After that, all goes well and by 4 pm I am home, drinking lots of water to continue flushing my system now that the IV is no longer helping with that. I half watch a movie and doze. Drew is off to his Intervarsity BBQ. Sugar is curled up in the other chair, snoring.Whew. I am glad that's over. I finally crawl into bed and drift into a fitful sleep. Done and done.

No Choir Rehearsal - Weird

Tonight I am scheduled to teach a summer graduate class in the Music Education Master's degree program. They are required to write a paper, and need instruction about our resources. I enjoy teaching on the graduate level because the students not only take advantage of the teaching, but understand faster and ask excellent questions. It does mean though that I will not be able to rehearse with the choir.

We are near the end of the season and the piece for Sunday is fairly straightforward. We spent extra time with it last week, and are in a good place. I am not concerned. Still, it is just strange not to be working with singers tonight. Music feeds my soul and I love the wash of sound of a choir coming at me as we work out the phrasing and dynamics and melodies and harmonies of a piece of music.

If you can't do one thing you love, how wonderful is it to do another thing that you love! So few people do for work activities that they like much less love. I consider myself extremely fortunate. I work 2 jobs in areas I love and I am studying a third subject that I totally love. Wow. Am I blessed or what? So tonight, rather than conduct, I instruct. Sweet. Some nights are just like that.

Update on Mom

She is still hanging on, bless her heart. My brother mentioned to her that everything is in order for her to go, that she had said her goodbyes to all her children and made her peace. She responded that she didn't want to die. She wasn't ready. What? You have been saying for over two years that you don't want to live. Now suddenly you don't want to die? Really?

But it isn't so much that she doesn't want to be with her Lord or see Dad again. It is that she is concerned about how she will get there. Will it be painful? She watched Dad die in agony with lung cancer. She is scared of what might happen to her while she is in the process of passing. I understand that. We assure her that we can give her medication if she is in pain, but that's not it.

I do get it. I have endured some pretty horrible physical contortions in my various treatments. Things I would like to forget and never experience again. Will that be what it takes to die? No thank you. Ideally, one should simply go to sleep one night as usual and wake up in heaven. No struggle. Or just drop dead instantly of some heart attack or ruptured aneurysm. Certainly not in agonizing pain and terrifying fear. And hopefully not a slow and painful lengthy time. We do not get to choose.

I have thought that the challenges we encounter in life prepare us to face our death with bravery and strength. It may be so or may not. I only hope when my time comes, God grants me grace. I surely do not wish to put my children through a difficult time. But seeing someone die is the only way we learn anything about what to expect. I have been with four people when they passed and each one experienced something completely different. All of them had no choice. One you begin, you usually can't quit. Even if you get a reprieve, you will come to the task again. It is inevitable.

So I spend my time praying for Mom, that God would strengthen her and give her courage and grace. I am proud of her. I only wish I could be there to hold her hand, even though she would likely not know. Hugs, brave lady. Peace and shalom.

Library Retreat

This year we head once again to the Meridian Center to regroup and see where we are and where we need to go. We have new people this year, and a resolve to focus on learning to listen - really listen - to others. Listen to each other. Listen to our student workers. Listen to our patrons. Listen to our faculty and administrators. Listen to our community members and alumni. And in our listening, to learn how we can help.

Because that is what librarians do. We help connect people with the information they need. Our efforts are aimed at making that process seamless and invisible. If we could, we would make it happen that as soon as someone thinks of their topic, they are immediately presented with a plethora of resources that are exactly what will help them. Think of the research progress that could be made if we eliminated all the time spent searching so it could be used in creating new and improved processes and equipment and information.

Well, that is why we step aside several times a year to see how we are doing. This one was especially helpful. And next year, we have decided to hold our retreat in a different off campus facility. Or maybe even in a different on campus building. That way we get to explore a new area of our institution and learn about our colleagues' worlds.

Summer Projects

Every year we calculate how much student labor we are able to afford, and then how to best utilize that work to accomplish much needed projects around the library. Last year we did a big inventory, but certain parts of the collection did not get processed. We are still cleaning up the fallout from the big project, but we plan to finish the smaller areas this summer - oversized and children's literature. Then there are the inevitable cleaning and shelf reading tasks, some cataloging projects and a few preservation projects.

This summer I am excited to be looking at the books we own that were published before 1850. We want to identify materials that are fairly unique (owned by fewer than 20 libraries) and fit our collection well. We plan to repair and box these items to protect them from environmental wear and tear.

There are also some faculty weeding projects, a serials importation project and various other investigations of getting up to speed in areas like mobile apps and e books, which I am taking online workshops in. Whew! It will be a busy summer even with all the student help. This is where we plan ahead and run faster so that when fall comes, we are ready and able to lead the way. Who said summer was a down time!

Double Day

It happens every so often. Mothers Day falls on the same day as Kiel's birthday. While generally I have no expectations from my boys for a Mother's Day remembrance (I hate to put that kind of unnecessary pressure on anyone - they have their hands full trying to look after their families), I do want to celebrate Kiel's birthday.

At first, he had other plans, but at the last minute they fell through, and I was delighted to have him come by. What he would have really liked for dinner was not possible (a home made lasagna dinner in this heat? on a moment's notice?), we had plenty of time to do something special. My biggest find was a Wegmans' strawberry rhubarb pie which he wanted instead of a cake! Yahoo, we were able to find one.

What better way to celebrate Mother's Day than to spend it celebrating the birth of someone who is your child! This boy is special in that he has a heart as big as outdoors. He is a people person (got that from his father) and notices what is going on with other people, then does something to address it. I always know if I am feeling blue I can count on a comforting conversation with him. We do things very differently, and I have to admit, I need to bite my tongue and give him his head and his freedom to be who he is. And of course, what he does turns out fine - and right for him.

I find it interesting that my relationship with each of my boys is just what it needs to be between me and that son. Each is unique. Each is a gifted and capable young man. Each has a caring heart. Each brings challenges and tough places. I love each of them not the same, but in ways that bless me equally and are helpful to them. I hope they all know how much they are loved and prayed for and appreciated, rough places and all. I do try to tell them on a regular basis and in various ways. I give to each of them in different ways as I am able and as I see what is needed. But I pray for all of them deeply and with equal desire for their best blessings. Maybe Mother's Day should be about Mom's being allowed to check in with their kids! Not a bad idea.

Bronchitis

I can barely breathe. My cough is so bad people are asking me if I have pneumonia. They tell me I sound horrible. I cannot imagine going to that darn ER and waiting for hours and hours hacking like this. I call my doctor, but of course, they have no hours. I call urgent care and get an appointment. Check in is quick and they take me right back. The nurse swabs my throat for strep and I wait for the doctor to come in. I half expect her to throw me out, tell me I have a cold and its a virus and I am a wimp go home. If I could breathe better, I wouldn't have come. I am completely uncaring.

The doctor is an older woman. She is quiet and gentle, checks me out, then excuses herself to check the strep results. She reenters and tells me I do not have strep, but I do have a bad case of bronchitis. Because of my chemo she is giving me both an inhaler to help the lungs be less irritated and swollen and a Z Pack of antibiotics. I am validated! I was right to come. I thank her and head for the pharmacy.

After I collapse back home, I take my medicine, ever so grateful that I could go to urgent care and that I could afford the prescriptions. I fill a tall glass with ice and water, thankful thankful thankful for cold water and a comfy chair. Then I put on a Monk DVD and veg. Within seconds of using the inhaler, I can breathe easier, though the hacking cough takes considerable time to calm down. Maybe tonight I will be able to sleep. That would be nice. God is good and I am ever so grateful. I doze on and off until Drew comes home, then go to bed.

Repossessing the Kids

I was right. It happened and I had no choice, could do no intervention. Child Protective Services found out that the kids Mom was not with them, and a consideration of her parole was that she not do jail time because of needing to care for her children. So they mandated that she either be with them in the next 48 hours or she will go to jail. We tried our best to work with CPS to maintain the safety of the children, but they were firm. Follow the process. If she proves to be an unfit mother, that will come to light. Meanwhile, back they go.

I get to say a quick goodbye. I hug Ramseyes who has no idea what is happening to him, and he pulls away, teasing and running. Shiloh blinks in her innocence. My heart is so heavy I feel like I am going to break apart. Its just not fair that these kids have to pay for their parents problems when there are people who would take them in a heartbeat. My hands are tied. My advisers told me this would happen. I can only stand by, ready to take them back at any opportunity. Prayer. I spend my days bouncing back and forth from one hurting situation to another these days. I think that is why my camping trips are going to be so necessary. I just need soothing. And the peace of Christ in the midst of the beauty of his creation is just the thing.

Bye, sweeties. Hang in there. We are always here if you need us.

Christian Fiction Writers

Today I attended an online presentation of the latest Christian fiction. Some of these authors I have never heard of, but I know these are popular books and I want to be familiar with the various series. We do have a leisure reading section in the library that staff and students often check out. They are able to mark the monthly selection sheets to indicate what they would like us to get. It is a rented and revolving collection.

I am surprised to learn that many of these authors are available to do a virtual session with your library patrons. They skype in and chat, answer questions, discuss topics of interest. Interesting. We should try that. I broach the idea in a library team meeting and there is some interest. We need to identify the target audience for such an activity and think about how to market the event.

I admit I have little time for light reading these days. Once I complete my dissertation, that may change. I kind of doubt it, but that's OK. I read such stuff at various junctures of my life when I needed a distraction. Some series were OK for awhile, others too syrupy for me, too predictable. I also read whatever series Mom was reading so we could talk about it and I would know what she found interesting. Her favorite series is the Jan Karon Father Tim series. Hearing about the recent offerings makes me realize there is a whole new world out there to explore!

Possible Intervention?

I had pitched the idea of having a family intervention to Kiel, but he vetoed the idea. Just let it ride. He felt he could convince Mark to leave the kids there at least until the end of summer, maybe longer. If I press the issue, Mark will grab the kids and run. Sigh. It is the same impasse I reached about Dan. I let it ride then and ended up with no recourse at all. Things were taken out of my hands entirely.

I should have done something then. I can't help but feel that I should do something now. But I resist. I want to find some way to get through to Mark that his kids are important and have needs. Mark doesn't even have a phone dependably and even if he did, he wouldn't talk to me on it. So I wait. It is a mistake, but I wait. At some point, this will come to a head and I am hoping I will have the opportunity to try and help. I suspect whatever happens will go quickly and I will not get my chance. We shall see. For now, the kids are doing well and relaxing and learning and progressing and I am blessed about that.

But at the same time, my heart is breaking. How did things ever get so mixed up!

Mom's Dying

It's not a call you want to get. Mom is not well. She started throwing up, and after a day or so, they took her to the ER, figuring that it might not be a flu. They discovered that her colon has stopped working. They did everything they could to jump start it, but no luck. In a younger person, they would remove the colon and give her an ostomy, but Mom is too old and weak to survive such a surgery. They try enemas, medicine, manipulation and IV pushing. Nothing. There is nothing more they can do for her, so they send her home.

We are officially on death watch now. Mom can't take any food because there is nowhere for it to go except back up. She drinks fluids, but barely tolerates those. This is agonizing. I FaceTime every day, and Mom always says she is not doing so good. I pray. She wants to go home to the Lord and be with Dad. All the kids are notified. It is time to let her go. We are sad but know it is right.

I feel as if part of me is dying with her. She has been a mainstay in my life and I have already missed her tremendously. I felt like I just reconnect with the FareTime option, and now time is running out. I remember when her mom, my gram, passed. It was such a deep and profound loss. I have a hard time imagining life without Mom there. I spend hours praying for God's peace to be on Mom, for her passing to be gentle and easy, for her not to be in pain, for her happiness. She was so worried that I would die before she did. I understand not wanting to watch someone you care about go through their final days here on earth. God's grace will get us all through. Dear, dear Mom.

No Walk with Cindy

I still am not feeling fabulous. I have arranged with my downstairs neighbor to walk every Monday and Wednesday. She has fibro myalgia and arthritis, so its hard for her to move. I have cancer treatment impediments and need a lot of motivation. Together we both hope we will move more if we keep each other accountable. So far, we haven't walked together even once due to weather issues mostly. Tonight I am just too blah feeling to walk. I call her and beg off. She is also not feeling well. Mutual decision. Maybe next week. If we could just get started we might be able to sustain it. Tonight though, I am just going to bed.

FaceTime

My brother got a new phone - and I am delighted to discover he has FaceTime available. No one else I know has that capability. I call him and try it out. What a marvelous improvement on the phone. I see myself in the corner of the screen, and I see him in living color in real time! This is great. Way better than skype which only works sometimes, and you can't move around with it. With the cell phones, the link is portable. And they can point it at anything around them so I can see everything.

I ask to talk to Mom, and we can finally see each other. I am ecstatic. She looks thin and tired, but is sitting calmly. We chat for a few seconds, then she is done talking.

THIS is what I have wanted for a long time. I don't need an hour of chatting. Just to check in and see that she is OK. It is way to easy for her to say she doesn't want to talk on the phone, but my brother just shoves the screen in her face and she can't say no. Hurrah! I am so glad to have this option. I plan to call everyday and check in. Thank you, tech gurus who make this possible.

Graduation 2012 RWC

Drew needs the car today, but I need to get to campus for Baccalaureate and graduation services. I love marching in the faculty lineup and seeing all the students I know make this important leap to their next phase. But Drew is groggy and slow. I urge him on. I am going to be late. I hate being late. I was always taught to be ten minutes early. Then I would be on time. Drew believes if you arrive somewhere within a half hour of the start time, its all good. I know he is just typical for his generation, but it bugs the tar out of me. Especially  when it makes me late!

I grumble all the way to campus, give Drew an earful. Shame on me. I run into the library, throw on my gown and hood, and dash down the main walk to Pearce. I am not used to running, and I huff and puff my way to where the rest of the faculty are lined up waiting for the signal. I have a few minutes to catch my breath before we begin to move. Drew would have said I had plenty of time. I feel like I cut it way too close.

Fortunately, it all falls away as soon as we begin. I am so proud of the people graduating, of the professors who participate, of the musicians who smooth the way. What a terrific group of people I am surrounded by.  I enjoy the whole rest of the day and gratefully go home in the afternoon to continue resting and getting over my 'bug.' One more graduation down. I can't believe I have been here for five whole years already! Who would have thought!

No Concert for You

I have been coughing for over a year, an irritating constant cough that the doctors have tried to figure out. Nothing seems to help or make it go away. It doesn't seem to be allergy or infection. The best explanation is that the damage done by the radiation is still affecting my throat and vocal cords. I have adjusted.

Recently, the cough has gotten much worse. Tonight I am also aching and have the chills. I must be coming down with something. Phooey. I planned to go to a concert of bell choirs downtown and scout for music for the chime choir. I hoped some of my ringers would go too. But that is out. I spend the evening hydrating, then go to bed early. I know there is some kind of bug going around, and I want to nip this one in the bud.

I certainly can't imagine listening to a two hour concert of bells ringing! Sigh. Can't do everything, even though I would like to. There will be more concerts. Meanwhile, I can still work on the summer chime choir workshop. Just not tonight.

On Not Quitting

Sometimes students have preconceived ideas about paper topics. There is something that has 'gotten their goat' so to speak, and they have already formed an opinion or designed their answer. So when they come to the desk, they know what they want to say, and are just looking to find articles that agree with their idea. Unfortunately, in almost all of these cases, there is either little to nothing which supports their point, or all the evidence overwhelmingly supports the opposite of their opinion.

A student approached the desk convinced that she could find lots of articles that said what she wanted them to say. We looked. Nothing. A few things that were close to her topic, but nothing direct. I tried another tack, and still came up dry. I discussed her ideas a bit more, listening carefully to see if I could state the topic in other terms. A few ideas surfaced and we searched with the new terms. Still nothing. We had been at it a good 2 hours. I am ready to call it quits.

I was about to turn her back to the professor to see if there was a related topic she might pursue, but she was unwilling to give up. She pressed me. I was impatient and tried to explain to her that not all topics have been researched and written about. She could not hear me. Her face was filled with hope and expectation. Surely I could work magic and suddenly make this work for her. She had limited time. I fight the urge to send her on her way. I asked if she and the professor had explored the topic at all, and she said they hadn't found anything and that was why the professor sent her to me. Gulp.

OK. I take a deep breath and broaden the search parameters to see what might come up. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing. I am beginning to think this is like the question I got from a student who wanted to find statistics about how many tattoos had been done in the Rochester area over time (!) as if someone out there were keeping a chart. Not happening.

Then a tiny little word comes up in one last ditch effort. Like some unlucky treasure hunter, I jump on the word and follow it down a rabbit hole. It leads to another little word, then another and slowly, ever so slowly, we begin to find some articles that, while not presenting themselves as addressing her topic, mention it in passing. A sentence here, a paragraph there. It's not much, but at least it is something. Another hour later, I *finally* find an entire article that relates, and a few more that give some chunks of information.

I keep looking at the student to see if she has enough yet. She is faithfully punching the printed articles and adding them to her organizer. We keep going. I find an entire article, but it is too old to use. I follow the citations forward and find two more that are helpful. She finally says she will begin with what we have found, and see if they lead her anywhere else. We stop, but I invite her to return if she needs more (all the while secretly hoping she does have enough). I applaud her for her persistence.

A week later, I run into this student and ask after her paper. Her face lights up and she smiles big. The research turned out to be exactly what she needed and led her in better directions. She discovered a whole other world beyond her own thinking and experience and broadened her position. Once she did that, it all fell into place. She is writing the last few pages and will turn it in soon. Whew! Glad I didn't quit when I wanted to!

Failure

When the enterprising student came through the library selling tickets to a fund raising event to help send students on a missions trip, I was happy to comply. I bought a ticket both because I am in favor of the mission trip and because I really like StickyLips BBQ! I was looking forward to a delicious dinner to tide me over on a Wednesday evening while I am working at the reference desk. I pictured a quiet repast in a sunny spot outdoors in the gorgeous weather just before going on duty.

Best plans often go awry and tonight was no exception. I got caught up working with a student and had no time to pick up my dinner much less eat it before 5 pm rolled around. No problem. Drew is coming in to do some school work and I can ask him to go collect my dinner. Of course, that means I will be sharing my dinner with Drew, but that's OK. Its always more than I can eat, and includes things I can't eat like corn. I am content to share.

But then, I am at the desk working with a student who I know is financially pressed. Moreover, she has had a challenging life and has gone through more in her short number of years than most people endure in a lifetime. Drew approaches the desk and tells me how great it smells out there with the BBQ. The student next to me goes crazy and starts talking about how much she wants BBQ and how hungry she is and how she tried to get a ticket but couldn't and how she begged them to just give her a taste. It is an outright plea for me to pony up and get her some BBQ. She is practically drooling.

But I only have one ticket, and Drew and I were planning to share. There are no more tickets available because the student already asked. They have just enough for the ticket holders because they already sold their excess. I kibbutz. I argue with myself. I am horrible. I am unwilling to extend a hand of mercy. I am hungry too. So is Drew. But I know in my heart of hearts that I can go home and rustle up a meal when I get off duty. I am not so sure the student can. I think she probably can, but I know what it is to be poor and unable to afford good food.

The opportunity is gone before I have a chance to finish working through my dilemma. The student has to leave. She exits the front door of the library and I am ashamed of myself for withholding when it was within my power to do something about a situation. I want to call her back and hand her the ticket, then send Drew for something else, but it is too late. She is gone.

Dear God, forgive me. I am so sorry. All the while Drew and I are sharing dinner, I am heavy hearted. I am the rich man ignoring the beggar Lazarus. I am stupid and hard hearted. I agonize over it for some time. I could have fed Christ, but I turned him away. And for what? A touch of heart burn and a few minutes of tangy tastiness. I didn't even hold out for 30 pieces of silver. I have such a long way to go.

Jim's B-Day

Hats off to my little brother (who isn't so little anymore!). Today is his birthday and he has decided to take the day off from taking care of Mom to explore the Queen Mary which is docked in Long Beach, California at the moment. From the pictures he posted on Facebook, it is a spectacular ship. I am glad he got a bit of a break. I know it is not easy dealing with someone who is old and sick and grumpy and adrift. Even though it is not 24/7 care, it is tiring day after day to be confined and basically at someone else's beck and call. After awhile you lose your patience more easily not to mention the boredom.

So happy happy birthday. You are an exceptional brother and I forgive you for all the scraps and fights we got in when we were kids. Giving up your livelihood and income and freedom and choices to care for your Mom who needs family right now is an amazing sacrifice that speaks volumes about the person you are. Celebrate well!