In the End, You Need Nothing But Love

I was able to spend several hours with my grandma while she made her journey out of this life. She was at times coherent and at others, she slept and was unresponsive. During those times, my mind wandered. I remember caring for my dad during the night before he died. I thought about the similarities of dad's and grandma's journeys.

Dad mentioned seeing his mother. Grandma mentioned seeing her first husband. Both did what I call air picking. Both possibly symptoms of the death of the brain, but, I'd rather think that they are working towards and meeting with those that have passed before them. I know, deep in my heart, that our souls are powerful and that they must continue on past the life our bodies can hold. This mysterious transition from life into what's next is fascinating and frightening at the same time.

As Grandma slept, I looked around her small room. In my lifetime, I'd seen Grandma move from a house, to a condo, to a small apartment, and finally to one small room barely big enough for a twin bed, chair, and television. Every move meant that she needed less stuff. Bit by bit it was sent away, given away, donated, sold, or tossed. Her life had become smaller and only the valuable parts remained. Family. Memories. Pictures.

It had come down to the end of her life and what mattered most was not what she owned, but who she knew and who she loved. The precious trappings of life that she had left were so dear. Pictures of her family, her boys, her grandchildren and great-grandchildren were the most prized. She commented to my mom at one point how her family was smiling down on her, surrounding her.

Every time I've been with someone who is dying, I am reminded of what we take with us and what we leave behind. I suppose it's easy to get caught up in the pursuit of stuff and more stuff and more stuff and greater and more expensive things. But, if you have a moment, think about what you'd like to be surrounded by when you die.

Love is really all there is. To cultivate that and the experiences of life, forming memories is really all we have.

You are Surrounded by Love

My 98 year old Grandmother is dying. I spent yesterday afternoon into the early hours of the morning spending time with her and family. We laughed, we cried, we said some goodbyes.

One of the nurses was heard saying to Grandma, "You are surrounded by love. You are surrounded by your family and by love."

Such a beautiful thing to say while Grandma's on her journey. Hospice nurses are heaven sent, angels on earth.

A Hunting We Will Go, Well, Not Me

This is the house that Bob built.

Tis the season in Minnesota to see people dressed in bright orange and heading into the woods.

It's the deer hunting opening weekend here in my great state. Young One and D are heading up North to the family log cabin that my dad built. They'll bond, scratch, shoot stuff, and generally have a good time. It's their thing.

If my cold gets better, I'll visit my grandma and we'll have dinner with the hunters on Saturday night. Can't go exposing her to the germs, so I'm hoping this is short lived. If I'm still sniffling, I'll stay home and have some alone time.

Still Crazy After All These Years

Look what $300 can get you at an arcade!

"Mom, they had these back when you were a kid?"

"I think they had them when Great-Grandma was a kid."

"For real?"

"Yes, even back in Biblical times, these glasses were a comedy main stay."

Silence.

"They must have really needed it back then what with the flood, babies floating down rivers in baskets, and whales eating people."

You can't argue with genius.

Thinking the Worst and Finding the Best

My how time flies.

Our baby cardinals have left the nest. When we saw the empty nest we were terrified that a predator had eaten them for a quick snack.

How pessimistic we were! Time for an attitude change.

Optimism is the required attitude for life. It is much easier to delve into darkness, isn't it? We humans seem to have a high aptitude for complaining.

I recently read an article about a family that took a pledge to be complaint free. Needless to say, this was a difficult task. Ultimately, what they found out through the experiment was that some complaining was OK, a life of negativity, not so great.

On closer inspection, our baby cardinals were now perched on branches next to the nest. How funny they look, wobbling and bobbing, trying to be big. Momma and Daddy cardinal were not so happy with our close inspection, but I risked blindness by beak to take a few shots. I couldn't resist.

Soon, they will fly away and I'll be sad, I'm sure. It's only been five days since we discovered the nest. So much has happened between then and now. Look how far they've come.

I can't help but see the parallel of this small family with my own. Young One is leaving the nest, wobbling and bobbing and trying to be big. He's driven, by nature, just as our feathered friends are. Who am I to hold him back? It's bittersweet, but fly baby bird. Fly.

Fragile

With the ring of the phone, life can change.

Remember the movie Erin Brokovich? Played so brilliantly by Julia Roberts, who won an Oscar for her performance, Erin fought for those terribly affected by the carelessness of big corporations. This movie hit me very hard because I have cousins affected by similar situations.

Raised in Arizona, on a "plume" of toxic waste, Barb didn't know her body was turning on itself. Her brain cancer, discovered many years later, actually mutated her genes. Unknown to her, she had passed this gene on to all three of her children (who in turn will pass it on to their children, and so on...) All three kids, who lost their mother when they were very young, have fought the cancer. They've had more brain surgeries than anyone should be allowed to bear.

Her youngest was found, collapsed on the floor at his Grandpa Jim's house. He is brain dead, on life support, and the family has gathered around his bedside to say their final goodbyes. Beau is twenty five years old.

All of this because of corporate greed and carelessness.

This situation is so sad, so wrong, and I'm at a loss for words, which is rare for me. Last night, I sat on my front porch watching the normalcy of my neighborhood pass by. Kids playing, a distant radio, and the smell of some amazing BBQ coming from one street over. I rocked in my chair and I wondered at how fragile it all is.

I watched my son playing with the neighbor kids, then tossing a football with his dad. I can't imagine losing that. I know I would go insane.

We sat around the dinner table earlier in the evening. I was obviously distracted, but put on that face of "mom's fine" that we all pull out from time to time. The clouds were starting to gather, we were expecting late evening rain. The air was cool and calm. A bright red Cardinal had been serenading me for the last few days. I wondered why he stuck so close to our house. As he sat in the Hydrangea bush next to our deck, singing and chirping, we heard a slight echo to his song. There in the bush was a nest. He wasn't singing to me. He was singing to his babies, two bald, big-eyed creatures with beaks wide open, looking for warmth and love and food from their dad.

Their small birth, their newness of life, they gave me peace. Circle of life.

I hope that Beau is with his mom, shining in Heaven, pain and symptom free for the first time in his short life. I hope he's running with the angels and surrounded with love.

His Achy Breaky Heart

I've decided that I no longer want to be grown up. Enough already.

D confessed to me three weeks ago that he has been having chest tightening/pain while riding his bike. Now, I know him and he pushes hard at everything. 30 mile rides are routine. I didn't think it was anything to be concerned about. He's young, it's probably muscular, right?

Wrong.

His internist rightly ordered a stress test and it showed some narrowing in his arteries. We know nothing more than that. Not anything extremely emergent as that was almost three weeks ago. Anything very serious would have been addressed immediately, but this is still very scary to me. D's grandfather died at the age of 48 because of a heart attack. This isn't something to mess around with.

So, this week, he's seeing a cardiologist and I'm going along. Four ears are better than two and all that.

My hope is that this is just a wake up call to really live a healthier life and that we've caught something early enough to treat. I'm not going to discuss my fears. Honestly, I don't have any yet. One step at a time.

Stress Relief

I'm so tired. I've been supporting everyone this week and I've been feeling really alone.

A son is a son until he takes a wife, a daughter's a daughter for the rest of her life.

That old saying couldn't be more true in my case.

We're going out of town next weekend and I'm counting the hours minutes seconds. In the meantime, I'm escaping today into my flowers. Weeding and gardening helps clear my mind.

Today is my dad's birthday. He's been gone 4 1/2 years now. It's funny how grief works. You can be just fine and then, whammo, something hits you and the pain is just as fierce as ever.

My dad would have been 71 today. Somehow the seventies seems the beginning of being "elderly" to me.

I miss my dad every day. Our conversations often start with, "Grandpa would have loved this." Or, "Remember when Dad ____?"

My dad was a complicated man. He wasn't always easy to be around, but who is. No matter what, though, my dad always made me feel loved and protected.

He also:

• Loved my cooking. It wouldn't matter what I made, he would rave. And have seconds.
• Would patiently do all the work it entailed to take us fishing, including untangeling all the fishing lines, lures, handle the bait, move the boat around, and cleaned and cooked the fish. He never complained. Not once.
• Always listened to me and sided with me, commisserated with me, even if I was wrong.
• Made me feel treasured, the epitome of daddy's little girl.

Don't smoke people. It will take you from your family. You will definitely live a shorter life. And it's not just lung cancer that takes smokers. My dad died from pancreatic cancer. Not an easy way to go.

Click here to learn more about Pancreatic Cancer and how you can help.

I miss you Dad. Happy Birthday!

The Wisdom of Seuss

My favorite Dr. Seuss book, The Lorax, had it's own area at Universal Studios, Florida. I love this story and we read it and watched the video over and over when Young One was little. He's much too old for this now, thank you very much (insert exasperated pre-teen sigh here.)

I, however, am not. And someday, he'll like it again.

Great story, great message.

To Celebrate Seuss, serve your kids Green Eggs and Ham, just do it once, Sam I Am.

Where Am I?

It's Wednesday morning at 7:30, well not really. I'm scheduling this to post then.

Right at that moment, I will be waiting with my mom before they take her into surgery. She's having a knee replacement. I will have been up since 4 am and probably pretty groggy and most likely damning myself for ever quitting caffeine. Mom will be nervous, but putting on a good front for the nurses. She will have told them I'm a nurse and that she's a nurse, which I hate. They treat you differently then. When it comes to me and my own family, I like to be treated just like everyone else. Dumb it down for me, speak slowly, treat me like I'm an idiot. Because as stressed out as I usually am in those situations, I don't want to use my brain. I just want someone to do it for me!

Mom has been putting this surgery off for a while, so this day is a long time coming. Watching my mom struggle with a weight related issue was one of the reasons I woke up and started doing something about my own situation. Look at your mom and you'll see part, if not all, of your future. I don't want a knee replacement. I don't want weight related pains and aches, and immobility. I don't want any of it.

Who knows what damage my fat years have already done? That's in the past, though. And I'm marching on.

If you have a minute, say a prayer for my mom. She's scared and probably hurting and could use all the positive energy you can send along. Thanks. I'll be busy taking care of her for the next few days.

Bittersweet Halloween

My dad died on Halloween morning, four years ago. I can still remember that morning like it was yesterday. My dad had pancreatic cancer. He lived 11 months after diagnosis, which is a very long time. We had plenty of time to say goodbye, I guess, but that didn't make his death any easier. You always wish for more time.

So, needless to say, Halloween is a bittersweet holiday for me. Quite honestly, the night my dad died, I have no idea where Young One was or who was with him. I'm pretty sure he was with D and some friends trick or treating, but I can't quite be sure. You see, that morning is still clear as crystal to me, but the rest of the day, well, it's a much needed blur. I had been up all night with Dad, helping him die. I guess that's the only way it can be put. My brothers couldn't handle it and my mom was dizzy with grief and emotion. I had to take charge. So, I held him and helped him clear his lungs. I kept him warm and comfortable and increased his oxygen when he needed it. I did loads and loads of laundry, running from his recliner to the washer and dryer.

Hospice was so wonderful, teaching us how to medicate dad to help him peacefully pass. This has always been something that's sort of bothered me. As a nurse, I know what those doses of medications would have done to a healthy person. I know for sure, though, that cancer killed my dad.

I face each Halloween with a brave face. We don't talk too much about what this anniversary means. I don't think it's necessary or healthy for Young One to associate this traditionally fun, kid day with Grandpa's death. I throw myself into the festivities. Dad wouldn't want it any other way.

I'm still struck at how grief will hit me from time to time. It's surprising in its intensity. It might be triggered by the way Young One holds his mouth when he's thinking hard (just like dad did). It might be realizing that I can't remember what his voice sounds like anymore. It may be in the passing of a memory, like how he called everything a finort and told me that I needed to eat something because it would put hair on my chest (this horrified me as a child!). I may think about the mysterious Gazeekerpiper, a bodily organ that dad often referred to. I still don't know what he was talking about!

My dad will always be with me. I know that for sure. I hope I get to be with him again someday. I miss being his little girl. For now, though, it's celebration time.

Happy Halloween, I sure hope I didn't bring you down. Eat lots of candy, enjoy the giggling gaggles of kids, and most importantly, make some memories.

Just Like the Olden Days

I had to buy a new phone today. No, we didn't break one. No, we really didn't NEED one. But, I had to. You see, with three cordless handsets and one corded phone in our bedroom, that just wasn't enough for us.

We're a family that misplaces cordless phones or cannot be counted on to charge them. We're the people who miss phone calls because the handsets are buried underneath the newspaper or hiding in the dog bed. We're the ones who rush around madly while on the phone with Young One's teacher, hoping that the conversation doesn't drop while trying to sound like we're not running around madly, before a fully charged handset is found.

We're phone losers.

I remember pre-cordless phone days. I remember having to actually sit or stand in one place, completely focused on a phone call. We didn't multitask in the 70s. I believe Jimmy Carter had something to do with it. I remember when the first cordless phones came out, with retractable antennae and weighing in like a newborn baby. We didn't get one for years, until our "perfectly good" rotary phone bit the dust. I think my mom is still using that cordless monstrosity. It's still, "perfectly good."

I bought a wall mounted, corded phone for the kitchen. It has that long squiggly cord that allows you to wander just so much before the handset is catapulted out of your hand, wildly careening back to its base. It's actually a pretty cool phone, based on phone designs of the 1940s, so think solid, chrome, retro. It looks pretty funky on the wall and it rings just like the olden days, with a bell. Or a computer facsimile of a bell. Regardless of what makes it ring, it's just like the olden days. It's made us smile about 4 times this evening. Well, two of those phone calls were from us, calling home on our cell phones, just to hear it ring. (Yep, I know, we're phone losers.)

I will no longer have to follow my aging ears in that mad search for a handset, just to discover that its a telemarketer or political campaign ad mascarading as a real human being calling. (The last one said, Hi, this is Bob." So, I said, "Hi Bob", but he didn't give me time to say, "Hi Bob." He just kept talking. And I thought, Wow, how rude, and why does he think I'm a union member? He keeps calling me a fellow union member. And then I couldn't pay attention to Bob because I was too busy wondering how I got on his list to call. And the Bob hung up on me. I don't even think he said goodbye. And once again, I thought, how rude.)

Deep Breath. Apologies. I'm rambling again.

I made the first phone call on my snazzy new phone to my mom. It's always important to break in a new phone with a call to someone you love. Mom makes the best Sloppy Joes in the world. I wanted to make them tonight, so I called her for the recipe. I can't completely duplicate them, but this is as close to a recipe as I'll ever get. There's something mom puts in them, that I can't, and that's her years of experience. Maybe one day, Young One will want my fabulous recipe for something that he'll never be able to make just like mom.

Sloppy Grandma Jo's

Young One has called her Grandma Jo since he could make his first words.

Serves 6 at 5 WW Points per serving. Bun not included in tally.

1 lb. of extra lean ground beef (sub ground turkey breast, I'm sure it would be fine!)

1 small onion, minced

1 green pepper, cored and seeded, diced

a couple of stalks of celery, diced

------------------------------------------

Brown the above together until ground meat is well done. Add:

1 can tomato soup

1 TB lemon juice

some brown sugar--a small handful (1/4 cup?)

some ketchup--a really big squirt

some mustard--not as much as the ketchup, maybe 1 TB

chili powder--not too much, we're Scandinavian after all

I put in some garlic powder because I couldn't help myself. Then let them simmer for about 20 minutes, stirring often, and serve on light, toasted buns.

Everyone has their own recipe for Sloppy Joes. Some call them Loose Meat (that makes my stomach cringe). Mom always put celery in. I left it out because D hates it. Maybe that's the secret. No, the secret is her experience, her love--and a little bitty part of me thinks she's holding back so that we'll come visit for Sloppy Grandma Jo's. I'll get the real recipe with her will (it's a can of Manwich! and I'll hear her laughing from the grave.)

Back to School

Last night was meet your teacher night. And, once again, I fell in love with my son's school. Hard to believe that this is our last year there as next year, he heads to middle school. This is a crazy busy time for us. For the first time since kindergarten, Young One is thrilled to get back to school. He's ready to see his gang of friends every day again. Not that he hasn't this summer, he's been with friends almost every day, but he's ready for more time with the whole gang.

Somehow, in the silliness of being young boys of this particular age, they all have adapted meat nicknames. But, all are spelled uniquely, like Turky, Hamm, Bbeeff, Bakon, etc. Many parents only know Young One as Hamm. It's pretty funny. This young gang of overachieving, really smart, nice kids in a gang of carnivores. It's been a really fun chuckle to see what new friends will be added to the gang, although it already makes up most of the meat department of the market. I've suggested they branch out into poultry products.

This year already feels like a success. Young One hit the lottery with his teacher. She's actually a high school classmate of my husband and she's amazing. She's the teacher who stays late and is always trying new things. This year, she's one of a few teachers in the state with a Smart Board, which is basically an electronic chalkboard. It's so cool. Touch the screen and you can move text and pictures around, it links to her laptop, so she can add and control from her desk, you can write on it with electronic "markers"--it's like a Jetson's classroom. She's also the pioneer of having kids sit on Exerballs and has been doing that for years--was featured in national press for doing so. It helps them stay focused and gets the wiggles out (plus, I can imagine they're all going to have six packs by the end of their time in the district!). The Exerballs have spread through the school, so it's not Young One's first year with them, but nice to be with the teacher who's a trend setter, not just marking time until retirement!

We moved to this neighborhood just to attend these schools. This district tests consistently in the highest national rankings. I know , it sounds like I'm bragging, but we've sacrificed a lot so our son can get a great education. We love our neighborhood, but perhaps would have chosen somewhere a little less beige than the burb to live in. Maybe something with a little more of the cool factor built in--you know, great shopping and eating within walking distance, along with more mass transit. Anyway, I've had family members teach in this district and my mom's best high school friend was curriculum director for years. It has all day long high performance classes which are great for Young One, but also the support that those high performance kids need to thrive, which is rare.

I thank God every day for the schools we have, but mostly, I'm thankful for the teachers we have in this district. They truly are educators, which is rare. Imagine actually having English teachers that can write and spell! Math teachers that have Pi day and serve pie. Reading teachers that host book clubs OUTSIDE of school hours just for fun. Music teachers that pursue grants for African Drums and for Sowah Mensah (ethnomusicologist, composer and a "Master Drummer" from Ghana, West Africa) to teach it. A PTA that raises money for children's authors to come and teach. A supportive community of helping hands. The list is endless and we are so thankful.

I hope that if you have children in school you are just as lucky as we are. I go through this falling in love phase every year at this time. I realize that our district is not the only one in the country that provides such things and I realize that a child's education should be as unique as that child. We have it so very easy here just to be able to send our child to public school. I wish that it was that simple for everyone.