"Is there anyone else she would be waiting on", the nurse asked me sometime around three am Sunday morning. His question interrupted a flood of thoughts that came to a sudden stop when he questioned me. I explained that we had a few more family members coming home today and she may just be waiting on them.
He left the room and I thought, "So this is what it feels like to be on the answering side of that question." I can't count how many times I've asked families this. I held tight to Mamaw's hand, thankful that she was peaceful and appeared comfortable. I let my mind start it's flood again, one raindrop at a time.
I'm sitting at her counter with Andrea, Matthew, and DJ. We are tasting the hot homemade rolls and blackberry preserves freshly made from the blackberries we picked this morning.
I'm on her couch with the flu watching Mamaw call my mom and tell her how high my temp had gotten.
I'm fussing about going to see the movie Little Women cause I wanted to see something else.
I'm in her living room on Christmas Eve opening presents.
I'm celebrating with her because her magic potion (baking soda and vinegar) saved me from what my cousins called a "killer bee" sting.
I'm learning how to play checkers.
I'm giggling watching her chin quiver when she tries not to cry at something sweet.
I'm just swimming through my childhood and adulthood, amazed that God would give me such a Godly Grandmother.
Then I wonder how in the world we got here.
I was supposed to be off this week to help Mamaw get settled in at home. She was supposed to leave the hospital on Monday to go home with hospice. Last Thursday she had asked Mom how many more nights until she got to go home. Together, Mom and Mamaw counted the nights until Monday. Mom told her that she would be leaving the hospital at eleven am Monday morning. Obviously, we all knew she wasn't well. But this was not in the plan. Then Friday morning, mom calls and tells me that Mamaw had developed a bit of a rattling sound and her levels weren't good. Mom was trying to decide if DJ should come home. I went ahead and called Sarah. I told them that if they wanted to have a good conversation with Mamaw they should probably come on home. It just worked out perfectly for them to fly in on Saturday. Later Friday night, I was driving around wondering if I jumped too soon. Wondering, if they really should come on home. I prayed and asked God for a message. Within a few minutes a devotional came on the radio. It was all about the quote, "enjoy yourself, it's later then you think." Message received, DJ and I both need to get home. I decide to go on home on Saturday now too, instead of Sunday as planned. Then late Friday night, Mom calls me and says the hospital had called them. Mamaw was only breathing four breaths a minute. Instantly my mind was racing. I couldn't sleep, couldn't focus. So at four am I got up, finished packing and left with Micah to get home as fast as possible. I happened to drive through Charlotte perfectly to pick up DJ and Sarah and we made it to the hospital. After one look at Mamaw I could tell, it was indeed much later then I thought.
The nurse came back in. I don't know what time it is, but I'm still holding her hand. She's comfortable so he leaves and I go back to my thoughts. As I start to drift off to sleep this song, There is a Redeemer, started going through my head:
"thank you oh my father,
For giving us your Son.
And for leaving your Spirit,
Til your work on earth is done."
Random enough, but I found myself singing it over and over.
I pondered Mamaw's last words to all of us, "tell the grandkids to be good to each other and to love each other."
Now it's six am Sunday morning. Mom and I are both very confused about the time change. I watched as Mom read Mamaw her Bible, her devotional, and prayed with her. Sunday is such a blur of visitors, changes, and emotions. Sunday night, it became very obvious that Mamaw would not be with us here much longer. That same wonderful nurse had the night shift. He encouraged us to sleep. I just couldn't. I held her hand again and reminded myself to breathe during the pauses that she didn't.
My racing thoughts now turned from memories to faith. A faith that Mamaw lived all of the time. I thought about how much God was there. His work was all over Mamaw and everything around us. I saw God in my rockstar sister in law, Sarah. She managed to seamlessly take care of Micah, Annalee, and all of us while very much grieving herself. God was with each visitor as they walked in with food, encouragement, and most of all love. God was allowing us to read the scrapbook to Mamaw so she at least got to hear how grateful we all are for her life. God kept Mamaw from being in significant pain. God allowed Papaw to sit beside her as she journeyed away from this life. God allowed the immediate family members time with her, and got us all home. Looking back, I see His fingerprints everywhere.
Mamaw died at 11:02 Monday morning. Surrounded by her family, with a room full of people, she simply stopped breathing.
"Thank you Oh my Father,
For giving us your Son,
And for leaving your Spirit,
Her work on earth is done."
We are all so worried about Papaw. He told all of us that they were married for sixty six years, two months, and seven days. He is sad and grieving. This morning, however, he tells me, "I'm just looking to do God's will." He is forever a follower of Christ. His work, for whatever reason, is meant to continue and he can already acknowledge that.
Yet again, I see God. I will never stop learning from God or from Papaw.
I too want to seek God's will. I can't shake the feeling that, for all of us, it really is later then we think.
Maranatha!
Saturday, November 12, 2011
Tuesday, October 04, 2011
The Animals
Something about petting that crazy chicken today made me laugh. Reading Rachel's comment about catching the cat reminded me of so many stories. I've worked several jobs since college, but each have involved making home visits. Because of this, I've accumulated quite a few animal stories. Because I need to giggle and take a trip down memory lane, I'll share a few stories with you.
My first crazy encounter of the animal kind occurred when I was working as a crisis counselor for flood victims. This is also when I learned to always, always, take a 360 look around a home when I first walk in. Oh my, how naive I was just out of college. :-) Anyways, I walked inside this trailer and I was looking at the male owner sitting on his couch across the front door. I had a wall behind me. I did notice these crazy looking fish to my right. I started to hear this noise behind me, this scratch, scratch noise. Then I heard something moving, something squeaky. I looked at my partner who was facing the wall behind me and I noticed that his eyes were huge. I debated turning around. Part of me didn't want to know. Finally I slowly did and to my horror, there were mice cages stacked the length of the wall from floor to ceiling. The man obviously noticed us, noticing his mice. I very calmly asked him why he would have so many. He said he had them to feed his snakes and his fish. Somehow, I knew not to ask or say another thing. My partner didn't. He asked if he really fed the fish those mice. The man said, "Sure I do, here I'll show you." Then he did. I tried not to watch. I didn't want to see, but like all train wrecks, my eyes veered that direction. Sure enough, those dumb fish were eating that poor mouse.
Note to self, in your next job, don't do home visits.
A few years later, I'm working with mentally ill individuals. I have a wonderful schizophrenic who was not going to be returning home for a long time. Somehow, I was tasked with taking her cat to the shelter. I was blessed with my dear friend Rachel, who I managed to talk into assisting me with this task. This cat HATED people. We tried being nice. I promise we did. By my recollection, we tried treats, we tried food, we tried calling her, we tried toys, and being really quite. We ended with a broom, a blanket, a cage and a lot of screaming. We won.
Note to self, in my next job, don't voluntarily do things like this.
Flash forward a few more years, now I'm at hospice. I'm talking to this lady about her mom's death. Her mom, who had died a few hours before, is laying in the hospital bed beside us. I'm trying to convince this nice lady that she has to let her mom go to a funeral home. (A whole other story). Suddenly I feel this pain, shoot up from my ankle. I raise my leg and there is this dog, hanging off the back of my leg. I had no idea the Yorkie was there and suddenly I'm drop kicking it across the room. Not the best thing to do to a family who has just experienced a death.
Note to self, 360 glance is not enough, check under objects.
Just about a month ago, I'm sitting at a kitchen table writing some information about family members. I feel something over my shoulder. I look and I am eye to eye with a mastiff. He snorts in my face and lays down. Fine. Then I feel something at my feet. A bull dog has decided that my cute shoe must be eaten, while I'm wearing them. I try not to call attention to this as the daughter of my patient is crying. I move my feet. I push the dog away. I finally take off my shoes and put them behind me. That's when the dog licked the bottom of my feet. I shrieked because it tickled and almost jumped into my nurses lap. I had to then explain why I was barefoot.
Note to self, just wear my sketchers. Forget that I own any other shoes.
Let me fast forward through chasing a dog down the street, inheriting our current dog Mocha from a schizophrenic, a snake, and a random collection of dead sea animals in aquariums full of formaldehyde.
Now, all my lessons learned lead me to today. I walk in the home. My 360 glance does not immediately send off any red flags. But wait, what is that on the back porch under the table? Yep, it's a chicken. Second glance. Chickens. OK, because of another long story that involves me running from two chickens while a patients husband watched on security cameras, I'm not a fan of chickens. But, I'm wearing my sketchers and they are on the back porch, I'll be fine. My nurse arrives and I, knowing she doesn't adhere to my 360 rule, quietly point out the chickens. The son sees her glance towards the porch and starts to talk about how sweet and nice chickens are. I smile and nod. I'm still glad they are outside. He asks if I'm afraid. I make a comment about being pecked before, but really have nothing against chickens in general. I then turn and talk to my patient. I feel his son sit next to me on the couch. He is holding a big fat chicken. "Go ahead and pet her" he says. So, I do. I pet the stupid chicken sitting on the couch, in the middle of a beautiful home, in the city.
Note to self, I'd be so bored sitting in a cubicle all day.
My first crazy encounter of the animal kind occurred when I was working as a crisis counselor for flood victims. This is also when I learned to always, always, take a 360 look around a home when I first walk in. Oh my, how naive I was just out of college. :-) Anyways, I walked inside this trailer and I was looking at the male owner sitting on his couch across the front door. I had a wall behind me. I did notice these crazy looking fish to my right. I started to hear this noise behind me, this scratch, scratch noise. Then I heard something moving, something squeaky. I looked at my partner who was facing the wall behind me and I noticed that his eyes were huge. I debated turning around. Part of me didn't want to know. Finally I slowly did and to my horror, there were mice cages stacked the length of the wall from floor to ceiling. The man obviously noticed us, noticing his mice. I very calmly asked him why he would have so many. He said he had them to feed his snakes and his fish. Somehow, I knew not to ask or say another thing. My partner didn't. He asked if he really fed the fish those mice. The man said, "Sure I do, here I'll show you." Then he did. I tried not to watch. I didn't want to see, but like all train wrecks, my eyes veered that direction. Sure enough, those dumb fish were eating that poor mouse.
Note to self, in your next job, don't do home visits.
A few years later, I'm working with mentally ill individuals. I have a wonderful schizophrenic who was not going to be returning home for a long time. Somehow, I was tasked with taking her cat to the shelter. I was blessed with my dear friend Rachel, who I managed to talk into assisting me with this task. This cat HATED people. We tried being nice. I promise we did. By my recollection, we tried treats, we tried food, we tried calling her, we tried toys, and being really quite. We ended with a broom, a blanket, a cage and a lot of screaming. We won.
Note to self, in my next job, don't voluntarily do things like this.
Flash forward a few more years, now I'm at hospice. I'm talking to this lady about her mom's death. Her mom, who had died a few hours before, is laying in the hospital bed beside us. I'm trying to convince this nice lady that she has to let her mom go to a funeral home. (A whole other story). Suddenly I feel this pain, shoot up from my ankle. I raise my leg and there is this dog, hanging off the back of my leg. I had no idea the Yorkie was there and suddenly I'm drop kicking it across the room. Not the best thing to do to a family who has just experienced a death.
Note to self, 360 glance is not enough, check under objects.
Just about a month ago, I'm sitting at a kitchen table writing some information about family members. I feel something over my shoulder. I look and I am eye to eye with a mastiff. He snorts in my face and lays down. Fine. Then I feel something at my feet. A bull dog has decided that my cute shoe must be eaten, while I'm wearing them. I try not to call attention to this as the daughter of my patient is crying. I move my feet. I push the dog away. I finally take off my shoes and put them behind me. That's when the dog licked the bottom of my feet. I shrieked because it tickled and almost jumped into my nurses lap. I had to then explain why I was barefoot.
Note to self, just wear my sketchers. Forget that I own any other shoes.
Let me fast forward through chasing a dog down the street, inheriting our current dog Mocha from a schizophrenic, a snake, and a random collection of dead sea animals in aquariums full of formaldehyde.
Now, all my lessons learned lead me to today. I walk in the home. My 360 glance does not immediately send off any red flags. But wait, what is that on the back porch under the table? Yep, it's a chicken. Second glance. Chickens. OK, because of another long story that involves me running from two chickens while a patients husband watched on security cameras, I'm not a fan of chickens. But, I'm wearing my sketchers and they are on the back porch, I'll be fine. My nurse arrives and I, knowing she doesn't adhere to my 360 rule, quietly point out the chickens. The son sees her glance towards the porch and starts to talk about how sweet and nice chickens are. I smile and nod. I'm still glad they are outside. He asks if I'm afraid. I make a comment about being pecked before, but really have nothing against chickens in general. I then turn and talk to my patient. I feel his son sit next to me on the couch. He is holding a big fat chicken. "Go ahead and pet her" he says. So, I do. I pet the stupid chicken sitting on the couch, in the middle of a beautiful home, in the city.
Note to self, I'd be so bored sitting in a cubicle all day.
Wednesday, August 24, 2011
Happy 2nd Birthday Micah!
Dear Micah,
I first started these letters to Natalie when she was two. I am determined to remember the little details of who you all are at each age. You are absolutely a little man.
I just left your room a minute ago. You are surrounded by stuffed animals, mostly dogs. It seems that each night you add another one to your collection. We've quickly gone from allowing nothing in your bed to hardly being able to find you amongst all the stuffed things. You threw away your pacifiers a few nights ago. We cut them so they would lose the suction. You had six in your bed and tried each one of them. You sighed and handed them to me one by one, saying "boken mama, boken." I told you we had better throw them away. You stood at the trash can and tried each of them one more time before throwing them in the trash. Then you simply said, "bye paci's" and you were done. You haven't asked for them since.
You are however, the master at delaying bedtime. I can't count how many times you ask for water or a light or the covers each night. Even when you are exhausted, you push the limits. You have learned to open your door and sneak out. Fortunately for us, you slam it closed behind you, so we find you in the hallway each time.
You have learned to count to six. When you play your toy drum you tap the sticks together and say "two, three four." We aren't sure who you have heard doing that, but Daddy is so excited. He says we need a drummer in the Buchanan family. You love all things music. At church you start singing most songs on the second chorus, like you are observing at first and don't want to sing it wrong.
When driving down the road, you always point out planes, boats, busses, bikes, and helmets. You feel the need to point to your own head each time you see a biker wearing a helmet. You love watching Curious George and think Elmo is the best. You always want music on while driving. Your favorite is Sadie Hawkins Dance, but you will allow us to play other songs that Bob and Larry (veggie tales) sing.
Wait a minute...
I'm back now, I just had to give you some water...
You know mostly all your colors. You love to point at everything and tell us what color it is. I think I have to give credit to daycare for this. You knew most of them before we even realized it.
You love Heidi! She is your favorite friend. I love to watch you two play and interact. It's fun to know you've had a friend since the day you were born. Heidi gave you a basketball hoop for your birthday. You love it too and always tell us you want to play with your "ball hoop."
You also love Natalie/Sissy. Everywhere she goes, you go. You've just recently started battling with her and being more assertive. For the most part though, you just really want to play with her. She is quiet protective of you and you are of her. You defend each other when time outs are given. Natalie had to go to time out the other day. You put your hand on your forehead and said, "oh no sissy!"
As you can tell, you talk ALOT. Much more then Natalie did at this age. You are articulate and so funny. You play air guitar, dance your heart out, and love to do flips in our living room.
Most of all, you are gentle and kind. You take care of all of us and our dogs. You give the biggest hugs and slobber filled kisses. You still scream "mama!!!" when I get home from work. You quietly whisper "love too" before I leave your room at night. I pray that you always maintain such a gentle spirit. It is welcoming and charming. I pray that you always hear God whispering how much he loves you and you are forever able to say to Him, "love too." I pray you grow to be a man who loves God and loves others with as much as energy as you show us all the time.
I love you so much Micah man!
Good night!
I first started these letters to Natalie when she was two. I am determined to remember the little details of who you all are at each age. You are absolutely a little man.
I just left your room a minute ago. You are surrounded by stuffed animals, mostly dogs. It seems that each night you add another one to your collection. We've quickly gone from allowing nothing in your bed to hardly being able to find you amongst all the stuffed things. You threw away your pacifiers a few nights ago. We cut them so they would lose the suction. You had six in your bed and tried each one of them. You sighed and handed them to me one by one, saying "boken mama, boken." I told you we had better throw them away. You stood at the trash can and tried each of them one more time before throwing them in the trash. Then you simply said, "bye paci's" and you were done. You haven't asked for them since.
You are however, the master at delaying bedtime. I can't count how many times you ask for water or a light or the covers each night. Even when you are exhausted, you push the limits. You have learned to open your door and sneak out. Fortunately for us, you slam it closed behind you, so we find you in the hallway each time.
You have learned to count to six. When you play your toy drum you tap the sticks together and say "two, three four." We aren't sure who you have heard doing that, but Daddy is so excited. He says we need a drummer in the Buchanan family. You love all things music. At church you start singing most songs on the second chorus, like you are observing at first and don't want to sing it wrong.
When driving down the road, you always point out planes, boats, busses, bikes, and helmets. You feel the need to point to your own head each time you see a biker wearing a helmet. You love watching Curious George and think Elmo is the best. You always want music on while driving. Your favorite is Sadie Hawkins Dance, but you will allow us to play other songs that Bob and Larry (veggie tales) sing.
Wait a minute...
I'm back now, I just had to give you some water...
You know mostly all your colors. You love to point at everything and tell us what color it is. I think I have to give credit to daycare for this. You knew most of them before we even realized it.
You love Heidi! She is your favorite friend. I love to watch you two play and interact. It's fun to know you've had a friend since the day you were born. Heidi gave you a basketball hoop for your birthday. You love it too and always tell us you want to play with your "ball hoop."
You also love Natalie/Sissy. Everywhere she goes, you go. You've just recently started battling with her and being more assertive. For the most part though, you just really want to play with her. She is quiet protective of you and you are of her. You defend each other when time outs are given. Natalie had to go to time out the other day. You put your hand on your forehead and said, "oh no sissy!"
As you can tell, you talk ALOT. Much more then Natalie did at this age. You are articulate and so funny. You play air guitar, dance your heart out, and love to do flips in our living room.
Most of all, you are gentle and kind. You take care of all of us and our dogs. You give the biggest hugs and slobber filled kisses. You still scream "mama!!!" when I get home from work. You quietly whisper "love too" before I leave your room at night. I pray that you always maintain such a gentle spirit. It is welcoming and charming. I pray that you always hear God whispering how much he loves you and you are forever able to say to Him, "love too." I pray you grow to be a man who loves God and loves others with as much as energy as you show us all the time.
I love you so much Micah man!
Good night!
Thursday, August 18, 2011
Kindergarten
I stood in the dressing room with Natalie tonight, watching her strike pose after pose while she tried on new outfits for Kindergarten. She kept calling me "darling". She was cracking herself up and chattering on and on about her new school.
She is so very excited. I am too. I just keep wondering how it's possible that she is this old? I know every parent feels this way. I know all of us say that time goes by too fast and we blink and they are grown. I've tried so hard to soak up the moments with her and yet, I was simply awe struck tonight by the idea of kindergarten. Here it is, the school schedules, the routine, the homework, the friends, lunches, and drama. I know she is ready. I'm not so sure that Chris and I are. In fact, I think I'm scared. I'm afraid she won't have something she needs or we will forget to tell her something. I'm afraid I'll somehow set her up to get picked on. I'm hoping these feelings are normal, right? I know I can't shelter her from everything. And I know despite our best efforts, some kid out there will be mean to her at some point. I know she has to go.
I also know I'm grateful for this beautiful little girl that she is now. I'm just not so sure how to drop her off into this whole new world.
"Darling," says Natalie.
I snap back from my racing thoughts to see her with her nose to the mirror making a smashed face against it.
"Yes, Natalie?"
"Did you know I can see three of me in these mirrors unless I smash my face like this, then I can only see one?"
I laugh at her and think that's how I feel right now. All smashed up against this new venture. I step away and see my baby girl in my arms, my teenage girl in the mirror, and this beautiful Kindergartner right in front of me.
"I see all three of you darling. All of the time."
She is so very excited. I am too. I just keep wondering how it's possible that she is this old? I know every parent feels this way. I know all of us say that time goes by too fast and we blink and they are grown. I've tried so hard to soak up the moments with her and yet, I was simply awe struck tonight by the idea of kindergarten. Here it is, the school schedules, the routine, the homework, the friends, lunches, and drama. I know she is ready. I'm not so sure that Chris and I are. In fact, I think I'm scared. I'm afraid she won't have something she needs or we will forget to tell her something. I'm afraid I'll somehow set her up to get picked on. I'm hoping these feelings are normal, right? I know I can't shelter her from everything. And I know despite our best efforts, some kid out there will be mean to her at some point. I know she has to go.
I also know I'm grateful for this beautiful little girl that she is now. I'm just not so sure how to drop her off into this whole new world.
"Darling," says Natalie.
I snap back from my racing thoughts to see her with her nose to the mirror making a smashed face against it.
"Yes, Natalie?"
"Did you know I can see three of me in these mirrors unless I smash my face like this, then I can only see one?"
I laugh at her and think that's how I feel right now. All smashed up against this new venture. I step away and see my baby girl in my arms, my teenage girl in the mirror, and this beautiful Kindergartner right in front of me.
"I see all three of you darling. All of the time."
Thursday, August 04, 2011
The Job
I hardly ever look because I really don't want to know the number. But tonight I did, I looked at the obituaries. One of my patients had a sweet wife who blogged regularly about their journey. Her last blog entry was a link to his obituary. So, against my better judgement, I clicked on the link.
I knew three tonight on the death notice list. So I read all three and laughed at some of the details I already knew. We have had a lot of deaths this week on our little team. Today I could feel the impact in the room as everyone suddenly got tearful. I don't cry much, but today was hard.
It is hard because we had some long time patients that died. Hard because we had some ethical issues that I still haven't sorted out in my mind. Hard because we have had an amazingly high number of young patients with young children. Hard because of good questions without good answers. Hard because the job is so fast paced there is absolutely no time to sit and process anything. Hard simply because it is a hard job.
I ended the day talking to the spouse of another young patient. I choked back tears as he discussed her now very rapid decline. He is always so calm and organized. He discussed their daughters. He was discussing some of their behaviors and I gently pointed out they were being very "girl" in some ways. I told him a couple of things about girls that I could honestly tell he didn't really know. He's a really good dad and my heart broke as we talked. This is the kind of thing his wife would have told him, if she wasn't so sick. Although that thought was never spoken between us, it didn't have to be. Our call wrapped up with a scheduled visit for me to see those precious girls again. He told me that one of the daughters asked him why this would happen to their mom if God is supposedly good. We joked that we were glad our chaplain is joining me during the next visit. Then, I asked him some questions and suggested she is only asking what most adults are thinking. For the first time, I heard the emotion in his voice when he agreed. For a while, I just listened. They are strong Christians, so we talked briefly about the Bible. I gently posed the thought that God hates death too, which is why He sent Jesus to conquer it. This husband agreed.
Hard because it just is. Hard because God is good even when nothing around us feels like it.
Hard because we still live on this side of His soon coming Kingdom...
I knew three tonight on the death notice list. So I read all three and laughed at some of the details I already knew. We have had a lot of deaths this week on our little team. Today I could feel the impact in the room as everyone suddenly got tearful. I don't cry much, but today was hard.
It is hard because we had some long time patients that died. Hard because we had some ethical issues that I still haven't sorted out in my mind. Hard because we have had an amazingly high number of young patients with young children. Hard because of good questions without good answers. Hard because the job is so fast paced there is absolutely no time to sit and process anything. Hard simply because it is a hard job.
I ended the day talking to the spouse of another young patient. I choked back tears as he discussed her now very rapid decline. He is always so calm and organized. He discussed their daughters. He was discussing some of their behaviors and I gently pointed out they were being very "girl" in some ways. I told him a couple of things about girls that I could honestly tell he didn't really know. He's a really good dad and my heart broke as we talked. This is the kind of thing his wife would have told him, if she wasn't so sick. Although that thought was never spoken between us, it didn't have to be. Our call wrapped up with a scheduled visit for me to see those precious girls again. He told me that one of the daughters asked him why this would happen to their mom if God is supposedly good. We joked that we were glad our chaplain is joining me during the next visit. Then, I asked him some questions and suggested she is only asking what most adults are thinking. For the first time, I heard the emotion in his voice when he agreed. For a while, I just listened. They are strong Christians, so we talked briefly about the Bible. I gently posed the thought that God hates death too, which is why He sent Jesus to conquer it. This husband agreed.
Hard because it just is. Hard because God is good even when nothing around us feels like it.
Hard because we still live on this side of His soon coming Kingdom...
Friday, July 01, 2011
Today She is Five
In keeping with tradition, I'm going to share some thoughts today that are all about Natalie on the day she turned five.
Dear Natalie,
I am writing this from our hotel balcony listening to the ocean waves. You have been counting down for months to your birthday this year. I asked you what you wanted to do and you said, "I want to go to the beach and stay for days." You look just like your Daddy, but statements like these make me know you are all mine too.
It's been a big year for you. You have graduated from VPK and have learned so much. You can add and subtract. You know how to read several words, and have become very quick at 100 piece puzzles.
You played your first year of soccer and were really good. I'll never forget how aggressive and competitive you are. One day when the coach from the other team lined his girl up right in front of you, you leaned around her shoulder and said, "I can still see the ball." I was shocked and proud all in the same moment. You also love to dance. You couldn't wait for your recital and all that is girly. You had so much fun getting ready with Emma.
You are so very independent. If there is a possibility you can do it by yourself, then you will. You are stubborn, strong, and loud. And you have one of the most contagious laughs I have ever heard.
Daddy and I have agonized over the decision about kindergarten this year. Because you are a summer baby, I have always envisioned you going to school when you are six. However, you are more then ready now and this has only become more clear to us over the last few months. You tell everyone that you are going to kindergarten. You talk about it all the time. As much as you are ready, I am sure I am not. But like all things you, it's coming whether I'm ready or not.
You are good to Micah. He can push you to the limits, but you help him. It makes my heart smile every time you say, "come on little buddy" and do something kind with Micah.
You remain a Daddy's girl and probably will be for forever. I'm really fine with that. We have started weekly "girls talk" in your room. One night a week I lay in your room for a while after bed time and we talk about any and everything. I've learned more about you in those twenty minutes then I do all day. You have close friends, secrets, hurts, fears, and even dreams. I hope that we can pray and talk through them all.
All day today, you have said you are five. You commented that it doesn't feel much different then four yet. For today, I know it doesn't. Somehow, life ends of being a series of days that don't feel much different from the other until we look up and see a lifetime. Five feels so different to me. The sand castle Daddy and you made this morning was washed away by the tide tonight. Watching the ocean always reminds me that nothing ever stays the same. As hard as it is, I want you to grow, I want you to change, I want you to live and love with all that God has given to you. This year too will come and go but you will be different still. As much as I try to soak up all the days with you, I'm often left wondering where the sand castle went. I constantly have to remind myself to be in awe of the little girl you are today and not look back to figure out how it all went by so fast. Four is not that much different then five. It's just a day. A day we spent together. Loving each other forever, for always, no matter what.
It's important to know that a few things in life, like love, never change.
I love you!
Mommy
Dear Natalie,
I am writing this from our hotel balcony listening to the ocean waves. You have been counting down for months to your birthday this year. I asked you what you wanted to do and you said, "I want to go to the beach and stay for days." You look just like your Daddy, but statements like these make me know you are all mine too.
It's been a big year for you. You have graduated from VPK and have learned so much. You can add and subtract. You know how to read several words, and have become very quick at 100 piece puzzles.
You played your first year of soccer and were really good. I'll never forget how aggressive and competitive you are. One day when the coach from the other team lined his girl up right in front of you, you leaned around her shoulder and said, "I can still see the ball." I was shocked and proud all in the same moment. You also love to dance. You couldn't wait for your recital and all that is girly. You had so much fun getting ready with Emma.
You are so very independent. If there is a possibility you can do it by yourself, then you will. You are stubborn, strong, and loud. And you have one of the most contagious laughs I have ever heard.
Daddy and I have agonized over the decision about kindergarten this year. Because you are a summer baby, I have always envisioned you going to school when you are six. However, you are more then ready now and this has only become more clear to us over the last few months. You tell everyone that you are going to kindergarten. You talk about it all the time. As much as you are ready, I am sure I am not. But like all things you, it's coming whether I'm ready or not.
You are good to Micah. He can push you to the limits, but you help him. It makes my heart smile every time you say, "come on little buddy" and do something kind with Micah.
You remain a Daddy's girl and probably will be for forever. I'm really fine with that. We have started weekly "girls talk" in your room. One night a week I lay in your room for a while after bed time and we talk about any and everything. I've learned more about you in those twenty minutes then I do all day. You have close friends, secrets, hurts, fears, and even dreams. I hope that we can pray and talk through them all.
All day today, you have said you are five. You commented that it doesn't feel much different then four yet. For today, I know it doesn't. Somehow, life ends of being a series of days that don't feel much different from the other until we look up and see a lifetime. Five feels so different to me. The sand castle Daddy and you made this morning was washed away by the tide tonight. Watching the ocean always reminds me that nothing ever stays the same. As hard as it is, I want you to grow, I want you to change, I want you to live and love with all that God has given to you. This year too will come and go but you will be different still. As much as I try to soak up all the days with you, I'm often left wondering where the sand castle went. I constantly have to remind myself to be in awe of the little girl you are today and not look back to figure out how it all went by so fast. Four is not that much different then five. It's just a day. A day we spent together. Loving each other forever, for always, no matter what.
It's important to know that a few things in life, like love, never change.
I love you!
Mommy
Monday, April 25, 2011
Forever
A patient died today that I will remember for the rest of my life. I meet so many new people for brief periods of time, that it is not possible to remember them all. But there are a few who manage to make a deep, lasting, impact on my life. She was certainly one of them.
She believed, believed, believed, that she was going to get a miracle. Actually, she would have been mad if I said it like that. She believed she already had a miracle healing and she was just waiting for the rest of us to know too. She had this incredible faith in God and was convinced that He would grant her this healing.
And I wanted to believe.
I did.
I discussed her prognosis. I reviewed advanced directive planning. I begged her to allow our hospice chaplain to visit. I talked with him when she wouldn't. As she claimed Bible versus for healing, I suggested versus like Ecclesiastes, and "a time for everything." I asked her if there was any room in her faith to believe that God will grant her the miracle on the other side of eternity. She informed me, very politely, absolutely not. He was going to heal her. After every visit, I left, said a prayer and hoped against all odds she would indeed get her miracle.
One particular visit, she was in obvious pain, getting weaker, and was just not well. I talked with her caregiver and with the patient about all kinds of topics. I again, allowed her to share her faith with me. I just listened. I finally asked her again why completing a living will would be denying her faith. I reasoned that even Christians die, of something, and if she got her miracle, she would still need the living will eventually. I think to simply make me stop talking about it, she agreed to complete it. Then they discussed the Israelites in the wilderness. My patient's caregiver described various situations where she too was "in the wilderness." She said she was not going to complain in the wilderness because then God would not allow her to see the promise land. Every time, she said, that I just keep moving, God gives me something greater then I could imagine. More beautiful, bigger, brighter, and better then I even asked for. So, they are not going to complain in this wilderness.
I gave them both a hug and told them to call. I checked on her the next week and I could tell she was dying. I knew in my heart she would not live more then a week, unless she got her miracle. That was a week ago today.
As I got to know her better, I realized the reason she so desperately wanted this miracle had very little to do with her. She wanted it for her children, so they would return to the Lord and be saved. She wanted it to prove to them that there is a God. Her physical healing was secondary to their spiritual healing.
Days like today, I have to believe in a promise land. I have to cling to the knowledge that God will give her something greater then she asked or imagined. And because God works all things for the good of those who love him, I have to believe that He knows the best way to draw her children, His children to Himself. It made perfect sense to me that a miracle would convince them. Lucky for all of us that I'm not the Savior. Sometimes we are so grateful for the grace, we forget to praise Him for the mercy. I believe Jesus cried at Lazarus' grave because he knew Lazarus would die again. He knew this whole scene would happen again. And He hates death. Hates it. Which is why He came and He conquered it.
So she will stay with me. Her memory will be one that I think back on and ponder. She is also one that I am super excited to see again. When Jesus finally does return, I want to see her well and healed. I'm praying I'll get to see her real miracle:
I'm hoping I'll meet her children standing next to her.
"we pray for healing, prosperity, we pray for your might hand to ease our suffering,
but all the while, you hear each spoken need,
yet love us way to much to give us lesser things.
What if your blessing come through raindrops
what if your healing comes through tears
what if a thousand sleepless nights are what it takes to know your near
what if trials of this life are your mercies in disguise?
When friends betray us
when darkness seems to win
we know, the pain reminds this heart,
that this is not our home." ~Laura Story
She believed, believed, believed, that she was going to get a miracle. Actually, she would have been mad if I said it like that. She believed she already had a miracle healing and she was just waiting for the rest of us to know too. She had this incredible faith in God and was convinced that He would grant her this healing.
And I wanted to believe.
I did.
I discussed her prognosis. I reviewed advanced directive planning. I begged her to allow our hospice chaplain to visit. I talked with him when she wouldn't. As she claimed Bible versus for healing, I suggested versus like Ecclesiastes, and "a time for everything." I asked her if there was any room in her faith to believe that God will grant her the miracle on the other side of eternity. She informed me, very politely, absolutely not. He was going to heal her. After every visit, I left, said a prayer and hoped against all odds she would indeed get her miracle.
One particular visit, she was in obvious pain, getting weaker, and was just not well. I talked with her caregiver and with the patient about all kinds of topics. I again, allowed her to share her faith with me. I just listened. I finally asked her again why completing a living will would be denying her faith. I reasoned that even Christians die, of something, and if she got her miracle, she would still need the living will eventually. I think to simply make me stop talking about it, she agreed to complete it. Then they discussed the Israelites in the wilderness. My patient's caregiver described various situations where she too was "in the wilderness." She said she was not going to complain in the wilderness because then God would not allow her to see the promise land. Every time, she said, that I just keep moving, God gives me something greater then I could imagine. More beautiful, bigger, brighter, and better then I even asked for. So, they are not going to complain in this wilderness.
I gave them both a hug and told them to call. I checked on her the next week and I could tell she was dying. I knew in my heart she would not live more then a week, unless she got her miracle. That was a week ago today.
As I got to know her better, I realized the reason she so desperately wanted this miracle had very little to do with her. She wanted it for her children, so they would return to the Lord and be saved. She wanted it to prove to them that there is a God. Her physical healing was secondary to their spiritual healing.
Days like today, I have to believe in a promise land. I have to cling to the knowledge that God will give her something greater then she asked or imagined. And because God works all things for the good of those who love him, I have to believe that He knows the best way to draw her children, His children to Himself. It made perfect sense to me that a miracle would convince them. Lucky for all of us that I'm not the Savior. Sometimes we are so grateful for the grace, we forget to praise Him for the mercy. I believe Jesus cried at Lazarus' grave because he knew Lazarus would die again. He knew this whole scene would happen again. And He hates death. Hates it. Which is why He came and He conquered it.
So she will stay with me. Her memory will be one that I think back on and ponder. She is also one that I am super excited to see again. When Jesus finally does return, I want to see her well and healed. I'm praying I'll get to see her real miracle:
I'm hoping I'll meet her children standing next to her.
"we pray for healing, prosperity, we pray for your might hand to ease our suffering,
but all the while, you hear each spoken need,
yet love us way to much to give us lesser things.
What if your blessing come through raindrops
what if your healing comes through tears
what if a thousand sleepless nights are what it takes to know your near
what if trials of this life are your mercies in disguise?
When friends betray us
when darkness seems to win
we know, the pain reminds this heart,
that this is not our home." ~Laura Story
Tuesday, April 12, 2011
My Wish
When I was pregnant with Natalie, I became a bit of a country music fan. As a result I listened to a lot of Rascal Flatts music before she was born. After I had Natalie we learned she could cry and scream loud. We also discovered that anytime we played the Rascal Flatt's song, My Wish, she would instantly quiet down. I mean immediately. We had a copy of the CD in each car and in the house. She fell asleep to it every night. It was like magic. Recently, Natalie heard me singing Jesus Loves Me to Micah as I was putting him to bed. She asked me what her "good night" song was. And I started singing, My Wish. It's easily been years since I sang it to her, but without missing a beat, she started singing the words with me. Even she looked surprised that she knew it.
My wish for you
Is that this life becomes all that you want it to
Your dreams stay big
Your worries stay small
You never need to carry more then you can hold.
And while your out there gettin where your gettin to
I hope you know somebody loves you
And wants the same things to
Yeah, this is my wish.
Recently I've had a lot of hospice patients who are very much alone. To a certain extent, I believe most of my patients have a sense of loneliness even when they are surrounded by dozens of loved ones. But in a room full of people, they still have to walk this journey alone. No one is going with them. It's something patients talk about, something they discuss in quiet, still moments.
The last few weeks, thanks to a much lower caseload, I've sat at bedsides longer and absorbed more of their stories. I've listened a lot and felt more like a social worker. I've ached as those who don't have a room full of people talk about their loneliness. How must if feel to only be taken care of by someone you are paying to do so?
One patient who has lost the use of his arms asked me to just bend his arm for a minute. He described how good it felt to bend it at the elbow after being still for a few hours. I asked him why he didn't ask his caregiver to bend his arm more often. He didn't want to bother her. How must it feel to ask someone to bend your arms?
I've assessed for all the natural supports, the family, the friends, spiritual support. Family is always a story. She told me her son comes when she calls, but his wife hates her, so she only calls when she has to. I reframe that this situation she was describing would qualify as a "has to." She says no. How must it feel to not call your only son when you are dying because it is not important enough to communicate to him?
I ask another patient about his friends. They used to be everywhere helping him. Now they are scared. They don't understand and they don't want to be responsible for his care. How must it feel to pay a stranger to be present when your best friend runs?
I just listen and listen and listen. I reframe, I encourage, I hug, I bend an elbow, I sit, I am present. More then anything, just simply, present.
Tonight, tucking Natalie in, she says I'll sing to you tonight.
"My wish for you"
I am struck by the brightness of her blue eyes and the slight way she has her head turned
"Is that this life becomes all that you want it to"
I want to not ever be that alone. I want the room full of family and friends. I want to always have a relationship with her and never know the pain of being estranged from my children.
...."and that you know somebody loves you."
Her eyes are a little sleepier and she lays her head on her pillow. I kiss her with tears in my eyes. I tell her I love her and that I'll see her at breakfast.
And as I walk out, I sing a line the to second verse,
"may you find God's grace in every mistake and give more then you take."
May she never know the deafness of an empty room. Ever.
How must it feel to be loved in the final moments of this life?
To love and be loved, that, is my wish.
My wish for you
Is that this life becomes all that you want it to
Your dreams stay big
Your worries stay small
You never need to carry more then you can hold.
And while your out there gettin where your gettin to
I hope you know somebody loves you
And wants the same things to
Yeah, this is my wish.
Recently I've had a lot of hospice patients who are very much alone. To a certain extent, I believe most of my patients have a sense of loneliness even when they are surrounded by dozens of loved ones. But in a room full of people, they still have to walk this journey alone. No one is going with them. It's something patients talk about, something they discuss in quiet, still moments.
The last few weeks, thanks to a much lower caseload, I've sat at bedsides longer and absorbed more of their stories. I've listened a lot and felt more like a social worker. I've ached as those who don't have a room full of people talk about their loneliness. How must if feel to only be taken care of by someone you are paying to do so?
One patient who has lost the use of his arms asked me to just bend his arm for a minute. He described how good it felt to bend it at the elbow after being still for a few hours. I asked him why he didn't ask his caregiver to bend his arm more often. He didn't want to bother her. How must it feel to ask someone to bend your arms?
I've assessed for all the natural supports, the family, the friends, spiritual support. Family is always a story. She told me her son comes when she calls, but his wife hates her, so she only calls when she has to. I reframe that this situation she was describing would qualify as a "has to." She says no. How must it feel to not call your only son when you are dying because it is not important enough to communicate to him?
I ask another patient about his friends. They used to be everywhere helping him. Now they are scared. They don't understand and they don't want to be responsible for his care. How must it feel to pay a stranger to be present when your best friend runs?
I just listen and listen and listen. I reframe, I encourage, I hug, I bend an elbow, I sit, I am present. More then anything, just simply, present.
Tonight, tucking Natalie in, she says I'll sing to you tonight.
"My wish for you"
I am struck by the brightness of her blue eyes and the slight way she has her head turned
"Is that this life becomes all that you want it to"
I want to not ever be that alone. I want the room full of family and friends. I want to always have a relationship with her and never know the pain of being estranged from my children.
...."and that you know somebody loves you."
Her eyes are a little sleepier and she lays her head on her pillow. I kiss her with tears in my eyes. I tell her I love her and that I'll see her at breakfast.
And as I walk out, I sing a line the to second verse,
"may you find God's grace in every mistake and give more then you take."
May she never know the deafness of an empty room. Ever.
How must it feel to be loved in the final moments of this life?
To love and be loved, that, is my wish.
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