Life Growing Up - Part 21

A new year begins! How can life be blazing past us so fast? It was just yesterday that I was feeling the birth pangs before giving birth to my only child. No, wait a minute; it was just yesterday I was holding my new grandson, staring in to his deep blue eyes. Where has the time gone? It's so true what the Bible says about life being "but a vapor" and then it's gone. While some days drag on as if they last more than 24 hours, these past few years seem like they lasted only moments. I stare in the mirror and watch the years take their toll on my face and my ever-expanding figure. Not to worry, I tell myself. This body isn't going to heaven anyway! This body has seen a lot of hard work over the past 50 years. I love it though. Physically hard work suits me, or at least in my mind it does. My body can't take the heavy lifting and intense yard work that I try to convince myself that it can these days. I have to pace myself unlike when I was in my 20's and 30's. It seemed like one day I just woke up and began to be sore everyday after that first painful morning. What's up with that? I'm not sure why I like hard work, but from the time I left home at 16 until now, at 50, I jump in to physical work as if I was competing for a trophy or ribbon. I can remember the miles of fieldwork I did as a new bride with my husband's German family. There would be acres and acres, rows and rows of produce for us to harvest and I would attack it as if it was a race with a prize. I had the stamina to go from sun up to sun down, sleeping in the back of a station wagon. Get up the next morning, and do it all over again. Today, if I have a plan for a new flowerbed or a change in the garden, I'm up early with plans in hand ready to turn the yard upside down, but I have to sleep in my comfortable bed. Working the fields at 16 was not what I had envisioned for my life at that age. I wanted to finish school, go to college and become an oceanographer or a forest ranger. Instead, the smell of onions was imbedded in my hands after a season of working the onion fields. I felt so trapped, yet so relieved to be away from an abusive father and un-supportive family. From the day I stepped out of that house I felt such an overwhelming relief that I wept driving most of the way to Oregon while listening to songs that had reminded me of breaking free and being on my own. I didn't know back then that God had a plan for my life. At the age of 16, I was like a fox let out of a cage that was held captive in fear and pain. As soon as the door was opened, I fled and never looked back. I wonder sometime what God was thinking back then about the condition of my heart. Did he see it as moldable clay, or as a rock that needed to be pulverized? As I was running free in search of a new life, I was piling up and packing up the hard clay to surround my heart to protect it. Never again was I going to let anyone hurt me or rule me with a heavy hand like my dad did. What I didn't know that I was doing was building a fortress around my heart so that the only people that I would let in would enter in on my terms only. I built standards so high that not even I measured up to them. I was constantly failing at being better than my parents. I tried reading books on raising kids, which helped me raise my son, but what I should have been reading about was forgiveness, and moving forward after forgiving someone. It wasn't until my brother shared with me his own heart transformation did I realize that until I gave over the anger and hate to God that I carried towards my parents that I would never be able to live with a happy heart. Many nights after working in the fields all day I would walk out to the middle of the field, look up to the night sky and cry out to God; "Why didn't my parents love me?" What was so wrong with me that they didn't love me? It was then I started the quest to prove to them and myself that I was lovable and able to find someone to love me. The only problem was is that I didn't know what real love looked like. To me it was hugs and verbal affirmation, praise for a job well done, compliments on my abilities or my looks. Attention to what I was doing, being a people pleaser. I had it all wrong, but I was determined to find the love that I was denied as a child. It was like a quest for a rare treasure that continued to elude me. I saw love in action and witnessed it first hand on many levels from my friends, co-workers and couples, but I had no clue how all those different kinds of love were to be a part of my life. Relationship after crazy relationship only prove to frustrate me and complicate life. Even after becoming a Christian I seemed to attract everything but another Christian man. Finally a wall went up so high to block out the hurt that I blinded myself to seeing what God wanted me to learn. While I was working for my church in Oregon some 20 years later, a woman missionary came to speak to the women of our church at a three-day conference. Her husband had been killed while they were in Ecuador by the very people that they tried to help. She had shared with us how she had felt driven to return to Ecuador and share the gospel with the very people who had killed the love of her life. I sat there listening in shock as her story unfolded. I was sure that she was going to tell us that she was on a secret mission to seek the men out that took her beloved and kill them in her anger. Instead she told of how she grew to love the people in that village so much so that she gave up all that she had here in America, moved to Ecuador, and lived there until the entire village became saved. She shared story after story of people in the village who grew to love her and the God that she worshipped. She must have seen the shock on my face during her conference, for when I went up to her to have her autograph a book she looked me square in the eye and said. "Love is an action." "Make 1 Corinthians 13 active in your life and you will know what love really is." Again I was shocked, but took her words to heart and began to study the passage as much as I could. It took several years for me to get it, but I finally put all the pieces together and began to live love as an action in my life. Unfortunately at the time I was in a marriage that was not accepting of my love. It seemed like the more that I tried to show the right kind of love the more it was rejected. Little did I know it was because of infidelity that my love was scorned. Once again I was facing being alone, but this time I finally knew what love was suppose to look like.

After moving to Colorado I was hoping that God would bring someone along for me to love and to be loved in God's righteousness. Online dating seemed a safe way to go about weeding out potential dating partners, and my roommate seemed to have pretty good prospects with her experiences that I gave it a try. Date after date tired me of all the men seeking sex and not love. I could tell by just a first date for dessert, or coffee what was his agenda by listening to him talk. I was quite shocked by the forwardness of some men and quickly ended the date. I got so tired of the lies about their age or their weight online only to find that they miscalculated by several pounds or by posting older pictures of themselves in order to attract women. I would only date men who had checked "Christian, or "seeking God", but quickly found out that this was checked by most men in error. After a few set-ups by my friends or roommates, I decided that dating was not for me. I would just continue as single until that special person came along at the leading of God himself. The last week with an online dating service I was going through and deleting several messages from men when I had noticed a "wink" from a guy named "Dave". I'm not sure what made me go to his profile, but after seeing him sitting there with his young daughter on his lap I thought to myself, "I'll just say hello and maybe he won't respond and I will be done." Dave immediately responded back and we began to email with questions and comments about each other's profiles. He seemed genuine and different so I agreed to talk with him on the phone. He had already had one other person besides me to meet but wanted to meet later in the week because he liked what my profile said. I thought to myself, why not. Maybe we could become friends and leave it at that. I was still seeing a few people from previous meetings, but held them as friends only. Dave and I had agreed to meet the following Tuesday, but I didn't have high hopes because I was second in line. I went about the week not expecting to hear from Dave and just spending time with my friends. Tuesday came along with anticipations of all that Dave had said turning out to be more lies. I was pleasantly surprised when he came to pick me up for our date that night. Dave looked just like his pictures and had a polite disposition. I was pleased to say the least as we talked over dinner and shared our stories. I was cautious at first and asked more questions then I shared. Dave probably thought that he was being interrogated, but he answered without hesitation all of my questions. He too was pleased that I looked like my profile pictures and was true to what I had posted. Apparently he had also experienced the lies and misconceptions from women posting the same kinds of things that I had experienced. We laughed about it all and enjoyed each other's company for the evening. I went home that night wondering if he was the one. I was done with dating and done with relationships without God's leading. I wanted it to be right and blessed by God. As I laid in bed, I thanked God for the wonderful new friend and left him in God's hand for the night. The very next day I got an email from Dave thanking me for a wonderful evening and asking if I would be interested in seeing him again later that week. He had said that not only was it was refreshing to meet someone the same age as he, but with the honesty and beauty that I possessed, and he would like to get to know me better. Wow! What a line, but it was the one that won the second date, and the third, and the fourth. Dave truly swept me off my feet with his patience, gentleness, kindness... should I just recite first Corinthians 13 here? Thanksgiving came and we were falling in love. I had to step back and ask myself, and of course invite the Lord in to the conversation; "Is this what you have planned for me, for it is glorious to my heart." I said. Dave had custody of his then seven-year-old daughter. We instantly bonded and she was a delight to be around. Her birth-mother lived out of state and wanted little to do with her own daughter, at least until I came in to the picture. Dave's ex-wife had been a closet meth addict and their marriage didn't last. The courts awarded full custody to Dave, and so they lived with little involvement from his daughter's mother. Dave asked me to marry him during the holidays, so we planned to be married the following spring. We signed up for pre-marital classes at our church and enjoyed the spiritual guidance. We had much to work out in our personal lives and with each other. We soaked up every lesson from our classes and talked constantly about what we were learning. We looked forward to raising his daughter, and growing old together. After planning our wedding in the church, we had struggles with getting both of our families together for the wedding date. It became such a hassle that we decided to get married in Hawaii on the beach at sunset instead if in the church. Neither one of us had ever been to Kauai, so it was a dream come true. We enjoyed a week of honeymoon in spite of me catching the flu and in bed for two days, but at least it was two days after we had gotten married. God has continued to bless our relationship and taken us to great depths both spiritually and personally. I would have never thought that God could use a dating website to bring two people together, but he did and we are both glad for it.

Life Growing Up - Part 20

The day broke to the sounds of the city and the smell of my new roommate's morning coffee brewing in her spacious kitchen. As I lay there in bed I could hardly believe what had just taken place of the last three days. I had packed up everything that I owned accept for my dog Zeke, and moved some 1000 miles away from where I called home for 18 years. Because of Zeke's age and poor health at the time I had to leave him with my ex-husband. We shared "custody" of Zeke, and it sounds weird to call it that. Zeke was definitely as precious and a child to me since he had been by my side for so long, but he just wasn't able to make the trip. Several months after I moved to Colorado my ex had let me know that he would have to put Zeke down because of his health deteriorating. That was a very sad day and I cried for most of it. I also thanked the Lord for allowing me the precious friend that I had in Zeke. Maybe some day I thought once I got a place of my own that I would get another dog.

I got up to welcome the day with some bright Colorado sun and clear blue sky. I bowed my head and prayed. "Lord, I am a lump of wet clay sitting on your potter's wheel." "I want to be a beautiful work of your hands that can be used for your glory." Show me where you want me. I just love that scripture in Psalms 40:1-3 that says; I waited patiently for the Lord; he inclined to me and heard my cry. He drew me up from the pit of destruction, out of the miry clay, and set my feet upon a rock, making my steps secure. He put a new song in my mouth, a song of praise to our God. Many will see and fear and put their trust in the Lord.

I have done pottery classes in the past and at one time had my own wheel thinking that I would create some fine vase or usable bowl only to be discouraged by the patience it takes to "throw clay" and make it in to something worth keeping. I am truly amazed at the masters of pottery and the way they make it look so easy. I am reminded of a visit to a china shop in San Francisco's China Town back when I was still driving a tow truck. I would often have to deliver vehicles to the bay area for folks who traveled to the city that I towed in. I would drop the vehicle at the requested shop and venture over to China town where I would feast on some real Chinese food. I had asked the manager at the restaurant where they got their beautiful china that they served on. The manager pointing his finger towards the back told me to go back and see his grandfather in the cottage behind the restaurant. I was intrigued to say the least, but not too surprised. Chinese families with many generations often share homes and businesses to help each other out. I just had to go see for my self after eating on such beautiful work who could be the artist.

Coming up to the cottage it looked as if I would find an elderly grandma knitting on the porch. The small cottage was dark cornflower blue with a small wired fence. There were scads wildflowers and rambling roses growing everywhere. It almost seemed like a picture from one of Thomas Kincaid's paintings. I walked up to the door which was slightly open, and knocked lightly so I could retreat if no one was home. There in the tiny small cottage in the back of a Chinese restaurant was a little old man, not more that four feet tall with stringy white hair and some deep wrinkles on his face. "Can I help you young lady?" The old man of about 90 said, looking up at me with a withered apple like face. "Yes, you can." I said. "I am wondering how you make the beautiful china that is in your grandson's restaurant." "Come, see shop and don't mind mess." He said in his "Mr. Miyagi" like voice. I working several projects." I walked in to see several cats sitting or sleeping and a small television playing in the room. Through his living room and in to his kitchen were pieces of china strewn all over the place. Some were on shelves stacked two feet high and some were in glass display cabinets. There were several boxes packed with plates on the floor and a table that had some beautiful vases displayed with cut flowers. No doubt the flowers were from his own garden. Thinking he would have his pottery shop in his kitchen, we continued to the back porch where he had it screened in. There in the corner sat his pottery wheel as clean as if it hadn't been used in years. The patio was full of plants with tiny Christmas lights all around. There was an old couch to sit on and a radio on with some classical music playing. "So this is it?" I asked with a little humor in my voice. "Yes, this my studio." He said proudly. "Let me show you, I make you a bowl to take home with you." He said. I was tickled to say the least and was quite excited to see how this operation that he had on his back porch could make the fine china that was in the restaurant. The little old man motion me to follow him as he picked up a bucket and went out the porch to the back yard. We went behind what I think was a large garage and to a corner of the property. I was a little confused at where we were going, but he was 90 plus and I was sure that I could out run the old guy if he tried anything. As we neared the end of the property the old man picked up a metal pry bar and motioned me to step back a little. He took the pry bar and stuck it in a ring that was attached to a cement slab. As he struggle to pry the cement lid open, I was sure that the old man was going to have a heart attack. After he managed to get the lid open and slid out of the way, the old man motioned me with his bony fingers to come closer and look down in the whole that was below us. As I leaned over, a rotten, almost sewer like odor came directly up in my range of smell. "Oh my gosh, what is that smell?" I said covering my nose. "This is the clay I use." He said scooping his bucket in the hole to bring out some of the muck. "This is what you use to make what we eat on?" I said with disgust. "Yes, best when smell is rank." He said with a grin. "Come, we take and make you bowl." "Okay." I said. I hadn't smelled something that bad since I had changed one of my son's diapers. The muck that he had was grey and slimy, and of course there was the bad odor. I couldn't fathom anything beautiful coming from such muck. Back on the porch the old man turned the bucket over on the clean wheel and sat down. He picked up another cup with some clean water and began to turn the wheel with his foot and slowly pouring the water over the clay. As the wheel turned faster and faster, the water rinsed away the smell and left behind the grey clay. He picked up the lump and rolled it in his hands and then threw it down hard on the wheel. It began to spin again. With his hands wet he cupped them over the clay and pushed hard on the center to create what would soon be a bowl. His hands worked the sides as he added more water, never letting his hands dry out. "Could you turn up radio?" He asked. "I like music to create." I turned up the radio playing the classical music. It was almost like he was creating the bowl to the rhythm of the music. I watched closely as he spun the wheel and held the clay in his hands. Pinching the sides of the clay, the walls of the bowl began to form. The old man's hand caught a grain of sand as the bowl spun. The grain of sand scored the side of the bowl. Stopping the wheel, the old man tried to retrieve the grain and apply more water to soften the side. With the wheel spinning again the old man continued to work the clay, but another grain of sand surfaced scoring the side of the bowl. Stopping his wheel, he looked a bit frustrated. Not saying a word, the old man formed the bowl in to a plate and removed it off his wheel. "This only good for plate." He said. "I get new piece, try again." I was thinking that how could such a tiny grain of sand could mess up his work, but this little old man knew what he wanted. Reaching down in to the bucket he pulled up another lump of clay. Rinsing like before to eliminate the smell, the old man washed it even more to remove any grains of sand. Once again he picked it up and threw it on the wheel and it began to spin. This time the bowl formed with no sand to score the sides. A smile was now on the old man's face, for he could see that this piece was right. He kicked and spun the wheel as his hands masterfully worked the clay. Before I knew it, the old man had a beautifully shaped bowl. With one swipe he pulled the bowl from the wheel and placed it on the shelf to dry. "Is that it?" I inquired? "No, no." He said. "We wait for air to dry bowl, then put in kiln and bake." "If no break, then you take." Come drink tea and wait." It's a good thing that I wasn't in a hurry that day. I sat with the old man and we talked about his garden and his life gone by as we waited for the clay to dry. His screened in porch was perfect as the cool San Francisco air would blow through and dry his work. The old man picked up the piece and examined it carefully. He told me as long as it had no air pockets that it would do fine in the kiln. Air pockets would cause the bowl to shatter in the intense heat of the kiln. It passed his inspection, so he applies a blue glaze and carefully set it in the middle of the kiln and closed the lid. After he had set the temperature and walked away, I looked to see how hot it was set. Some where around twelve hundred degrees Fahrenheit. That's some heat! Once the bowl was properly fired and cooled he brought it out for me to see. "How beautiful." I said. He gently wrapped the bowl in some newspaper and put it in a bag for me. I must say it was definitely worth the wait. What was once smelly miry clay was now a fine piece of chine that I could use. I thanked the old man and offered to pay him for his time. He refused and told me that my company for that afternoon was payment for him as he enjoyed having someone to talk to.

Driving home that evening I thought of the bowl and how I would always remember that little old man with such fondness. The Lord then spoke to my heart and reminded me of how I once was nothing more than stinky clay soaking in the miry pit of sin. That it was God himself who picked me up out of the pit and washed the grains of sin out of my life. That it was God who formed me even through the tough times, pushing hard to the center of my core to get me to see what He wanted to create in my life. When I was in the heat of things, He was there glazing me with His glory. That had I remained in sin, I could only be used as a simple plate, but removal of that sin caused me to be used for greater things. That it takes time for His work in my life to be revealed. What's interesting about china is that if it gets broken or no longer used it can be crushed and pulverized, put back in to the pit and then after some time be reused to make a new piece. All is not lost in my life. I shudder to think how many times that I have been crushed or broken by this world, only for God to set me aside for a season, and then when I'm ready, He makes me in to a new creation. I sing a new song today. One of praise to my God for what He has done!

Life Growing Up - Part 19

I love to travel, but I hate to fly. There is this inner scream going on every time the plane either takes off, or lands. Once we are up in the air, my fear subsides, and I am just fascinated that I'm sitting in a chair in a hollow metal tube, going some 500 miles per hour! All that power and speed and I am helpless to do anything, but pray, which is in my opinion one of the most powerful things we mere humans can do. Still, to this day I marvel at the views from 30,000 feet. How this vast earth can hold so much beauty in its creation and so much ugliness in its inhabitance at the same time. I’ve always tried to be an optimist and that has led me to think that is why I have persevered through the ugliness of my past. However, I know in my heart that it truly has been by the grace of God that has seen me through, and not of my own strength. Writing this blog has given me a chance to share my life in such a way that I couldn't do if I were to try to speak it in public. I find myself getting teary-eyed just writing that last sentence. Not because of the hurt... for the most part that hurt is gone. It's the thought of God holding me close all those years and now finally realizing that I have been tucked away in my Savior's robe, close to His heart that brings me to tears. His vast love for me. That He would even think of me, or consider me with all the billions of people on this planet that have life far worse than I do. When I think of His grace and mercy in my life and how beautiful His love for me truly is, that's when I am undone. I am who I am today because of all of the journeys that life has taken me on. My perseverance, my organizational skills, and my resilience has been forged in the heat of my past. It was hard and there are many regrets, but I know the plan that God has for me is one of peace and to give me a future and a hope.

Flying in to Colorado for the first time to visit a dear friend made me wonder how anyone could live in such a sea of houses. Rows and rows of perfectly aligned houses that seemed to stretch out for miles covered the once high plains frontier. With the mountains towering out the view of my window seat, I began to look beyond the sea of houses and be drawn to the majestic mountains. I was in awe at their beauty with the fresh pure white snow shinning in the March sun. As the plane landed and I walked down the isle to exit the plane, I heard that still small voice whisper in my heart saying, "This will be your next home." Shaking my head I thought to myself that it would indeed take some changing on my part to move from Oregon to Colorado. I shook off the thought as I was greeted by my friend and her fiancé. We said our hellos and chatted excitedly about my friend's upcoming wedding plans. Listening to her I was happy and envious at the same time. She was facing happiness and I was on the tail end of sadness. I rebuked myself for my selfish envy and focused on my friend. We traveled from one end of the city to the other in what seemed like an hour to get to her home. In a quiet subdivision, my friend's house was neat and well cared for. She lived with a roommate that was a college graduate and missionary hopeful. I was shown my room and we had a delicious supper and some wonderful conversation. That evening we sat on the back porch talking and my friend asked about my recent divorce. I shared my story and tried not to bring us down with too many details, but told her enough so that she would know that I was truly happy now being away from that whole situation. We ended the evening with prayers for each other and grateful hearts for our wonderful friendship. The next morning welcomed me with the fresh Colorado air and a light breeze. We had plans to tour the city and head up to a small community in the mountains to have lunch and check out the local art fair. While I enjoyed seeing the different towns and touring the countryside, I was looking forward to heading back to Oregon. My friend had announced that we would be joining some friends for lunch that day, and that she had someone that she wanted me to meet. Oh no, I thought to myself. I hope that she wasn’t trying to set me up with someone. I was really enjoying my singleness and not looking to start anything right away. I gave her my opinion about her idea of introducing me to anyone, but she said that she just knew that we were a good match. As luck would have it, or should I say, as God would have it, the person that I was suppose to meet that day turned up sick that with the flu and was sick for the duration of my stay, so I never got to meet him. I was not disappointed and felt relived on so many levels. My friend had plans to find me happiness, but I was already happy and quite content with my life. The day that I left for home my friend mentioned that since she was getting married that if I wanted to make a fresh start here in Colorado that I could take over her lease. I told her that I wasn’t ready to make a move, but I would think about her offer and let her know. Back on the plane, it my friends offer was swirling around my brain. I dismissed the thought and focused on getting back home. Back to my life as it was. I had 18 years in Oregon with many friends and lots of history. More so than I had in California growing up. Oregon had become my home and I felt like an “Oregonian.” God however had other ideas and plans for my life ahead. He knew that he would have to poke and prod me through difficult situations in my life to convince me to move from Oregon, so that my life could unfold in ways that I only imagined in my dreams.
Returning home, I was met by several voicemails from my ex-husband and one from my pastor. Apparently, while I was away my ex-husband had decided not sell the house in an effort to stall my receiving my half of the proceeds, therefore messing up my plans to move on with my life. He also made it a weekly event to come to my work and try to make me feel bad about getting a divorce and calling myself a Christian. I was feeling the pressure financially with some medical bills from my reconstructive surgery to try and put “Humpty Dumpty” back together again from my recent breast cancer surgery. I had had one reconstructive surgery before we had split up, but because our marriage was under stress, my husband didn’t see the need to be with me during this surgery and I had to have a neighbor take me and bring me home from the hospital. I was devastated that my own husband wouldn’t be there with me. It was the nail in the coffin and his affair was the hammer that drove the nail in to kill our marriage. Now I felt like I was being harassed because of my ex-husband’s guilt and that he didn’t want me to be happy, because he wasn’t happy. My boss was a businessman all around and didn’t appreciate my ex-husband barging in several times a week. I finally had to threaten a restraining order and an order to force him to keep the house on the market, before he would stop coming to my work. Moving to Colorado was looking better all the time, but I was determined to make my life in Oregon. Still as the weeks went by situations would come up to were any date that I went on or any activity that I enjoyed, somehow got back to my ex-husband and he would never hesitate to let me know that he knew what I was doing and whom I was with. Living in Oregon for all those years meant that people would readily tell what they saw me do especially if my ex-husband had finagled the information out of them with lies and half-truths. My boss was sensing my unhappiness and sat down one afternoon with me when we had the office to ourselves. He had mentioned that as much as he valued my work he knew that moving away would probably be a good thing for my life. That he hated to see me leave, but even more he hated to see what stress my ex-husband was causing in my life. I was surprised at my boss’s suggestion since I hadn’t discussed moving anywhere with him, or anyone else. I sat there a little stunned, but I also felt a confirmation in my heart as he spoke his advice. The place that I had been renting was going to be renovated soon and I would have to move soon anyway, but I was hoping that my house would have sold so I could have just purchased something there in Oregon. God had other plans. I went home that evening and fell on my face before God. “Moving?” I thought to myself. How would I do this? My current Landlord didn’t charge me a deposit or a cleaning fee since I was renting a second cottage on his farm, so I had no lease to break. My belongings that I took when I moved out of the river house consisted of the basics and would fit in to a small truck, but where would I go. “You could take over my lease.” I remembered my friend saying just two months before. I lay there in the quiet of the night wondering where, when and how all of this would come to pass. I drifted off to sleep with memories of Colorado running through my brain.
Saturday morning came with a call from my friend from Colorado. She was making some final plans for her wedding and her honeymoon. “You are coming to the wedding aren’t you?” She asked. “I might just be moving there.” I said with a matter of fact. “That’s great; I just knew that you would.” She squealed. “I said, “might,” not that I am, meaning that I am just thinking about it.” I countered. As we discussed the possibilities of me assuming her lease I was liking the idea of a new place far away where my ex-husband wouldn’t bother to go to harass me. That day I checked in to the cost of a moving truck and a car trailer to tow my car. They were running a special for the end of the month of May that was lower then their regular rates. I was amazed at how the doors for me to move seemed to be opening easily for me. I secured the rental truck and set a date to move. I was convinced that this was the next journey that I was to take. I called my son and asked if he would help me move if I flew him up for the move to Colorado. He agreed and made his plans for time off at his work. We would make it a road trip and family time together. When I announced to my boss the following Monday that I would be giving my notice, he was sad and excited for me. He gave me a generous bonus and he and his wife took me out to dinner to say their good-byes and wish me well. Within three weeks, I was packed and ready to load my rented truck. My ex-husband miraculously hadn’t heard that I was moving, and had been away visiting family. The day came to leave and my son and I were ready to go. I was excited and scared at the same time. It would take us two days to make the journey, so with everything packed we headed out. I was sad to say good-bye to all of my friends and church family, but the adventurer in me was looking forward to what lay ahead. My friend had secured a storage unit for me and her roommate was waiting to welcome me. I had scheduled interviews with several places of employment and was ready to accept a offer from a local business in Colorado. The realtor who was hired to handle the sell of the house was excellent in representing my interest while I was away. She made sure, that the house would sell for a fair price, and that my half would be sent directly to me.
Three hours in to the move, my cell phone rang. It was my ex-husband wanting me to come by the house so we could discuss the disclosures in the contract. “I won’t be able to come by.” I said. “You will have to go through my agent to let her know your concerns. “Why can’t you just take care of it?” He asked clearly irritated. “Because at this moment I am on my way out of town, moving to another state.” I said with pride. Boy was he angry. He started railing and I just hung up on him. It felt so good to do that and I know it’s not proper, but I didn’t care. I felt like I had just took a giant pair of scissors and clipped a rope from between us. I turned off my phone and enjoyed the countryside as we drove along. The trip was uneventful with no mechanical problems and we enjoyed our time as mom and son. My son had been married for five years to a wonderful bride that was a joy to my heart. They had given me no grandchildren at the time of my move, but it didn’t matter as long as they were together. Crossing in to Colorado it was a different view than from the plane. As we made our way through the various towns, I was amazed at the mountains looming all around us. Two days had passed and we were making good time to our final destination. Surprisingly we had no problems with the truck and we were both feeling good at the end of the trip. My new roommate was waiting for us with the storage key and paperwork in hand. We were able to get the truck unloaded and returned before the evening fell. There were 20 missed calls on my phone, all from my ex-husband. It felt good to delete them all without listening to a one of them. We sat down to dinner and made plans to send my son to stay in a hotel before heading back home to his wife. “How does it feel to be in Colorado?” My new roommate asked. “A little exciting and a little sad to be out of Oregon.” I said. “Well just wait until tomorrow when I will show you some more of Colorado, you will just love it here.” She said. “I will make sure that you see all the good stuff.” Tomorrow…I thought. How just last month I was in Oregon looking for a house to buy, once mine sold and now I’m in Colorado, and then I was reminded of what I heard back in March when I was getting off the plane. “This will be your next home.” I had no idea of the blessings to come.

A Break in the Action

Just a note to let you all know that I have been very busy with work and all that we do so I will post after this week is over. Thanks for reading!

Life Growing Up - Part 18

The sun was just coming over the mountains as I stopped for gas on my way down to California. Grabbing a frozen coffee drink and hitting the highway my focus became making this trip shorter than the eight hours it normally took to drive to my brother’s house. I kept hearing repeatedly in my head my husband saying, “You’re not even close to your brother.” He was right, we were not close, but he was still my brother and he needed my help. Ever since my mother had passed away just two years before, we still kept in touch. After disbursement of our mother’s estate, my two younger siblings went their way keeping their contact with me to a minimum. My two older brothers kept in touch more often, but with limited information. It was like what little glue that held our family together was our mother and she was gone, so there wasn’t much family left after her death. Still I told myself that family means caring for each other no matter what and I made my decision to go. The familiar cities and tourist spots were all a blur as I drove straight through only stopping once for gas and something to eat. By the time I arrived in San Jose, it was almost dark. Pulling in to the hospital parking lot, my sister-in-law’s friend’s mother was waiting in the lobby. We had never met so I walked right pass her to get to the information desk. When I had asked the attendant about my brother, she had overheard his name and came quickly to the desk. She introduced herself as “Diane,” and began to tell me of my brother’s condition as well as my sister-in-law’s state of health. I had known that my brother had been diagnosed with brain cancer from a recent letter that he had written, but I had no idea, up to this point that he had already had four surgeries and was now suffering from scar tissue swelling plus three more in-operable tumors growing in his brain. My sister-in-law was in another hospital some ten miles away and had a rare condition to where her lower intestines had completely died which nearly killed her. My mind whirling with the news of both of them being so ill and made me weak. I sat down in the lobby trying to take this all in. “Why didn’t they tell me?” I asked in anger and sadness. Still finding this all too unreal, we went up to my brother’s room where he lay half-paralyzed on his left side, but still able to talk and see. “What are you doing here sis? He asked still groggy from his recent surgery. “I heard you were very sick and came right down to see you.” I said. Why didn’t you call me? He lay there for a minute, said that he and his wife were private people, and didn’t want to cause anyone any inconvenience. His doctor came in, and my brother introduced us, and I began to listen as the doctor gave me some details. “We’ve done all that we can in trying to remove the scar tissue from your last four surgeries.” The doctor said. “From here we will have to wait and see if the chemo chips that were implanted in your brain will reduce the three remaining tumors.” My brother lay there listening as if he was hearing this diagnosis for someone else in the room. My brother turned and asked if I had seen his wife yet since my arrival and that she might be coming in soon to see him. As I turned to look at Diane, she motioned me not to say anything and announced that I needed to get some rest from my long drive down. What I didn’t know was that my brother had no idea that his wife was in another hospital fighting for her life. She apparently had went to the hospital after complaining of stomach pain during my brother's stay in the hospital, and was admitted and rushed to surgery after the doctor had diagnosed her with having ischemic bowel syndrome which basically meant that all of her lower bowels were dead and had to be removed. Leaving the hospital and going to where my sister-in-law was at took less than ten minutes, but it felt like an hour as I replayed in my head what my brother’s doctor had just told us. Diane followed me in her car and we walked in to the ICU together. There was my sister-in-law bloated from the medication, all wrapped up in compression garments with tubes and monitors just like my brother in the hospital just ten miles down the road. She was unconscious and resting when the doctor came in. “We lost her several times already.” He said grimly. I don’t know if she will make it. Diane introduced me to the doctor and he began to tell me of how my sister-in-law was suffering from a rare disease that killed her lower bowels. That they couldn’t figure out why this disease took her bowels and not her major organs. That removal of the dead bowel was the only way to save her life, and if she lived that, she would have to have a colostomy bag for the rest of her life. The next 48 hours would tell us whether she would live of die. Now my head was reeling and I felt dizzy. I grabbed on to the bed frame to composed myself and ask the doctor if he knew that her husband, my brother was in another hospital just minutes away possibly dying of brain cancer. He didn’t know and gave his sympathies and excused himself. I sat down next to Diane and just lost it. She wrapped her arms around me and just let me cry. I didn’t know what to do or how to go back and tell my brother that his wife may die before him, and that if she lived that they would both need help caring for each other. Diane assured me that she and her husband would help them as much as possible. “Do you know if they have made their last wishes known, or put them in legal documents?” Diane asked. “I didn’t even know that they were both this sick, much less what their last wishes were.” I said through my tears. My sister-in-law began to wakeup and saw us both there by her bedside. She said hello and asked what I was doing there. I began to explain what I had walked in to and she listened with tears in her eyes. “Thank you for coming.” She said. “You can stay at our house if you’d like to while you are here.” Diane said that I could stay with her and her husband so I declined politely and asked if she wanted me to tell my brother where she was. “No, let’s wait until he is able to come home.” She said. “He needs to get better before he hears about my health.” “That may be a while.” I said. The doctor says that there is nothing else that they can do for his cancer.” I told her. “He was talking hospice care for him before I left to come see you.” I began to ask my sister-in-law if either of them had made final arrangements in case this was to happen. She had told me that they didn’t think that they were sick enough to need them and hadn’t made any. So I told her that I would help them see to it since the doctors didn’t give either of them much hope of surviving. This was hard to say the least and I felt like I was the only family to step in and help them get their personal things in order. Diane and I left my sister-in-law’s room to go sit out in the lobby and talk. She had told me that only a few people knew of their health problems and not even their own pastor knew that my brother had brain cancer. I told her that in the morning that I would make some calls and go over to their house to gather up information to create a trust in case the doctors were right. That night at Diane’s house, lying in bed I wondered how our family could be so distant. I called my siblings to let them know what was happening, but all were too busy, or too far away to come, and to let them know if our brother took a turn for the worse. I then called my husband to give him a report, but got only his voicemail. I left a message and drifted off to sleep.
The next morning I got a call from my brother’s doctor asking if I could come in that morning. I agreed and asked if he was doing okay. “He’s stable, but there is not much more we can do from here.” The doctor said. “I am preparing him for discharge to come home.” “Your brother wants to go home to die.” He said softly. I told him that I needed to get their home ready for my brother to be there and gave him an update on my sister-in-law. He had no idea that she too was in the hospital as well. The doctor told me that they could keep my brother a few days longer so I could get hospice set up. I called my brother’s best friend and told him to meet me at my brother’s house to let me in. Diane and I drove that morning to my brother’s house to find their two cats in need of litter box cleaning and fresh food and water. Their house hadn’t been cleaned for a while due to my brother’s cancer so we three got busy and cleaned it up making things ready for my brother to come home. He still didn’t know that his wife was on the edge of death. With the house all cleaned up and hospice in place I asked my brother’s best friend if he could help care for my brother until I could arrange for more time off to come down and help with his care. He agreed and Diane agreed as well to take turns staying with my brother until his wife could come home. Later that same afternoon we all three went to the hospital where my brother was and told him that he was coming home. “Where is my wife?” He asked. His best friend decided at that moment to tell him what had happened to his wife. My brother was concerned for her, but knew he was in no condition to take care of her. “Can I at least go see her?” He asked. We took him to the hospital where she was at and gave them some time alone before taking my brother home. My sister-in-law would be in the hospital another week before she would be released to go home. Three days went by and they were busy days fixing my brother’s food, doing laundry and getting his medication from the pharmacy, and running errands. My brother’s friend and Diane both helped as much as they could before I had to leave to go home. I had left three messages with my husband’s work and on his voicemail, but he never called me back until I was on my way back home. “How much longer are you going to be down there?” He asked first without saying hello. “I’m on my way back right now as a matter of fact.” I snapped. “Don’t you even care what my brother and his wife are going through?” Our relationship was already strained, but this was pure selfishness on my husband’s part. I couldn’t believe that he didn’t care. I almost turned my car around and went back, but I knew my job and my marriage needed attention. Driving back, I prayed to God to help me find a way to work all of this out. I was exhausted, worried and in fear of losing my family and my marriage. I needed wisdom and I needed rest. Arriving home, I was met by Zeke and his wagging tail. Memories of the months prior had racked my brain, but I quickly shuffled them out of my mind and walked in to the house. My husband wasn’t home, but he had left a note saying that he had business out of town and would be back by the weekend. Again, I felt empty reading his note. Counseling was revealing more of my husband’s secret life than I wanted to know. My heart was sure that I couldn’t handle anymore grief. Between his addiction to internet porn, and then an affair, I was sure that I couldn’t forgive anymore. My mind raced as to whom he was with or where he really was as the night worn on. Sleep finally came and so did the morning. I dragged myself out of bed, showered and went to work. I explained to my boss what had taken place with my brother and sister-in-law and told him that I may be called on again if either of them or both of them had passed away. He was understanding and told me that if I needed more time with them that I could take it. I was grateful for such a caring and kind boss. Several weeks had gone by and my sister-in-law had finally made it home from the hospital. She had recovered extremely well and was getting used to her colostomy bag. She still had a ways to go and had to be careful of infection. Diane had called late one evening to let me know that my brother had asked if I could come down again. I knew my work wouldn’t mind, but I dreaded asking my husband. “Go ahead if you must, but know that your half of the bills must still get paid out of your check.” My husband demanded. “My bills always are paid on time, so don’t worry about them.” I said. We had stopped going to counseling because of my being gone and it was beginning to show. “Just don’t be gone too long.” He said as he left for work. I called my pastor after he had left and told him that I just couldn’t be married to my husband anymore. He tried to convince me otherwise, but with my brother’s health and the strain on our marriage, it was just too much to deal with. My pastor said that he would talk to my husband while I was away.
Arriving at my brother’ house I was met outside by Diane. She said that my brother’s health had deteriorated to a point where the doctor said that my brother had about a week or two left. For the next two weeks I stayed by my brother’s side changing his diapers and washing and feeding him. His cancer had made it impossible for him to get out of bed without being carried. We had long talks of life and growing up. We share our dreams and hopes and he asked if I would make his life video for his memorial. I gladly accepted. My brother passed and we buried him with military honors. My sister-in-law has now lived six years past his death. She is back to teaching and is undergoing experimental treatments to re-grow implanted intestines. She is a testimony to her faith in God and his strength in her life.
When I had returned from burying my brother my husband had announced that our marriage was over and that he was moving in with his lover. I stood there relieved and not surprised. Later I had found out that he had not stopped seeing her during our time of so called reconciliation. We put our house on the river up for sale and we both filed for divorce. I wasn’t hard packing up to move out of that house. There were no good memories to leave behind. Only struggles and pain hurt and tears. A year had gone by after our divorce and I decided to take up an offer from a friend to visit Colorado in the spring. She was engaged to be married and offered to have me come stay with her and tour around before she got married. I accepted and actually looked forward to a change of scenery. Our divorce had been final, but the house still hadn’t sold so I was not looking to move or make any immediate changes. I just needed some time away from friends and life that reminded me of my ex. Arriving in Colorado on a brisk March afternoon, I stepped off the plane and walked down the tarmac only to hear a still small voice in my heart say….”This will be…”

Life Growing Up - Part 17

The next few days were the hardest trying to get through the rage that was churning inside. I didn’t understand what went wrong, or what I did to cause my husband to stray. I called in to work sick so I could sort this out and decide what to do from here. I felt abandoned and my days were spent struggling with reality. Looking back over everything that I had been through I was sure that it was all my fault. The phone kept ringing and I knew it was him calling trying to explain his infidelity. I didn’t want to hear his excuse, or hear his voice. I just wanted him gone from my life. I made a call to my pastor and explained to him what had taken place. He agreed to see me that day and had me come in that morning. Zeke just looked at me with his big brown eyes searching I’m sure for a way to relive me of my pain. He would follow me from room to room and lay on the floor close by. He only ate if I ate and that was very little since my stomach was in knots. I’m sure if dogs worry for their masters Zeke was worrying for me. As I left that morning to go meet my pastor thoughts of divorce were swirling through my head. I asked myself if I was feeling justified about filing for divorce, then why was I going to see my pastor? I dismissed that thought and continued on to my appointment. I sat in the foyer of the church office feeling empty and cold. I had seen so many others come and go in this office as an employee, but now it was my turn to be in the emergency room so to speak. I was the one who needed help. Sitting in the pastor’s office now, he offered me a cup of tea. I declined with a wave of my hand that ended up on my face as I began to cry. My pastor just waited patiently for me to speak. I gathered up my composer and began to unfold my situation in between sobs and tears. When I was finished, he took a deep breath and asked me a question. “Do you still love him?” I answered, “If I didn’t still love him it wouldn’t be ripping my insides out right now.” “Then let’s get him in here and see if we can’t repair your marriage.” He said. If there is love in your heart still left for him and he still loves you, then it might be worth the effort.” He continued. “Some marriages are even stronger after reconciliation.” Part of me at that moment saw a glimmer of hope and I agreed to try some counseling to repair my broken heart and my broken marriage. I went home and told myself that I must be crazy to take this man back after what he just did, but I also remembered that God had forgiven me and if my husband had repented and turned away from his sin, then I could forgive him. So we met the next week and I agreed to let him move back in after he was repentant for his affair and we tried counseling to repair our marriage. Life was different, but there seem to be peace and we seemed to get along. One month later, I got a call from a friend of my second to the oldest brother of mine. He was upset and trying to get his words out, but was having a hard time due to his heavy middle-eastern accent. He told me that both my brother and my sister-in-law were in the hospital and were critically ill. I was shocked and asked if they had been in an accident. He tried to tell me what had happened, but his accent made it had to understand him. My brother and his wife lived in San hose, California which was a seven-hour drive from Oregon. They had settled there after moving from New York where they had met and married during college. They had no children and didn’t want any of their own, yet they were now both teaching in the public school system in California. My brother and I were never close. This same brother had previously shared his faith with me. I became a Christian because of him. I was able to get the name of one of the hospitals that my brother was in from his friend, but I still had no idea what was wrong. After calling the hospital and confirming that he was therein the ICU, I then called my husband’s work to give him the news. I felt a wave of uneasiness come over me when my husband baulked about me needing to leave. “You’re not even close to your brother, why do you have to go, why can’t one of your other siblings go?” My husband asked with irritation in his voice. “I don’t know what’s going on with my brother, but I just know that I need to be down there since both he and my sister-in-law are both in the hospital.” I said. I was getting angry with my husband and at the fact that I didn’t know why my brother and his wife were in the hospital. His unhappiness about me leaving was the least of my worries. I didn’t know any of my brother’s friends or even which school he worked at, much less, where he lived. I had not much to go on accept which hospital he was in. As I was packing my things to get ready to leave, I got a phone call. It was the mother of one of my sister-in-law’s friends. She had found my number through my oldest brother. She had called him trying to let someone know what was happening. My oldest brother couldn’t leave work and gave her my number to call. She began to tell me why both brother and my sister-in-law were both in the hospital. What are the chances of both spouses being critically ill in two different hospitals and the same time? What she told me would turn a seven-hour drive in to a five-hour drive as I rush to be by their side.

Life Growing Up - Part 16

It was Sunday and that meant an afternoon lunch with my mom. She loved to cook her Sunday dinners and invite me to come eat with her after I got off work. She only lived about a mile from my property and we both had five wooded acres. Occasionally I would ride my horse to her place, or walk through the woods on a fire road behind her house. It was a beautiful walk any season of the year and the woods were fragrant with the scent of pines and soap bush on that warm August afternoon. I would pick her a bouquet of wildflowers and maybe some wild strawberries along the way. She was afraid of taking this walk as she got older and her eyesight wasn’t so good. She was content to listen for my singing as I came through the woods. I would do this so she knew it was I and wouldn’t be frightened. Coming up to the back of property, I could smell the pot roast and the homemade apple pie. She amazed me at how much she liked to cook after all those years of complaining that she never left the kitchen. Still she would delight in cooking for visitors. My husband never came with me for her Sunday meals. He never liked her country cooking. I didn’t mind because I enjoyed our talks about flowers and gardening. Sometimes we would talk about the Bible and read it out on her back deck. As I came through the gate, I saw her watering her flowers. “Look at this yellow petunia.” She said with excitement. “Have you ever seen such a delicate flower?” Even though she never had a degree in horticulture, she knew every flower by its name and knew how to grow it successfully. She was a master gardener in my book and I hung on her every word when she spoke of her flowers. We both shared the same love for gardening, sewing, art and singing. She played the piano and I would play my guitar. We had the best relationship after she moved to Oregon. We sat down to eat her pot roast and talked about the coming winter and her health. She had been living with diabetes and some emphysema so I was always making sure that she had her medication or went to her doctor appointments. She would let me come in with her when the doctor examined her. Even if he scolded her for not taking insulin shots, she would look over at me and just wink as if she was teasing the doctor. She knew what she wanted and shots were not on her list of things she desired. She was set in her ways and stubborn to the core. Her claim to her sustained health was her faith in God and her love for nature.

The pot roast was delicious as usual as was the rest of her meal. I helped her clear the table and do the dishes. We talked some more about her garden, and then sat back down at the table for some apple pie. Then she asked me a question that surprised me. “What would happen if I stopped taking my diabetes medication?” she asked in a serious tone. “Well I know from what I’ve read online that you could face some serious medical issues.” I said cautiously. “Why do you want to know?” I asked. “I’m just tired of taking it and I don’t want to be a burden to anyone anymore.” She added. I was a little shocked to hear her answer, but I knew she was tired of all the doctor visits and her failing health. She was losing her vision slowly in spite of a surgery to try to stop the macular degeneration. Had she done the insulin shots instead of the pills she might have kept her sight longer, but in her stubbornness, she now paid the unfortunate price of her failing health. She had always been self-sufficient and loved working with wood or in her garden. She was constantly building birdhouses or creating yard art out of our yard sale finds. Her health had been declining and she felt trapped being dependant on me for most of her outside work or grocery shopping. At the time, I was making plans to build a house to where she could have her own living quarters and enjoy living close to town. At first, she was encouraged by the idea, but as my husband and I were having problems, she felt like she would have been imposing on us. “I think once you sell your place and move in with us you will be able to concentrate on getting some needlework done.” I mentioned. “I can’t see that well anymore to do needlework; it’s just so frustrating even with a magnifying glass.” She said with frustration. “I hate sitting around not able to even read.” A year before I had purchased her a screen that would help her see her Bible and her needlework, but it was getting harder and harder for her to see. I could understand her frustration, but I didn’t know what to tell her. She loaded me up with left-over to take home and I said my good-byes, but left her with an uneasy feeling. I asked the Lord on my way home to; please watch over her.

Walking home through the woods, I could smell the first signs of fall coming. The leaves were dancing with a soft breeze leading them and a red tail hawk soared overhead. I felt an overwhelming peace that caused me to stop and acknowledge the grace of God. “Thank you Lord for the wonderful gift of my mom, please keep her safe." I said aloud. The next few weeks were busy with work and finishing the house. It was early October and I was at work when my little brother called me to say that something was wrong with mom and that I needed to come by the house to check on her. He wouldn’t go into detail with me, so I had to just leave and head straight to her house. He met me in the front yard and said that she had been in bed for the last two days moaning. “Why didn’t you call me sooner?” I demanded. “She didn’t want you to worry about her and she made me promise not to say anything.” He said with regret. I walked in to the house and heard her moaning as I came in to her room. She was in her bedroom sitting on the edge of the bed in obvious pain. “Mom, what’s wrong? Why didn’t you call me? I asked. “I hurt all over and I have been unable to eat or keep anything down.” She said with a moan of pain. I went to her bathroom and looked at her medicine for her diabetes medication. We had just refilled it so I knew how many she had. She hadn’t taken it for three days and her body was suffering for it. I called 911 and told the operator that I needed an ambulance to get her to the hospital that she was a diabetic and hadn’t taken her medication in three days. My little brother went ballistic and started crying that our mother was going to the hospital. Then he got angry and I had to make him wait outside for the ambulance. I called my husband to tell him to come and briefed him on my mom’s situation. I told my mom that she needed to go to the hospital, but she wanted just to stay home and die if that’s what was happening. “You’re not dying.” I told her. You just need some insulin. She fought, but I won. The fire department and the Sherriff’s department came out with the ambulance. Most of them were volunteers in our small rural town, so they knew who we were. I didn’t know 15 people could fit in to my mom’s small house. People were rushing back and forth trying to prepare my mom for transport to the hospital some 45 minutes away. I told them what I had known about her health and they gently put her on the gurney in spite of her moans of pain. She told the attendants thank you for coming and not let her cats get out of the house. I rode in the ambulance with her, but she was starting to go down hill fast. At the hospital, the doctors ran their tests and pulled me aside to give me her prognosis. “Her body is shutting down all of her extremities to save her vital organs.” The doctor said. “We found multiple blood clots throughout her body and there is nothing that we can do to stop them.” “All we can do is make her comfortable.” I’ll be surprised if she make it through the day.” He said. Hearing the news, I fought back the tears. I walked back in to her room and listened to the doctor tell my mom the same thing that he told me. As my mom listened, she just lay still staring at the ceiling. When the doctor finished he asked if she had any questions. “Is my daughter here?” She asked. Since I was standing next to her bed holding one of her hands and to where she could easily see me I knew that her sight was gone as well as the feeling in her legs and arms. “I am here mom.” I said softly. The doctor motioned me to go out in the hall with him and I told my mom I would be right back.

“You might want to call your family members, she will not last much longer.” The doctor said. “We will keep her out of pain and put her in a private room so you and your family could be with her in her final moments.” I couldn’t believe there was nothing that they could do for her, but because of her age and her extreme condition, it was too late. I walked back in to her room and leaned in close. “Mom, it looks like you are going to heaven to be with dad.” Thinking that she would start crying, she just said in a matter of fact voice. “Well it’s about time!” She was 72 years old and felt that her life was full and complete. She was ready to go home to heaven. I told her that I would make some calls to the rest of the siblings and see if I could reach my little sister and have her come over. I called my son first and explained what was happening. He was newly married and living in Arizona at that time. He was also the only grandchild at the time and he loved his grandma. I put the phone up to my mom’s ear and they spoke and said their good-bys. It took all I had to keep my composer. I had left several messages on my sister’s voice mail, but no response. I was able to get a hold of both of my older brothers who lived out of state. They too said their good-bys and wept with my mom. By 10:00a.m., my mom was in a private room and resting comfortably. She was given as much morphine as she needed to be out of pain. My husband had brought my little brother to the hospital and I informed him of the news. He went in to mom’s room and wept like a child. My mom told him that it would be okay and to know that she was going to heaven. My brother was distraught and had to leave the room he was unable to contain himself. My sister finally arrived and I briefed her as well. She had explained that she had to work and couldn’t answer her phone. She went in to mom’s room to stand by her bed. “Where is the doctor?” She demanded. “Surely there is something that can be done.” She snapped. She turned and went out to the nurse’s station without giving me a chance to answer. I could here her yelling at the nurse demanding that the doctor report to her directly. I had previously warned the doctor of my family, so he was already aware and knew what to say. She came back in very upset after hearing for herself that our mom was going to die. My husband had taken my brother home and left me to be with my mom in her final hours. With me on her right and my sister on her left, we kept vigil by our mom’s side. A nurse would come in periodically and tend to her needs. Her heart rate and her blood pressure dropped throughout the day. Only once did I see her open her eyes when they moved her to change her sheets. When my sister left to make a call, I asked my mom if she could hear me. She squeezed my hand. I began to sing to her a song that I had written for her. Choking through the tears, I finished the song and kissed her forehead. She squeezed my hand again and slipped off in to sleep. My sister returned and sat down with a look of irritation on her face. “Are you okay? I asked. It’s none of your business.” She snapped and just stared forward. I didn’t engage her anymore after that. We just sat there quietly by our mom’s bedside. By 9:30pm my mom’s heartbeat and blood pressure dropped so low, we were amazed that she was still alive. Both of us now holding her hands we knew the end was close.
The doctor came in and said it was only a matter of minutes. I stroked her forehead with my hand and held her hand with my other. Right before she died I felt her squeeze my hand once again as if to say good-bye, and she was gone. Her passing was so peaceful I could picture her spirit sitting up in bed and taking the hand of Jesus to be ushered in to eternity. The doctor came back in and called her time of death. My sister and I both wept. The nurse came in and removed all of the monitors, and asked if we would like a lock of her hair. She gently clipped a lock for each of us and then left us for a few moments alone. My sister gathered her things and gave me a quick hug and left. I kissed my mom’s forehead once again and touched her hand one final time and left to talk to the nurse. I thanked them for their kindness and told them how much I appreciated their handling of my mom’s care. Since my husband had brought my truck to the hospital, I was able to drive myself home. My mind was reeling of the day. I sat in my truck and wept before leaving the hospital parking lot. My mom had told me that if she ever “Kicked the bucket” that I was to take control of her finances and be the executor of her estate. She didn’t trust any of my siblings with what little money she had and had legal documents appointing me to the task. Money changes people in to ways that are not pretty. The next few weeks would prove this about my siblings. I went home and crawled in to bed and wept some more.