Welcome home, Ned

I work as receptionist in a large retirement home. Friday afternoon Happy Hour had been relocated due to repairs from our lovely bar upstairs to the lobby. Tables & chairs were brought in and the large lobby was filled with residents ready to enjoy wine and live music.

Just after happy hour began, a man walked in pushing a gurney bringing one of our residents back home.  Ned was a sweet 99 yr old retired doctor who had been in rehab for several months.

His apartment was on the other side of the crowded lobby. Rather than redirect them out in the 106 degree heat to go around to another door, I decided to let them go through the lobby between the tables.

As I followed the gurney through the crowd, I saw alarm on some of the faces watching us. I gave a big smile and thumbs up to signify it was a good thing and clapped my hands.

The residents began to applaud and Ned began to wave at the crowd. It became a celebration of his return home … and the musician never missed a beat.

Birth of Depression

I have been thinking of all the attention
      we give a first/only born.
We are going to do this right
    Raise them better than we were raised.
Create this little perfect human.
        Teach them like we wish we were taught.
Immediately stop any negative traits

We wonder at their inate intelligence
  Try to see that they are happy, always
Shower them with attention
   Praise each step of growth….

Then the second child is born…
      Or life happens and we change jobs
           Or issues with our partner
               Or somebody gets very sick
                    Or dies….

And we become distracted from our worship and wonder of this child.

They might begin to feel extra,
Unnecessary, 
         in the way,
                    unimportant…
Sadly, begin to doubt their worth.
      Feel under-valued…
               Less than……
Not understanding the disconnect
Has nothing to do with them.

Could this possibly be the source, the birth of deression?

Perspective

I have an ongoing love affair with clouds. I think it started when at only 4 or 5 years of age my cousins and I would lie on the grass and look up at the big Phoenix sky and search for shapes in the clouds… A lamb, a tree, a puppy dog. ever changing, leaving room for imagination and to pretend.

Life happens, our focus lowers to the necessary, critical and mundane. We forget to look up at God’s ever-changing art display above.

When my beautiful daughter suddenly died two years ago, I found myself searching the skies in my pain, wondering if she was now free up there, beyond the clouds, looking down on us. I began to take photos with my phone when a group of clouds impressed me. The glorious Tucson sunsets, the monsoon clouds taking my breath at times.

I took photo after photo, scrolling through them on dark days reliving their beauty, finding comfort in God’s handiwork.

Recently a vivid sunset, fiery with pinks and oranges, forced me to stop my car to capture their beauty. After five or six frame-worthy snapshots, for some reason I turned around to see what the sky behind was doing during all this brilliant display.

Oh my goodness, it was grey, dark, gloomy and no sky between their cloudy billows. I could not believe this was the same moment, standing in the same place, and totally opposite the flaming beauty of the western skies.

The same sky, same street corner, same moment in time, but the view totally changed by the location of the sun and where I chose to look; my perspective making all the difference.

So very much like our lives…the position of the Son and where we choose to focus our view.

There may be dark, gloomy cloudy days, but there can be hope and glorious beauty if you look around and change your perspective.

A Match Made in Heaven

She likes soft colors, cream, light pastel,white.

The brighter, the better I say.

She loves big dogs WAY more than people in general.

I prefer them small (except hers). And love people easily.

Iphone for Sherry…

Android for me…

She loves Chocolate…

I’ll prefer Vanilla…

Country music only…classical makes her teeth itch.

Any music Except country for me.

Violent movies excite her .

I’m a movie wimp.

Loves the fast car race scenes..

They put me to sleep, literally!

Basketball, football, World Series, you name it.

Please, spare me all sports!

She knows the players and their teams.

Who???

TV on all day is fine.

Music background for me.

Green Chile salsa.

Red salsa, please.

Refried beans, love ’em

Give me guacamole.

Don’t need it, toss it out!

Try to fix it if at all possible.

We are a match made in heaven…

Selfish Love

She is lying awake in the hospital bed, only able to communicate with her lips, eyes and hands.

The radiation has caused her to be unable to eat for months, only tiny bits daily. She has lost so much weight, although now arms and face are swollen due to fluid buildup.

But her eyes twinkle when she sees me. She mouths “I love you too” when I speak my love. She motions with her hand and we finally understand she wants her granddaughter’s boyfriend to play his guitar. He strums and sings Amarillo by Morning and she smiles.

I’ve waited all week for the family to allow me to visit. I hold back my tears until I drive home.

She has many close friends…others, like me have been waiting in the wings for permission to see her. We have prayed, sent our love from our heart hoping she could feel it, while we waited.

Yet, others we contact say they won’t come, they don’t want to see her like this. It would hurt too much. But I wonder at the support she might need. The love she needs to see in our eyes. Our loving touch. Our music.

Trying not to judge, but I do. It seems to be a selfish love they have: that takes the joy she gave them but declines the pain.

She is still here. She is still inside that starving body that struggles to live. Her beautiful caring, loving heart that comforted us in our traumas, listened to our fears, laughed joyfully at our silliness still there.

Do we only take from a loved one or share their pain, lend our strength when they need us most?

Dear God, please help me not to have selfish love.

To my kids dad… (My ex)

Thank you for supporting us 17 years.

Thank you for buying our house on a street that feels safe.

Thank you for giving our kids your healthy genes.

Thank you for the year and half you paid child support.

Thank you for attending church with us mostly

Thank you for finally getting back in two of our son’s life.

Most of all, thank you for leaving so I could focus on our kids instead of hopelessly trying to please you.

Still missing her…

Tomorrow is my daughter, Cherie’s birthday. She died six years ago in March. She was my youngest of four and the only girl. She knew me like no one else, and I knew her that way, too. We had been through hell with her addictions, incarcerations, betrayals, forgiveness, but understood each other’s pain like no one else could. I raised her two older children, taking them at 8 mos and 2 yrs when she went to prison. We drove and flew hundreds of miles to visit her so they could feel how much she loved them, more than she would ever love herself. She kept her quirky sense of humor, open tender heart towards others, often to her own detriment, and ached over her brothers rejection, due to her horrible mistakes.
I’m missing her so much today, more than usual, and can only feel that she is somehow nearer today to be with me on the day I became her mom. I love you, Cherie

Radiation day

Every Monday he drives to his mothers house to pick her up. He drives her across town to a modern new hospital building. They don their masks, answer the questions to be admitted and take the elevator to the 3rd floor clinic.

Total state of art machines and techniques are used, and she patiently submits.

Only she may enter the room where the technicians check her vitals and start their procedures.   She is immobilized in a cast made to hold her head perfectly still. The radiation is precisely aimed to focus on the mass that is trying to destroy her jugular vein.

Only she knows the agony of being unable to move or receive comfort as the technology of the moment tries to kill the cancer.

It is brutal. They told her it would be. Her lips are swollen, burns inside her mouth and throat make eating impossible. She is basically starving as one or two spoons of soup or yogurt are all she can tolerate each day.

Even water burns, and anything cold is unbearable.

The son takes her home, helps her inside and to her bed, where she lays exhausted and weak.

Tomorrow he will pick her up again and repeat the process.

She has five more treatments …the machine has five more chances to complete killing the cancer hopefully without killing her.

Expecting miracles

We have come to expect miracles, while voicing fears.

Today’s medical marvels,  unsurpassed surgical skills,

Lead us to a state of assumed victory.

Yet, we pray…

Ask others to pray…

Yet, seem to trust the surgeons skill

More than the God who gave life,

Who designed and created these bodies,

Who has numbered the very hairs of our head…

And can repair without a scalpel.

Four words

“We got it all”

Four short words.

Deep breath

We relax

The surgeon has spoken.

Four words we expect, yet take for granted.

Given the miracles of modern medicine…

Gifted surgeons….

But this time an explanation begins….

Detailing steps taken,

Things removed,

Things found,

Things left undone,

Things damaged,

Things still deadly.

So sorry

What?

What next?

How long?

My ears can’t hear these words

Oh my God!