Dad tried to punch me yesterday.
Have I ever mentioned how much I hate this disease?
Sunday, December 12, 2010
Saturday, November 13, 2010
Thursday, November 11, 2010
Poem
Do not ask me to remember,
Don't try to make me understand.
Let me rest and know you're with me.
Kiss my cheek and hold my hand.
I'm confused beyond your concept.
I am sad and sick and lost.
All I know if that I need you
To be with me at all cost.
Do not lose your patience with me.
Do not scold or curse or cry.
I can't help the way I'm acting,
Can't be different 'though I try.
Just remember that I need you,
That the best of me is gone.
Please don't fail to stand beside me,
Love me 'til my life is done.
~Author unknown
Don't try to make me understand.
Let me rest and know you're with me.
Kiss my cheek and hold my hand.
I'm confused beyond your concept.
I am sad and sick and lost.
All I know if that I need you
To be with me at all cost.
Do not lose your patience with me.
Do not scold or curse or cry.
I can't help the way I'm acting,
Can't be different 'though I try.
Just remember that I need you,
That the best of me is gone.
Please don't fail to stand beside me,
Love me 'til my life is done.
~Author unknown
Thursday, November 4, 2010
The Apple Tree
I knew this time was coming. I didn’t want to see it happen.
Dad’s apple tree, planted so many years before, now lays barren and dry waiting for the approaching winter.
Gone are the profuse, fragrant blossoms of springtime.
The abundant, vibrant red apples have all been picked, harvested at the peak of ripeness.
Even the leaves, now colored by the short days and cool nights, float to the ground, making wind-blown piles beneath the branches.
All that is left is to peacefully accept the changing seasons, with the full knowledge—and no regrets—
that we enjoyed the fruit while we could, while we had the chance—making lots of deserts, sharing with others what we were given, and even storing up applesauce in the freezer for when the cold storms of winter blow and threaten to erase the memory of our little tree that gave all it had. It will be then that the fruit will taste the sweetest. When we remember….
While I can do nothing to change the course of time, I remain standing confidently and waiting patiently for the promise that heavenly springtime will come again.
Ecclesiastes 3
1To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven:
2A time to be born, and a time to die; a time to plant, and a time to pluck up that which is planted;
Dad’s apple tree, planted so many years before, now lays barren and dry waiting for the approaching winter.
Gone are the profuse, fragrant blossoms of springtime.
The abundant, vibrant red apples have all been picked, harvested at the peak of ripeness.
Even the leaves, now colored by the short days and cool nights, float to the ground, making wind-blown piles beneath the branches.
All that is left is to peacefully accept the changing seasons, with the full knowledge—and no regrets—
that we enjoyed the fruit while we could, while we had the chance—making lots of deserts, sharing with others what we were given, and even storing up applesauce in the freezer for when the cold storms of winter blow and threaten to erase the memory of our little tree that gave all it had. It will be then that the fruit will taste the sweetest. When we remember….
While I can do nothing to change the course of time, I remain standing confidently and waiting patiently for the promise that heavenly springtime will come again.
Ecclesiastes 3
1To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven:
2A time to be born, and a time to die; a time to plant, and a time to pluck up that which is planted;
Wednesday, November 3, 2010
Their Father's Children?!
I had to go back and apologize two days later. It was a very humbling experience. I had gotten *slightly* worked up at my daughter's field hockey game and was yelling at the ref. The score was 0-4 and the ref (actually a former player for our exact team) was going overboard with her judgement calls as not to appear partial to her alma mater. She might not have even heard my more-than-irritated comments about her lack of eyesight. But the other spectators did. I was a poor example, and I did try to right my wrong.
Yes, I am that parent. You know the one.
I try to be encouraging to my daughter and her teammates, but I am NOT quiet. Most of them appreciate my comments. They say "Emily, away games are really quiet without your mom!"
The thought was not lost on me that Dad used to be the EXACT same way. I remember Dad, as one of my most loyal and supportive fans, attending as many of my games as possible. He would leave work early (prior to 4 pm quitting time) to take in most of that day's game (usually STARTED at 4 pm).
Larry can tell stories of his old wrestling days when Dad would get a little hyper (ahem) at the refs, opponents, and sometimes even other fans.
Why is it that Dad would get so worked up about sports and his kids seemed to have followed in his footsteps?
Barry joyfully received (for his birthday) multiple clothing items branded with the Penn State logo. "Dad taught me to love the Phillies, that's for sure."
Larry faithfully watches his favorite teams on television. Don't try to talk to him about anything else during one of those games!
As for me? Meh. Sports, shmorts. Or so I thought. Until my daughter was the one on the field!
Apparently, that trait has been passed on to the next generation (in my family, at least) as last week Emily received the "Braves Award" for her field hockey team--given to the player with the most dedication, positive attitude, hard work, sportsmanship (don't know if my family line can take credit for that one!) heart and talent (scoring the most goals for her team this season).
Yes, I am that parent. You know the one.
I try to be encouraging to my daughter and her teammates, but I am NOT quiet. Most of them appreciate my comments. They say "Emily, away games are really quiet without your mom!"
The thought was not lost on me that Dad used to be the EXACT same way. I remember Dad, as one of my most loyal and supportive fans, attending as many of my games as possible. He would leave work early (prior to 4 pm quitting time) to take in most of that day's game (usually STARTED at 4 pm).
Larry can tell stories of his old wrestling days when Dad would get a little hyper (ahem) at the refs, opponents, and sometimes even other fans.
Why is it that Dad would get so worked up about sports and his kids seemed to have followed in his footsteps?
Barry joyfully received (for his birthday) multiple clothing items branded with the Penn State logo. "Dad taught me to love the Phillies, that's for sure."
Larry faithfully watches his favorite teams on television. Don't try to talk to him about anything else during one of those games!
As for me? Meh. Sports, shmorts. Or so I thought. Until my daughter was the one on the field!
Apparently, that trait has been passed on to the next generation (in my family, at least) as last week Emily received the "Braves Award" for her field hockey team--given to the player with the most dedication, positive attitude, hard work, sportsmanship (don't know if my family line can take credit for that one!) heart and talent (scoring the most goals for her team this season).
Monday, October 25, 2010
October 12, 1993
Seventeen years ago at this time, my life hung in the balance. Given only a 50-50 chance of survival, after surgery I was listed in critical condition. My car accident rocked the world of those closest to me. I spent six weeks in the hospital recovering. Dad left his desk at work that rainy Tuesday morning when the call came in and didn't look back until he knew I would live, not so much as even a phone call back to his co-workers. Nearly every waking moment he and Mom spent as close to my hospital bed as possible. Early on, most of those agonizing hours were spent with family and friends in the Trauma Unit Waiting Room, praying, talking, sometimes even crying. One dozen long-stemmed red roses sat beside my photograph on the window sill.
This year on October 12, Mom sent me 12 red roses to remember that first dozen roses and rejoice. Praise God, I am healed completely!
Now, all these years later, Dad verbalized to Mom that he didn't even realize I ever had a car accident.
This year on October 12, Mom sent me 12 red roses to remember that first dozen roses and rejoice. Praise God, I am healed completely!
Now, all these years later, Dad verbalized to Mom that he didn't even realize I ever had a car accident.
Saturday, September 11, 2010
Thursday, September 2, 2010
Visiting Dad- Sept 1 2010
For some reason, I was telling my children recently the sketchy story of Poppy as the Green Hornet. The details escape me. Dad, in his childhood, somehow decided he would try his hand at flying—without an airplane. Possibly prompted by a green cape and a masked superhero vigilante named the “Green Hornet” (and I’m sure without any encouragement from brothers, nephews, cousins!), Dad took to the roof. The outcome of the flying attempt has become a forgotten minor detail. I told the children that Poppy had told me some about that “Green Hornet” experience, but Grammy might not even know. We’d have to ask Uncle Virgil now; Poppy won’t remember. Today, I asked Dad about it. “Remember the Green Hornet, Dad?” As he watched me with those blue eyes, I silently begged him to remember. Please, say you remember. One small memory. Tell me something, ANYthing. Nothing. A slight shake of his head told me no. My heart sank. Mom tried. “Remember the time you chased Cora because she pushed you over the chicken coop?” Again, slight head shake. Nothing. She tried again, “How about Mitch and his hamburger stand?” This time he closed his eyes, irritated. “I remember it all. Everything you want me to. Every little trivia.” At least he can still be sarcastic! I had to chuckle in spite of it all.
His fingernails needed desperate attention. I know he detests having them cared for. He usually lets me take care of it, but still gets bothered. “Don’t twist them,” he often yells at me after a clip. I was sure to talk him through it this time. There were a few howls and winces, but all in all OK! When I said, “See, Dad, now that wasn’t so bad, was it?” He said, with a straight face, “Yeah, that was a snap.” I have to laugh when I still hear those little snippets of his sarcastic humor.
Apparently Dad was in a rare hungry mood (and he loves sweets). “Do you have anything good to eat?” (He’d already eaten a banana.) My trunk was full of groceries yet to be unloaded. Fortunately, I had purchased a few “apple fritter” donuts to take to a friend at work. When I opened the package to give him one, he commented on how good they smelled. He managed to polish off one of those puppies in record time! I didn’t know he still could do so well on his own! I asked him if they reminded him of the apple turnovers his mother used to make. Of course, he didn’t remember. But I can hope, can’t I?
His fingernails needed desperate attention. I know he detests having them cared for. He usually lets me take care of it, but still gets bothered. “Don’t twist them,” he often yells at me after a clip. I was sure to talk him through it this time. There were a few howls and winces, but all in all OK! When I said, “See, Dad, now that wasn’t so bad, was it?” He said, with a straight face, “Yeah, that was a snap.” I have to laugh when I still hear those little snippets of his sarcastic humor.
Apparently Dad was in a rare hungry mood (and he loves sweets). “Do you have anything good to eat?” (He’d already eaten a banana.) My trunk was full of groceries yet to be unloaded. Fortunately, I had purchased a few “apple fritter” donuts to take to a friend at work. When I opened the package to give him one, he commented on how good they smelled. He managed to polish off one of those puppies in record time! I didn’t know he still could do so well on his own! I asked him if they reminded him of the apple turnovers his mother used to make. Of course, he didn’t remember. But I can hope, can’t I?
Sunday, July 25, 2010
Music in his soul
Tonight Dad sang with me!!!!
I ran across this youtube video www.youtube.com/watch?v=CrZXz10FcVMand decided to try the idea of "validation therapy" with Dad. AMAZING! He has been particularly non-cognizant in recent days and so I thought I would try singing to him.
Jesus is a rock in a weary land, just a stare.
Life's Evening Sun, again, more gazing at my face.
I'll Fly Away, and I paused after a phrase and he supplied "In the Morning." I sang it again and this time, he sang more!
Next, Beautiful Star of Bethlehem, and he sang HARMONY!
I said, "Vi and her boys used to sing that one." He nodded.
Then he closed his eyes--that's the signal that he's done...so I sang Victory in Jesus by myself. His eyes opened at the end of the song, "That sounded nice." And his eyes closed again. He was done for this time, but I will try again!
I know there is music in his soul!
I ran across this youtube video www.youtube.com/watch?v=CrZXz10FcVMand decided to try the idea of "validation therapy" with Dad. AMAZING! He has been particularly non-cognizant in recent days and so I thought I would try singing to him.
Jesus is a rock in a weary land, just a stare.
Life's Evening Sun, again, more gazing at my face.
I'll Fly Away, and I paused after a phrase and he supplied "In the Morning." I sang it again and this time, he sang more!
Next, Beautiful Star of Bethlehem, and he sang HARMONY!
I said, "Vi and her boys used to sing that one." He nodded.
Then he closed his eyes--that's the signal that he's done...so I sang Victory in Jesus by myself. His eyes opened at the end of the song, "That sounded nice." And his eyes closed again. He was done for this time, but I will try again!
I know there is music in his soul!
Sunday, July 18, 2010
Another lesson from Dad
My birthday was Friday. I went about the day like it was any other. Aside from a ton of Facebook postings wishing me a happy birthday and a few close friends/ family that remembered, it was an ordinary day.
I didn’t want it announced at TJ’s Science camp that morning. I didn’t even tell the old friend that invited us to her house for a swimming “playdate” for the kids. Later in the evening, one of the children told a neighbor who replied to me, “I had no idea it was your birthday!” Good! I didn’t want to draw unnecessary attention to myself or force anyone to feel that they had to make a big deal out of the event! Birthdays are for children; they become less important as the years march by.
When Dad’s birthday would roll around each November, he would say, “I’m not having a birthday this year!” or “I’m not opening any gifts this year!” Now I understand exactly what he meant!
Oh and by the way, when I told Dad it was my birthday, he said, “What are you now, 21?” HA! I can only hope someone says that to me every year! :)
I didn’t want it announced at TJ’s Science camp that morning. I didn’t even tell the old friend that invited us to her house for a swimming “playdate” for the kids. Later in the evening, one of the children told a neighbor who replied to me, “I had no idea it was your birthday!” Good! I didn’t want to draw unnecessary attention to myself or force anyone to feel that they had to make a big deal out of the event! Birthdays are for children; they become less important as the years march by.
When Dad’s birthday would roll around each November, he would say, “I’m not having a birthday this year!” or “I’m not opening any gifts this year!” Now I understand exactly what he meant!
Oh and by the way, when I told Dad it was my birthday, he said, “What are you now, 21?” HA! I can only hope someone says that to me every year! :)
Thursday, July 15, 2010
"Mama, swing me the Poppy way!"
Today, Carly, TJ and I had a picnic lunch at the park and played on the swingset. Yes, even me! It's been a LONG time since I played like a kid on the swings! I guess I'm a child at heart...swinging high above the bar trying to kick the leaves on the tree still gives me a thrill!!! :)
It reminded me of yesteryear when I would beg Dad to push me on the swing that he had hung in the giant maple tree in our backyard...splintery blue ropes from the hardware store that ate into the branch high overhead--and my hands, too! (Dad didn't like heights--in later years anyway--and I always wondered how he had managed to climb out on that limb!) with a removable wooden board for a seat. (Way cool, because without the board, one could more easily stand to swing!) I used to try to reach those leaves with my foot, too!
I couldn't wait until 4:12pm (or 4:19pm if he stopped to pick up cheesesteaks for a surprise summertime supper) when Dad would pull in from work and he would push me on the swing with an "underdoggy" or stand in front of the swing, still in his work clothes, just out of my reach to taunt me as I tried to reach him with my barefoot toes. Or he would make me lock my knees with my legs out straight so he could push the bottoms of my feet or hold onto both rope swings as I waited up in the air with anticipation for when he would let go.
Today I had the privilege of showing my children how Poppy used to push me on the swing! Yes, there was a little heart tug for me that Dad can't show them himself, but knowing that I have to now live his legacy and hearing the laughter and squeals of delight brought a smile to my face. And hearing repeated requests from a certain, curly-haired, four-year-old, "Mama, swing me the Poppy way!!!" was more thrilling to my heart than any old swing-ride!
It reminded me of yesteryear when I would beg Dad to push me on the swing that he had hung in the giant maple tree in our backyard...splintery blue ropes from the hardware store that ate into the branch high overhead--and my hands, too! (Dad didn't like heights--in later years anyway--and I always wondered how he had managed to climb out on that limb!) with a removable wooden board for a seat. (Way cool, because without the board, one could more easily stand to swing!) I used to try to reach those leaves with my foot, too!
I couldn't wait until 4:12pm (or 4:19pm if he stopped to pick up cheesesteaks for a surprise summertime supper) when Dad would pull in from work and he would push me on the swing with an "underdoggy" or stand in front of the swing, still in his work clothes, just out of my reach to taunt me as I tried to reach him with my barefoot toes. Or he would make me lock my knees with my legs out straight so he could push the bottoms of my feet or hold onto both rope swings as I waited up in the air with anticipation for when he would let go.
Today I had the privilege of showing my children how Poppy used to push me on the swing! Yes, there was a little heart tug for me that Dad can't show them himself, but knowing that I have to now live his legacy and hearing the laughter and squeals of delight brought a smile to my face. And hearing repeated requests from a certain, curly-haired, four-year-old, "Mama, swing me the Poppy way!!!" was more thrilling to my heart than any old swing-ride!
Saturday, July 10, 2010
Saturday, July 3, 2010
Fourth of July
It feels strange to not be sleep-deprived or have a nervous stomach from traveling this weekend, stopping at some rest stop in Virginia or looking for the ever-elusive Krystal Burger. I will be spending the Fourth of July in Pennsylvania this year for the first time ever (where Roman candles--most fireworks actually--are illegal! And especially no bottle rocket wars allowed!) And missing the Ferguson Family Reunion for the first time in my entire life!
Thinking back over the many car trips south, the memories flood my thoughts. First we thought we'd never get going!!! "I'm not going to Tennessee this year," we'd hear for months prior! Then Dad would want to trim the hedge or mow the grass right before we left. Mom doing last minute laundry. "Don't forget my brown belt!" Singing gospel hymns or "O, My Darling, Clementine" in the car to pass the time; Dad trying to harmonize and laughing because it sounded so bad! Watching for the "Hungry Mother State Park" sign. Arguing over the pronunciation of Wytheville, VA (soft or hard "th" sound??). "Don't run on the dock, play-ze." On the all-night trips, seeing the sun rise on the Blue Ridge Mountains, Shenandoah River (sing it, John Denver!) Dad taking the "short cuts" (!) In the early years, pulling over for a few hours to sleep at the rest stops--never could get comfortable! Occasionally having Mom talk Dad into finding a dinky little motel in some remote area off the interstate. Breakfast at Shoney's. Searching for the road back to Mom's old homeplace in Dandridge, TN. Caravaning with more than one vehicle--one year having a car break down on the holiday! A/C (to keep the drivers awake) cold enough to "hang meat in the cooler"!! Counting the miles to Roanoke, Bristol then Crossville. And such relief and joy at finally arriving at the Inn or receiving a warm, inviting welcome at Aunt Vi's cozy home. There's nothing like it in the whole wide world!
I am looking forward to that wonderful, miserably long trip (in August this year) to make new memories!
Thinking back over the many car trips south, the memories flood my thoughts. First we thought we'd never get going!!! "I'm not going to Tennessee this year," we'd hear for months prior! Then Dad would want to trim the hedge or mow the grass right before we left. Mom doing last minute laundry. "Don't forget my brown belt!" Singing gospel hymns or "O, My Darling, Clementine" in the car to pass the time; Dad trying to harmonize and laughing because it sounded so bad! Watching for the "Hungry Mother State Park" sign. Arguing over the pronunciation of Wytheville, VA (soft or hard "th" sound??). "Don't run on the dock, play-ze." On the all-night trips, seeing the sun rise on the Blue Ridge Mountains, Shenandoah River (sing it, John Denver!) Dad taking the "short cuts" (!) In the early years, pulling over for a few hours to sleep at the rest stops--never could get comfortable! Occasionally having Mom talk Dad into finding a dinky little motel in some remote area off the interstate. Breakfast at Shoney's. Searching for the road back to Mom's old homeplace in Dandridge, TN. Caravaning with more than one vehicle--one year having a car break down on the holiday! A/C (to keep the drivers awake) cold enough to "hang meat in the cooler"!! Counting the miles to Roanoke, Bristol then Crossville. And such relief and joy at finally arriving at the Inn or receiving a warm, inviting welcome at Aunt Vi's cozy home. There's nothing like it in the whole wide world!
I am looking forward to that wonderful, miserably long trip (in August this year) to make new memories!
Saturday, May 22, 2010
Monday, May 17, 2010
Her Birthday
Friday, May 14, would have been Grandma Berkheimer's 97th birthday. She loved lilacs; each year the lilacs bloomed right around her birthday so we had the joy of seeing her enjoy her favorite flower as a "birthday present" from God. One year while she still lived in Florida, Mom even shipped her some fresh ones in bloom.
This year we had an early spring. When the lilacs bloomed, we placed a fresh blossom on Grandma's grave. And on Friday, in an act of honoring her and remembering her birthday, we put a bouquet of artificial ones at her gravestone. Recently as my children and I were discussing heaven, someone said, "Don't you think heaven is filled with lilacs just for Grandma?" I can't even imagine the beauty of heavenly lilacs!
WHERE THE ROSES NEVER FADE
(Music by Robert Metzgar Words by Janie West Metzgar, 1929)
I am going to a city,
Where the streets with gold are laid;
Where the tree of life is blooming,
And the roses never fade.
Here they bloom but for a season,
Soon their beauty is decayed;
I am going to a city,
Where the roses never fade.
Loved ones gone to be with Jesus,
In their robes of white arrayed;
Now are waiting for my coming,
Where the roses never fade.
Here they bloom but for a season,
Soon their beauty is decayed;
I am going to a city,
Where the roses never fade.
Here they bloom but for a season,
Soon their beauty is decayed;
I am going to a city,
Where the roses never fade.
Where the roses never fade!
But as it is written, Eye hath not seen, nor ear heard, neither have entered into the heart of man, the things which God hath prepared for them that love him.
~~~~~~~~~~~~1 Corinthians 2:9~~~~~~~~~~~~
Saturday, May 15, 2010
Thursday, May 13, 2010
Honoring Mom
Mother's Day 2010
This week was Mother’s Day; most of us spent time honoring the special ladies in our lives. And while this blog is mostly about Dad, I want to take the time to honor a very special lady in my life.
Why is it that hindsight is always clearer? Now that I am a mother myself, I can begin to understand some of what Mom sacrificed for me.
"Mother's Are.." by Floyd Wood
Blowers of noses and washers of ears,
Smoothers of bumped spots and wipers of tears,
Bathers of babies and umpires of spats,
Finders of boots and mittens and hats,
Helpers with lessons and makers of beds,
Shakers of dust cloths and combers of heads,
Button-sew-oners and winders of clocks
Menders of dresses and darmers of socks.
Tellers of stories and readers of books,
Judges and juries of conduct and looks,
Doctors of heartaches and hearers of prayers,
Generals directing all family affairs,
Tenders of home fires and builders of men,
(Oh, for the gift of an adequate pen!)
Mom has been one of the most patient individuals I have ever known. When I think of the fruit of the Spirit, her life exemplifies those verses of Scripture in Galatians 5:22-23, “But the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness and self-control.”
Even though she is out of the season of “active’ mothering, with children in the home, she now fulfills her role in parenting as confidant, advisor and friend. (As well as this stage in her life of grandparenting with joy!) And now as she is an on-looker to Dad’s dreadful illness, I am amazed at her fortitude. Watching her beloved sweetheart of over 55 years slip quietly away must be so agonizingly painful. God has given her the grace and strength she needs for each day.
“THANK YOU,” seems so inadequate to express how much I appreciate all that Mom has been to me and all that she continues to do for me. I found some words (I guess it’s considered a poem) several years back. I wish that I could claim authorship (it’s written by Sheryl Hoffman), but its sentiment echoes what is in my heart.
Mother,
You’re such an important part
of my life.
Sometimes I take for granted
that you know how I feel…
but on Mother’s Day,
I want to tell you
how much I appreciate you.
You’ve always been
understanding
and patient with me.
You’ve helped me to see
that by trying hard
I was doing my best.
But most of all,
I’ve always known
I could depend on your love
and support…no matter what.
And that has given me
a special kind of confidence…
something that
can’t be measured in ordinary terms.
If I could give you
anything in return
for all you’ve given me,
it would have to be
the love I hold
in my heart always
for you.
I LOVE YOU, MOM!
(One of Mom's favorites: Lily of the valley)
This week was Mother’s Day; most of us spent time honoring the special ladies in our lives. And while this blog is mostly about Dad, I want to take the time to honor a very special lady in my life.
Why is it that hindsight is always clearer? Now that I am a mother myself, I can begin to understand some of what Mom sacrificed for me.
"Mother's Are.." by Floyd Wood
Blowers of noses and washers of ears,
Smoothers of bumped spots and wipers of tears,
Bathers of babies and umpires of spats,
Finders of boots and mittens and hats,
Helpers with lessons and makers of beds,
Shakers of dust cloths and combers of heads,
Button-sew-oners and winders of clocks
Menders of dresses and darmers of socks.
Tellers of stories and readers of books,
Judges and juries of conduct and looks,
Doctors of heartaches and hearers of prayers,
Generals directing all family affairs,
Tenders of home fires and builders of men,
(Oh, for the gift of an adequate pen!)
Mom has been one of the most patient individuals I have ever known. When I think of the fruit of the Spirit, her life exemplifies those verses of Scripture in Galatians 5:22-23, “But the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness and self-control.”
Even though she is out of the season of “active’ mothering, with children in the home, she now fulfills her role in parenting as confidant, advisor and friend. (As well as this stage in her life of grandparenting with joy!) And now as she is an on-looker to Dad’s dreadful illness, I am amazed at her fortitude. Watching her beloved sweetheart of over 55 years slip quietly away must be so agonizingly painful. God has given her the grace and strength she needs for each day.
“THANK YOU,” seems so inadequate to express how much I appreciate all that Mom has been to me and all that she continues to do for me. I found some words (I guess it’s considered a poem) several years back. I wish that I could claim authorship (it’s written by Sheryl Hoffman), but its sentiment echoes what is in my heart.
Mother,
You’re such an important part
of my life.
Sometimes I take for granted
that you know how I feel…
but on Mother’s Day,
I want to tell you
how much I appreciate you.
You’ve always been
understanding
and patient with me.
You’ve helped me to see
that by trying hard
I was doing my best.
But most of all,
I’ve always known
I could depend on your love
and support…no matter what.
And that has given me
a special kind of confidence…
something that
can’t be measured in ordinary terms.
If I could give you
anything in return
for all you’ve given me,
it would have to be
the love I hold
in my heart always
for you.
I LOVE YOU, MOM!
(One of Mom's favorites: Lily of the valley)
Sunday, May 2, 2010
Studies in Lamentations (from Pastor Bob Reid’s series, Lamentations ~ Tears in Troubled Times)
Today’s message was “When Grief Overwhelms Us” from chapter 3
Despite the cause of my grief (is it my sin or because I live in a sinful world?), God is with me in the fires of the furnace of my affliction. God isn’t absent, adversity (like the flash bulb of a camera) has blinded me to his presence. The writer of Lamentations (Jeremiah) was emotionally bruised, bitter, broken, buried in affliction (for the sin of a nation).
Verses 19-24 “I remember my affliction and my wandering, the bitterness and the gall. I remember them well, and my soul is downcast {it sinks} within me. YET THIS I CALL TO MIND AND THERFORE I HAVE HOPE: Because of the Lord’s great love we are not consumed, for his compassions never fail. They are new every morning; great is your faithfulness. I say to myself, ‘The Lord is my portion; therefore I will wait for him.’” Wait quietly for the Lord (not with the noise of complaint or emotion.)
On what do I focus? Loss, grief, injustice? Those only deepen my grief. Will I choose to focus on the pain or the one who loves me in my pain?
Verse 40: “Let us examine our ways and test them, and let us return to the Lord.”
“Affliction is God’s sheep dog to drive us back to the fold.”
“God’s mercy rides to our door on the black horse of affliction.”
Verse 57: “You came near when I called you, and you said, ‘do not fear.’”
In our times of affliction, God draws near for the soul who seeks him; hoping and waiting quietly, submitting to him.
Despite the cause of my grief (is it my sin or because I live in a sinful world?), God is with me in the fires of the furnace of my affliction. God isn’t absent, adversity (like the flash bulb of a camera) has blinded me to his presence. The writer of Lamentations (Jeremiah) was emotionally bruised, bitter, broken, buried in affliction (for the sin of a nation).
Verses 19-24 “I remember my affliction and my wandering, the bitterness and the gall. I remember them well, and my soul is downcast {it sinks} within me. YET THIS I CALL TO MIND AND THERFORE I HAVE HOPE: Because of the Lord’s great love we are not consumed, for his compassions never fail. They are new every morning; great is your faithfulness. I say to myself, ‘The Lord is my portion; therefore I will wait for him.’” Wait quietly for the Lord (not with the noise of complaint or emotion.)
On what do I focus? Loss, grief, injustice? Those only deepen my grief. Will I choose to focus on the pain or the one who loves me in my pain?
Verse 40: “Let us examine our ways and test them, and let us return to the Lord.”
“Affliction is God’s sheep dog to drive us back to the fold.”
“God’s mercy rides to our door on the black horse of affliction.”
Verse 57: “You came near when I called you, and you said, ‘do not fear.’”
In our times of affliction, God draws near for the soul who seeks him; hoping and waiting quietly, submitting to him.
Saturday, May 1, 2010
May 4, 2007
Today’s visit. The weather was warm and shady under the large tree on the front lawn of the home. My children played and romped in the grass, even climbing the trees. The only vehicle to drive past belonged to the mail carrier. It was so peaceful to sit undisturbed, gazing out over the farmland meadows, a warm breeze tousling even Dad’s short hair. TJ paused from playing catch with his sister to calmly sit on the bench beside Poppy’s wheelchair and hold his hand quietly. That image is frozen in my mind. “Whose yard are we in?” Dad wanted to know.
Something tugged at my memory to recall a day similar to this one: warm, sunny, with bright blue skies and blossoms everywhere, the world alive with spring, yet something dying inside of me. May 4, 2007. The neurologist confirmed what we had known (yet hoped wasn’t true) for some time. Alzheimer’s. As I dropped Mom and Dad off at home that day following the appointment, Mom quietly said in a hollow voice that still rings loudly in my ears, “Somehow the day just doesn’t seem quite as pretty anymore.”
Today, as I scanned the scene before my eyes, I reflected on what I can truly be thankful for in all of this:
...So far, since the day of the diagnosis, we have had three more years with Dad.
...My children have all had the chance to know their Poppy. Tonight at bedtime prayers all three of them prayed, “Thank you, God, that we could go to see Poppy today.” (TJ added “because I haven’t seen him in a while”---it hadn’t even been a week!) And Carly added, “and thank you that Grammy and Poppy are married” (She has weddings on her mind, preparing for her role as “flower girl”!) Recently, Dad looked directly at Emily, raised his finger to point toward her and said, “that’s my girl, right there.” She quietly said, “I know, Poppy.” And the tears fell silently without him seeing her wipe them from her cheeks.
...Dad is in a peaceful, pleasant environment. Oh, how thankful I am that he could be moved away from the other facility! There we would never have had the privacy (or the room) to enjoy an afternoon visit on a spacious front lawn in serenity and quiet, surrounded by nature’s beauty.
...Dad can still go outside! Carly asked Poppy, “Can you walk? Do you want to walk to the van?” “Well, Carly, maybe some other time.” He can’t walk, but at least he can still enjoy being outdoors.
...He still knows us and loves us. He told Mom recently that he “wouldn’t trade her for the whole world wrapped in gold!” Emily took her piano books along today to play for the other residents. Dad wanted to hear her play, “later,” he said. As we were leaving, Dad was settled into bed for a rest. I told him I had to go to work. “That’s no fun,” he responded. I asked if it was OK if Mom watched the kids for me. “No!” he said, “I’ll watch them…. Those kids of yours are dear.” “Well, Dad, they are a handful.” “Would you expect them to be anything else otherwise?”
And my heart is grateful as I ponder the truth in the words from Alfred Lord Tennyson: “Tis better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all.”
Thank you, God.
Something tugged at my memory to recall a day similar to this one: warm, sunny, with bright blue skies and blossoms everywhere, the world alive with spring, yet something dying inside of me. May 4, 2007. The neurologist confirmed what we had known (yet hoped wasn’t true) for some time. Alzheimer’s. As I dropped Mom and Dad off at home that day following the appointment, Mom quietly said in a hollow voice that still rings loudly in my ears, “Somehow the day just doesn’t seem quite as pretty anymore.”
Today, as I scanned the scene before my eyes, I reflected on what I can truly be thankful for in all of this:
...So far, since the day of the diagnosis, we have had three more years with Dad.
...My children have all had the chance to know their Poppy. Tonight at bedtime prayers all three of them prayed, “Thank you, God, that we could go to see Poppy today.” (TJ added “because I haven’t seen him in a while”---it hadn’t even been a week!) And Carly added, “and thank you that Grammy and Poppy are married” (She has weddings on her mind, preparing for her role as “flower girl”!) Recently, Dad looked directly at Emily, raised his finger to point toward her and said, “that’s my girl, right there.” She quietly said, “I know, Poppy.” And the tears fell silently without him seeing her wipe them from her cheeks.
...Dad is in a peaceful, pleasant environment. Oh, how thankful I am that he could be moved away from the other facility! There we would never have had the privacy (or the room) to enjoy an afternoon visit on a spacious front lawn in serenity and quiet, surrounded by nature’s beauty.
...Dad can still go outside! Carly asked Poppy, “Can you walk? Do you want to walk to the van?” “Well, Carly, maybe some other time.” He can’t walk, but at least he can still enjoy being outdoors.
...He still knows us and loves us. He told Mom recently that he “wouldn’t trade her for the whole world wrapped in gold!” Emily took her piano books along today to play for the other residents. Dad wanted to hear her play, “later,” he said. As we were leaving, Dad was settled into bed for a rest. I told him I had to go to work. “That’s no fun,” he responded. I asked if it was OK if Mom watched the kids for me. “No!” he said, “I’ll watch them…. Those kids of yours are dear.” “Well, Dad, they are a handful.” “Would you expect them to be anything else otherwise?”
And my heart is grateful as I ponder the truth in the words from Alfred Lord Tennyson: “Tis better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all.”
Thank you, God.
Tuesday, April 27, 2010
Moments
There have been so many ups and downs for me in recent weeks in regards to Dad’s illness. From the days I want to pretend Alzheimer’s doesn’t exist to pure joy at some of Dad’s alert reactions and comments, it goes without saying that this has been such an emotional journey. Some of the low points include the phone call from the nurse saying Dad isn’t eating and isn’t responding and does the family want to revive him should his heart stop? Am I really ready to face this? How close are we to the end of life? In a sense, we’ve all been preparing for this for a long time, but when it taps me on the shoulder, will I turn and run? Will I stare at it in utter shock, like it caught me completely off-guard? Or will I stand firm to meet it head on? (I am determined, by God’s strength, it will not flatten me.)
Last week, my son turned eight. We have a tradition at every birthday to watch the home video of the day that child was born. My dear little son burst into uncontrollable sobbing at the sight of his Poppy, healthy and whole, rejoicing at his birth. There was Poppy, tenderly holding his newest grandson (7th grandchild), smiling and laughing. What a happy day that was eight years ago! But the pain of knowing the harsh reality of today was almost more than a child could bear. How do I as a mother respond to that? I cling to what I know to be true and I speak it to his heart, because his head knows it already. (I hope my own heart was listening.) This is not all there is. One day, Poppy will be whole and complete again and we will rejoice, despite the pain. (Poppy will be in heaven waiting for us, so you better be there, son!)
Even Sunday’s visit brought a hint of tears to my boy’s eyes when Poppy, in rare form and having an exceptionally good day, said, “You are my buddy, TJ, my grandson and I’m keeping you!” I silently prayed “Keep it together, boy, just keep it together.” I prayed that for myself as well.
That visit (and the one prior, last Wednesday) was full of unspeakable joy for me as for a few moments, in a sense, my dad returned. I saw him smile! Not just that look around his eyes when the muscles lift slightly, but a real, true smile! He kept looking at the “Ferguson Soldier” picture on the wall; he knew everybody by name this time, and yet his eyes returned over and over to the face of his little brother, even with the shadow of the hat blocking some of his features, “that’s my brother, Virgil. There’s Uncle Virgil. TJ, do you see Uncle Virg up there?” And TJ would dutifully point out which photo he was referring to. His eyes would wander to the “50th Anniversary” photo above it. “There’s my little mama. My parents aren’t in this world anymore.” We talked about Ann Ferguson, widow of his brother, Mitchell.
My kids all climbed up on his bed. He wanted all of “the kids” around. “I’m so glad you kids are finally home,” he said. Carly shared a banana with him. When she gave him too big a bite, his eyes grew large and round!! We brought rice pudding and we even brought him his favorite, orange circus peanuts! He could see them in the clear plastic container and asked, “Whada’ya have there?" Without a word, I opened the lid and let him smell the candy, “That’s what I thought!” was the reply. He must have eaten 6 or 8! (Once when I was out of the room, checking on Carly, who was in the round lounge singing karaoke with the other residents—but that’s another story—he told Emily to give him three!!!) Later, the nurse brought around some ice cream. As I started to feed him, “Dad, do you want some ice cream?” He nodded and said, “Yeah, and I’ll buy you one, too!”
Poppy told TJ he liked his haircut (it’s short, Dad always liked short haircuts), Emily said, “We like your haircut, too, Poppy.” His jovial comment startled me, “Boy! The (and he couldn’t come up with the right word so he said) whatever you want to call it of some people!” Pause. Then he got the right word. “The audacity of some people!” What? Had I heard him correctly?!? What dementia patient uses the word audacity?! Amazing.
It was getting late, we needed to get home (children had school the next day). I HATED to leave. We gathered around to say goodbye, he wanted to know when he’d see us again. “I love all my kids. Every last one of them.” I said, “Dad you have a lot of kids!” He and I counted each one by name. Sixteen (including Mom and himself). “There’s sixteen of us, Dad!” “Wow, sixteen immediate family members,” he said, “I’d better go out and get me a job!!” :) Oh, Dad, some things never change! He still has that paternal instinct to provide for his family. And he can still joke! At least for the moment. And I am so thankful for the moments.
Last week, my son turned eight. We have a tradition at every birthday to watch the home video of the day that child was born. My dear little son burst into uncontrollable sobbing at the sight of his Poppy, healthy and whole, rejoicing at his birth. There was Poppy, tenderly holding his newest grandson (7th grandchild), smiling and laughing. What a happy day that was eight years ago! But the pain of knowing the harsh reality of today was almost more than a child could bear. How do I as a mother respond to that? I cling to what I know to be true and I speak it to his heart, because his head knows it already. (I hope my own heart was listening.) This is not all there is. One day, Poppy will be whole and complete again and we will rejoice, despite the pain. (Poppy will be in heaven waiting for us, so you better be there, son!)
Even Sunday’s visit brought a hint of tears to my boy’s eyes when Poppy, in rare form and having an exceptionally good day, said, “You are my buddy, TJ, my grandson and I’m keeping you!” I silently prayed “Keep it together, boy, just keep it together.” I prayed that for myself as well.
That visit (and the one prior, last Wednesday) was full of unspeakable joy for me as for a few moments, in a sense, my dad returned. I saw him smile! Not just that look around his eyes when the muscles lift slightly, but a real, true smile! He kept looking at the “Ferguson Soldier” picture on the wall; he knew everybody by name this time, and yet his eyes returned over and over to the face of his little brother, even with the shadow of the hat blocking some of his features, “that’s my brother, Virgil. There’s Uncle Virgil. TJ, do you see Uncle Virg up there?” And TJ would dutifully point out which photo he was referring to. His eyes would wander to the “50th Anniversary” photo above it. “There’s my little mama. My parents aren’t in this world anymore.” We talked about Ann Ferguson, widow of his brother, Mitchell.
My kids all climbed up on his bed. He wanted all of “the kids” around. “I’m so glad you kids are finally home,” he said. Carly shared a banana with him. When she gave him too big a bite, his eyes grew large and round!! We brought rice pudding and we even brought him his favorite, orange circus peanuts! He could see them in the clear plastic container and asked, “Whada’ya have there?" Without a word, I opened the lid and let him smell the candy, “That’s what I thought!” was the reply. He must have eaten 6 or 8! (Once when I was out of the room, checking on Carly, who was in the round lounge singing karaoke with the other residents—but that’s another story—he told Emily to give him three!!!) Later, the nurse brought around some ice cream. As I started to feed him, “Dad, do you want some ice cream?” He nodded and said, “Yeah, and I’ll buy you one, too!”
Poppy told TJ he liked his haircut (it’s short, Dad always liked short haircuts), Emily said, “We like your haircut, too, Poppy.” His jovial comment startled me, “Boy! The (and he couldn’t come up with the right word so he said) whatever you want to call it of some people!” Pause. Then he got the right word. “The audacity of some people!” What? Had I heard him correctly?!? What dementia patient uses the word audacity?! Amazing.
It was getting late, we needed to get home (children had school the next day). I HATED to leave. We gathered around to say goodbye, he wanted to know when he’d see us again. “I love all my kids. Every last one of them.” I said, “Dad you have a lot of kids!” He and I counted each one by name. Sixteen (including Mom and himself). “There’s sixteen of us, Dad!” “Wow, sixteen immediate family members,” he said, “I’d better go out and get me a job!!” :) Oh, Dad, some things never change! He still has that paternal instinct to provide for his family. And he can still joke! At least for the moment. And I am so thankful for the moments.
Monday, April 26, 2010
Before the Cloud choked out his light
Here is Dad in 2008 in front of the House in Gap. You can see he is unsteady…but he is standing. He doesn’t stand any more. I miss my Father. Some day he will stand again in front of a Mansion.
Sunday, April 4, 2010
Tuesday, March 30, 2010
Sunday, March 21, 2010
Wednesday, March 17, 2010
Friday, February 26, 2010
"See Me" Poem ~Author Unknown
What do you see, nurse... what do you see?
Are you thinking - when you look at me:
"A crabbed old woman, not very wise;
Uncertain of habit with far-away eyes,
Who dribbles her food and makes no reply
When you say in a loud voice 'I do wish you'd try.'"
Who seems not to notice the things that you do
And forever is losing a stocking or shoe;
Who, resisting or not, lets you do as you will
With bathing and feeding, the long day to fill.
Is that what you're thinking, is that what you see?
Then open your eyes, nurse. You're not looking at me!
I'll tell you who I am as I sit here so still.
As I move at your bidding, eat at your will:
- I'm a small child of ten with a father and mother,
Brothers and sisters who love one another;
- A young girl of sixteen with wings on her feet,
Dreaming that soon a love she'll meet;
- A bride at twenty, my heart gives a leap,
Remembering the vows that I promised to keep;
- At twenty-five now I have young of my own
Who need me to build a secure, happy home.
- A woman of thirty, my young now grow fast.
Bound together with ties that should last.
- At forty, my young sons have grown up and gone,
But my man's beside me to see I don't mourn;
- At fifty once more babies play 'round my knee
Again we know children, my loved ones and me...
Dark days are upon me, my husband is dead.
I look at the future, I shudder with dread.
For my young are all rearing young of their own,
And I think of the years
and the love that I've known.
I'm an old woman now, and nature is cruel.
'Tis her jest to make old age look like a fool.
The body, it crumbles, grace and vigor depart.
There is a stone where I once had a heart.
But inside this old carcass a young girl still dwells,
And now again my bittered heart swells;
I remember the joys, I remember the pain
and I'm loving and living life over again;
I think of the years, all too few, gone too fast
And accept the stark fact that nothing can last;
So open your eyes, nurse, open and see...
not a crabbed old woman.
Look closer... see me!
Are you thinking - when you look at me:
"A crabbed old woman, not very wise;
Uncertain of habit with far-away eyes,
Who dribbles her food and makes no reply
When you say in a loud voice 'I do wish you'd try.'"
Who seems not to notice the things that you do
And forever is losing a stocking or shoe;
Who, resisting or not, lets you do as you will
With bathing and feeding, the long day to fill.
Is that what you're thinking, is that what you see?
Then open your eyes, nurse. You're not looking at me!
I'll tell you who I am as I sit here so still.
As I move at your bidding, eat at your will:
- I'm a small child of ten with a father and mother,
Brothers and sisters who love one another;
- A young girl of sixteen with wings on her feet,
Dreaming that soon a love she'll meet;
- A bride at twenty, my heart gives a leap,
Remembering the vows that I promised to keep;
- At twenty-five now I have young of my own
Who need me to build a secure, happy home.
- A woman of thirty, my young now grow fast.
Bound together with ties that should last.
- At forty, my young sons have grown up and gone,
But my man's beside me to see I don't mourn;
- At fifty once more babies play 'round my knee
Again we know children, my loved ones and me...
Dark days are upon me, my husband is dead.
I look at the future, I shudder with dread.
For my young are all rearing young of their own,
And I think of the years
and the love that I've known.
I'm an old woman now, and nature is cruel.
'Tis her jest to make old age look like a fool.
The body, it crumbles, grace and vigor depart.
There is a stone where I once had a heart.
But inside this old carcass a young girl still dwells,
And now again my bittered heart swells;
I remember the joys, I remember the pain
and I'm loving and living life over again;
I think of the years, all too few, gone too fast
And accept the stark fact that nothing can last;
So open your eyes, nurse, open and see...
not a crabbed old woman.
Look closer... see me!
Unrelated ideas
I have a couple of thoughts are doing somersaults in my head and I wanted to post all three before I forgot...they are not exactly connected, but I will post them just the same.
A quote I heard from James MacDonald (Walk in the Word) Why Some Trials Never End:
"If God didn't intend to use it for eternity, He never would have allowed it." Rings true to what Larry always says about God using hardships for our GREATER good.
A powerful quote from Nancy Leigh DeMoss (Revive Our Hearts)How to Show Strength and Dignity:
"Anything that makes me need God is a blessing." Sure Re-defines the term "blessing."
A humorous quote from Dad this week:
Dad was in his bed with his eyes closed, drifting in and out of sleep. He said to Mom, "You are such a sweet girl, if I could pick from the whole world, I couldn't find anyone better."
Carly was climbing on his bed just then and dumped a very large amount of very cold hand sanitizer right onto the palm of his hand. Now remember he has his eyes closed, so he doesn't know what's coming or who is doing it...of course he hollered out and said to Mom, "I just gave you a compliment, now I have to take it all back!"
A quote I heard from James MacDonald (Walk in the Word) Why Some Trials Never End:
"If God didn't intend to use it for eternity, He never would have allowed it." Rings true to what Larry always says about God using hardships for our GREATER good.
A powerful quote from Nancy Leigh DeMoss (Revive Our Hearts)How to Show Strength and Dignity:
"Anything that makes me need God is a blessing." Sure Re-defines the term "blessing."
A humorous quote from Dad this week:
Dad was in his bed with his eyes closed, drifting in and out of sleep. He said to Mom, "You are such a sweet girl, if I could pick from the whole world, I couldn't find anyone better."
Carly was climbing on his bed just then and dumped a very large amount of very cold hand sanitizer right onto the palm of his hand. Now remember he has his eyes closed, so he doesn't know what's coming or who is doing it...of course he hollered out and said to Mom, "I just gave you a compliment, now I have to take it all back!"
Wednesday, February 24, 2010
Monday, January 18, 2010
Has it really been a year?
Has it really been a year since Dad left home? Seems hard to believe. As my children and I lie around the house with various forms of sickness this weekend, we have turned to one true source of entertainment...old home movies. What a treasure! To see Dad whole, with a full face and twinkle in his eye, to hear his voice, but most of all to hear him laugh, oh his glorious, contagious laughter!...it brings a smile to my face and a sting to my soul.
I even have a short clip of him just six months ago, it shocks me to see his decline since then. But that clip is still a treasure nonetheless as I have filmed him praying.
This kind of grief is so strange...it's like he's already gone, but I still have the privilege to be able to hold the warm hand of the man who is my father. Not the father I have known, but he is still my father, regardless.
It's been over a week now, since I've been to see him....boo, illness, go away!! Although, truly, for those we love, can anything, even death itself, ever separate us?
I even have a short clip of him just six months ago, it shocks me to see his decline since then. But that clip is still a treasure nonetheless as I have filmed him praying.
This kind of grief is so strange...it's like he's already gone, but I still have the privilege to be able to hold the warm hand of the man who is my father. Not the father I have known, but he is still my father, regardless.
It's been over a week now, since I've been to see him....boo, illness, go away!! Although, truly, for those we love, can anything, even death itself, ever separate us?
Thursday, January 7, 2010
Dad in Tennessee
Dad was in Tennessee yesterday.
Emily spent an hour with him while other family members had a meeting with the staff and several times he referred to Tennessee.
He asked Emily if she had seen Wallace lately.
And as a picture of yesteryear hangs over his bed (directly in his line of vision), he is reminded of those he holds dear. The faces in the photo are of his parents, Luella, Viola, Cora, Virg and himself as a young man (with several pictures of his uniform-clad brothers framed on the wall in the background.) I believe it was taken on the occasion of a wedding anniversary.
Glancing up at the photo, he mentioned Luella to Emily. And Zovadia.
Often he will ask if anyone knows the where-abouts of his parents.
"Want some coffee, Virg?" was another comment.
He seemed comfortable and not distressed in any way to discuss his beloved family, so I am glad that these precious people are returning to him in his mind's eye.
Emily spent an hour with him while other family members had a meeting with the staff and several times he referred to Tennessee.
He asked Emily if she had seen Wallace lately.
And as a picture of yesteryear hangs over his bed (directly in his line of vision), he is reminded of those he holds dear. The faces in the photo are of his parents, Luella, Viola, Cora, Virg and himself as a young man (with several pictures of his uniform-clad brothers framed on the wall in the background.) I believe it was taken on the occasion of a wedding anniversary.
Glancing up at the photo, he mentioned Luella to Emily. And Zovadia.
Often he will ask if anyone knows the where-abouts of his parents.
"Want some coffee, Virg?" was another comment.
He seemed comfortable and not distressed in any way to discuss his beloved family, so I am glad that these precious people are returning to him in his mind's eye.
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