the passing of time

Each year on December 18 I am reminded about how much of my life has passed and how much my grandmother has missed. Growing up my grandmother was my savior amongst my family. She was my safe place. She was often the only thing that made any sense in my life.

She left this world 1 week before Christmas and the day after my 15th birthday. We said our final goodbye 4 days before Christmas, on a Saturday.

There are times in which we take what may seem ordinary and allow it to mean something more. Each Saturday for several years before she left us was spent helping her clean her house, taking her shopping, and just being with her. Every Saturday, just like clock work, we visited and did what we could to help.

That final Saturday I said goodbye to a woman who was my best friend.

I watched this woman go from being able to race me to the mailbox as a young child to a person who spent most of her days having dialysis and visiting any number of doctors. She had a fighter's spirit. She had already survived cancer that should have killed her. It was the treatment for that cancer that led to so many other health issues, and what eventually killed her.

I never heard her complain the times I sat with her in the hospital or during dialysis. The only thing I remember her ever saying about any of it was that she felt she was being punished.

I could never understand why she felt that way, I couldn't imagine this woman doing anything to be punished for yet she was very religious and in her mind it had more meaning.

I owe my "country" upbringing to her. She would show, teach, involve me in almost anything that she had to do. I helped build fences, I helped move cattle, I helped put up hay, I picked lots of fruit, I helped cook, and a few times she even took me with her when she hunted.

She was the best of both worlds in my opinion. She was womanly and yet never afraid of getting dirty to get something accomplished. She wore dresses each day but when farm work called she simply put a pair of jeans on under her dress and went about her tasks. She loved jewelry, perfume, and fixing her hair.

She was stern but very kind. She had a clear definition of right and wrong and wasn't afraid to redirect my actions with a fly swatter to the behind. One day out of fear of the smack I ran out and around the house. Without a moments hesitation she was out the door chasing after me. I don't remember getting punished but I clearly remember her chasing after me.

She, even sick, would venture out to support my basketball playing or achievements in education. She had the profound ability to "show up" which was something that was missing in many parts of my life. I was always overjoyed to see her, never embarrassed. I wanted to spend each day with her and would look for excuses to stay with her.

She was a true matriarch who managed to get all of us together several times throughout the year. Each year her 3 children and their families would pack ourselves in her small livingroom and share Christmas Eve. It is one of my most cherished memories. The 14 of us would exchange gifts, laugh, eat, and act as if there was no where else to be.

She would read the Christmas story from the bible and my uncles would encourage us kids about hearing Santa's sleigh. We left that house knowing we were loved and wanted.

I'm sad to say we don't do that anymore, haven't since she left us. She had been the glue that bound us all together. She was the reason we were able to work through disagreements and put aside our anger and make sure we showed up...we showed up for her.

I have as of today lived half of my life without her. I have graduated high school, college, gotten married, and had 4 children in these past 15 years, all without her being there. If I think about it too long I am overwhelmed that life has just continued without her. I will forever be saddened by the fact my husband and children never knew her. I've lost the sound of her voice, her smell, and have been unable to find a single picture of just she and I.

It often feels that as the years have passed her ability to exist in my memories has faded. My fear is that with the passing of this time I will forget her and so each year I find myself clinging to the memories shared with her, both good and bad.

I only hope is that as my children grow up they can know of her and what she meant to me. That I do well to pass along the wisdom she imparted, her kindness, and her ability to have an opinion that wasn't always popular and remain unafraid to speak her mind.

Today is always in some way a very sad day but I'm very relieved to know she is no longer suffering, that she is finally at peace and no more need to be so strong just to survive.

I guess it's very simple. I loved my grandmother very much and now she's gone which is very sad, but I will never forget how she treated and loved me. She remains an example of love and care and I miss her.

In memory...

Today is my Aunt Frances' birthday. My earliest memory of her was when I was 5. She was one of my kindergarden teachers so I was rather confused if I was to call her Mrs. Reed or Aunt Frances during school. One day, while playing at her house we had a discussion about my confusion. I remember her laughing and saying she would always be my aunt but maybe during class it would be better to call her Mrs. Reed. I still remember that laugh even now.

Another thing I loved about my Aunt was her ability to sing. She shined during those moments. I remember attending church the days she would sing and I would beam with pride because she was my family, I had the privilege of calling her Aunt.

She was one of the toughest people I've ever met and she had no problem sharing what she thought. She shined so brightly and left us all too soon.

I didn't know her as well as so many other friends and family. But, I loved her dearly and miss her terribly. In honor of my Aunt's courageous fight I bring you a blog from Heather . You can visit her blog by clicking on her name.

She is a wife, mother, and a courageous survivor of mesothelioma cancer. She also agreed to allow me to post a guest blog from her. So please take a moment and meet Heather and check out her blog.

Sometimes healing moments come when we least expect them. They can just fall into our laps and help us cope with difficulties and the loss of loved ones. Thank you Heather for sharing your story and I send you health, hope, and happiness.

Happy birthday Aunt Frances. I love you, I miss you, and I hope you're still laughing and singing.

"It takes a village"

When you have a baby, many times you hear the phrase, “It takes a village to raise a child.” Over the years, I have come to realize how true that really is. My story brings home the point that parenting is not meant to be done in a vacuum. Everyone talks about being “strong, independent women,” but sometimes, being strong and independent means realizing when you have to call in help, that you can’t always be everything and do everything for your child. I never thought I would have to lean so heavily on those around me. But I am ever thankful that through my struggles, I had that village surrounding me, embracing me and my child, and doing for her what I could not do myself.

I’ve always been a strong and independent woman. Before my baby was born, I was a part owner of a large, successful salon company and personally ran one of the three salons in the business. In addition to working behind a chair myself, I managed over twenty employees. I was healthy, energetic, and active.

This was my life, up until the day I gave birth to my baby girl, Lily. She was born August 4, 2005. Since my pregnancy was so uneventful, I expected to pop back into my old routine without a problem. I returned to work a few weeks after Lily’s birth.

However, within a month of my return, I was constantly tired and breathless, and began losing weight. I figured this was normal, since most new mothers feel exhausted and lose weight. But soon my weight loss reached an extreme level. I was losing an astonishing five to seven pounds a week.

After some medical tests, I learned that I had fluid around my lung. After more tests, to my utter and complete shock, I was diagnosed with a cancer called mesothelioma, caused by asbestos exposure in my childhood. This diagnosis came November 21, 2005 when my daughter was only three and a half months old.

My first thought was for my daughter. Would she miss out on having a mother? Would my husband have to raise her without me? Would there always be a big hole in her life where I used to be? I knew then that I was going to have to do whatever was necessary to beat this diagnosis.

I flew to Boston where I had an extrapleural pneumenectomy, a surgery that removed my left lung, all the surrounding tissue, lymph nodes, diaphragm on the left side, the lining of my heart and one of my ribs. I also had a heated chemotherapy wash to further eradicate any cancer. Two and a half months after my surgery, I began chemotherapy and radiation.

During those early months of my baby’s life, I began to see the blessing of the “village.” My parents in their South Dakota home cared for my daughter while I was fighting cancer across the country. People I had known as a teen offered their support and time to assist my mom and dad who were juggling their jobs and “parenting” their brand new granddaughter. The “village” loved me from afar by feeding my baby and loving her while I was in distant Boston struggling for my life. My only glimpses of how she was growing and changing were grainy pictures e-mailed from my mom to us while we were at the hospital. Missing my daughter was heart wrenching. But I knew that she was in the best hands possible.

Those difficult days changed our whole family. My health keeps me from going back to work, but that is okay. It’s really not that important to me anymore. What is important is family, love, generosity, kindness, and the one constant in it that makes it all work: our faith. Through those hard times we never lost our faith in God and always believed that everything would work out for the best.

Looking back, I can see that my struggle boiled down our lives to the essentials. Because of my struggle, I am raising Lily to value those essentials, and she is growing up to be a valuable part of that “village.”

Lily is six years old now and is growing up to be such a compassionate, caring girl. It warms my heart when I see her willing to donate her old clothes and toys to those in need. She really amazes me. I think that because of everything Lily went through early on in her life, and everyone she depended on to help her and our family, she realizes the need to be kind and has a true sense of the good that helping others can do. Even if she was only an infant at the time of my diagnosis, Lily was affected in ways that have shaped the person she is today. She is my quirky, loving little six year old and she is the reason I am still here today.

Despite the struggle that cancer has brought to my life, I am thankful, for even through my illness, I have found blessings, love, and perspective.

Read more: http://www.mesothelioma.com/blog/authors/heather/#ixzz1fiGxlwln

journey of thanks

As Thanksgiving approaches I find myself both saddened and overjoyed. This year more than any other has a complex set of emotions attached. It is a year of firsts in many ways.

This year, the day before Thanksgiving, will mark 30 years of the passing of someone I never met yet have always felt a kinship to. My grandfather died less than a month before I was born. I never had the chance to get one of his hugs, or hear him play his organ, or even know very much about him...until this year.

As a child the only thing I had was his obituary that had been placed in my baby book. I removed it from the book and kept it instead in my nightstand. It is still something that to this day stays in my nightstand. It has always served as a connection to someone I wish I had known and have loved always.

When things in my life became difficult that piece of paper became something I would reach for in the hopes it would be enough to help make sense of things. It became more than just a piece of paper.

It's difficult to find yourself longing for a connection with someone who is no longer alive. Through my youth I tried many times to find out more about this man with no success. I quickly learned that his passing was a very sad subject and something I shouldn't bring up. Granted when anyone looses their father at a mere 51 years of age it would be hard not to be saddened by the realization of all that has been missed.

Each year during the month of November I think of him and when possible make a trip to the cemetery to pay my respects to someone I don't know. I cry every time I go there. I cry now as I write this. I held on to this man so much as a child that it seems impossible that I never knew him. I'm beginning to learn about my grandfather because of one of his daughters, my aunt.

This year I have found myself with family I never thought I would have or that would mean so much to me. My family finds itself in a position it has never been before. It has been a year of new beginnings and a parting with the past.

For the first time in my almost 30 years of life I find myself with parental figures who I could ask any question and get an answer. People who have shown me what love from a parent should look like and what it means to "show up" for someone and what life can be like without unnecessary drama.

They have truly saved my life this year. They have added meaning to my life, helped fill a void I never thought was possible, and no matter how dark or dreary the day they are there waiting, willing, wanting to help, comfort, and love not only myself but my husband and children as well. They have accepted us with open arms and keep asking for more.

Yes, I question their sanity from time to time because of all this but each time I am met with nothing but love and acceptance. I even fight against this love and acceptance sometimes. Even then I am met with more love and acceptance.

This year I won't make that walk in the cemetery alone. This year I won't cry alone or feel the loss alone. And while the feelings will be ones of sadness I find myself even more grateful to Grandpap. For he has helped shape his daughter into someone I hold very dear, someone I wouldn't want to go a day without talking to, and someone who is willing to put up with a lot of crap and continue showing up. He helped bring us together. He helped make us family in every sense of the word.

This year as my children, husband, and I create new traditions for the holidays I find myself very grateful for those I call family. I'm thankful to all of them because they have helped me get to where I am today. They have allowed for growth and an understanding of what I want and don't want in life. They have taught me to accept the good and deal with the bad.

Life is a journey, one we don't take alone...even when we try.

This year more than any other I'm thankful for my children and my husband who put up with my craziness whether they wish to or not...and love me in spite of it. I'm thankful for the acceptance, guidance, and love from my aunt and uncle who are much more than an aunt and uncle.

To Sean, Erin, Ireland, Michael, Conor, Paula, Howard & the rest of my family: Thanks for helping me make the most of the good and the least of the bad, even when you didn't know you were doing so.

Have a wonderful holiday and enjoy your family...even the bad apples. They help us recognize and enjoy the good ones.

Making the most of the good...

In the last several months I have begun to miss this blog. Miss the time spent thinking of my children and my parenting. I miss the time I would take to look a little deeper and write about something that had meaning to me.

I'd like to say that in my absence things have increasingly gotten easier with parenting. That would be a lie. Being a parent of twins is trying, but a parent of 4 can be maddening.

Someone is always upset with another. One is always jealous of another. Everyone needs and deserves attention. Everyone is facing a challenge all their own. Yet, with four of them and only one of me those special moments of undivided attention are far and few between.

With the insight of a very dear person I came to realize that if I wanted my parenting to get better I was going to need to "build us up" and spend the extra energy to make sure even when the day was difficult those four amazing lives felt loved, and knew that no matter what would happen I would always be there for them.

It isn't easy admitting that you fall short of the expectations of yourself. There's always that pressure to be perfect. Your kids must be given just the right thing, what is socially acceptable at the moment. No more jars of baby food, good mothers make their own. No more regular diapers, good mothers use something that is "green" and Earth friendly. No more easy dinners, good mothers make sure their kids are getting all the veggies and nutrients they need. The list is endless.

Just so we are clear, by these definitions I'm a terrible mother. I never made my kids baby food, I have never used a "green" diaper, and I have been known to allow my kids to have ice-cream for dinner.

If I look at my parenting from the vantage point of this "perfect" mother I would spend lots of time punishing myself for not being perfect and as I'm trying to learn perfection is impossible.

Perfection, it's such a tricky word. Practice makes perfect...I think I heard it 1000 times growing up. I'm sure most of you are familiar with the phrase, too. We grow up thinking perfection is the goal. It isn't a goal, it isn't even realistic.

The new goal for not only myself but my children as well, is to make the most of the good and the least of the bad. This isn't easy either, but I believe it is a better destination. If worked towards it helps allow my children the opportunity to be optimists. Which is something I have never been.

I want them to see things positively, believe in miracles, and instead of instantly going to worst case scenario be able to see the good in something. I don't want them to be me. I don't want to color their view of the world to the point they've lost before they've even started.

I want my children to be able to dust themselves off after facing something bad, something difficult, and walk away feeling stronger because of it...not defeated.

I'm not entirely sure how we will reach this goal as even my humor tends to be pessimistic. However, they deserve the chance to embrace all that is possible, so I must dig deep and make sure I'm not the one holding them back.

It won't be easy, and at times it may be down right miserable (for me) but sometimes you have to be able to laugh at pain, at difficulties, and know that survival is possible.

After all, it isn't about seeing the glass half empty or full...it's about realizing that you've been given the glass in the first place. How you decide to fill it will be the story of your life.