Today is Orphan Sunday and I have become painfully aware of the worldwide orphan epidemic because of this day. My heart aches thinking about this.
It is late here on the East Coast, but I am fan of "its never too late." Did you know there are over 160 million orphans worldwide? I cannot fathom 160 million children without families, waiting, some with hope, some without. Can you even imagine? I feel moved to do something this day, right now.
Today, I am giving away two bags of Hope Suds laundry detergent, of your choice. Hope Suds is all natural, and HE safe. From their website: "100% of our proceeds assist families in their journey to adopt orphans worldwide. Every load of laundry means Hope and Home to these precious children."
To enter, please leave a comment below telling me your thoughts on orphan care. For an extra entry please like Hope Suds on Facebook and leave a separate comment. For a third entry, tweet this giveaway, and leave a separate comment. Giveaway ends Friday, November 12 at 10pm EST.
I love the Hope Suds family. I can say I knew them before any of their children came along. I am so pleased to support them now in saving lives.
Sunday, November 7, 2010
Friday, November 5, 2010
If you Give a Squirrel a Pumpkin
We are a family of traditions. With so many moves, I want my kids to know consistency, regardless of what city we call home. There is an expectancy on our part as parents, and their part as kids. There are ways we do things, things that are our Commons. We have our daily traditions, our weekly traditions, our lifestyle traditions, and obviously our feasting traditions. I want them to know things that are purposeful and established in our home. I want them to know a family legacy.
I am awed by their small fry brotherhood. It is a distinct subculture. They hang together, and giggle together, and fight together. Its beautiful. Along came Halloween, and the boy tribe went to church dressed in orange. I want them to remember their childhood gusto for being their own posse, for loyalty and honor to one another. I want that gusto for them, the same gusto my husband has for our family, for their families one day.
I want their lives to reflect a God that loves them more than they love each other or anyone else. I want them to know they can never be as great alone as they can be with Him. So as we hollowed out the pumpkins, I explained how we too are like pumpkins. There are parts of us that are dark and icky on the inside. But a loving God cleans us up, and His light can shine through us.
And at our house, there are the childhood traditions that are just plain ol' fun, like eating Mummy Dogs. I made these for my kids during the month of October. The boys loved these so much they may request these year round. Ah, but I am a traditionalist. Sorry boys, October only.
This year is a year like no other. Some things cannot be steeped in tradition since we can only live here through June. And for those moments, I want my kids to learn to live in the moment, to embrace what life offers when it comes.
Hubs casually mentioned a few special activities at Harvard for the kids. Obviously, I wouldn't want to take the kids for just an hour on a Friday, driving in traffic, he reasoned. WHAT?!? Of course I did. When else were my kids going to trick or treat at Harvard? I want our kids to know fun. I want them to know that we cannot always be practical, be schedule oriented, and be so steeped in tradition, in a set way of doing things, that they cannot STRETCH. There is, however, a difference between stretching and bending until we snap from bending too far. They trick or treated again on Sunday night. Son1 saw a neighbor friend and wanted to trick or treat with his family. He invited himself, in a way. But I pulled him aside and told him that we were staying together as a family, that we would not leave anyone behind, and for safety he was staying with us. The streets are dark, and the lights are too dim. Plus it was a bitter 39 degrees, and he should want to stay near me since I had his jacket. He stopped and thought about what I said. He just smiled and agreed.
In an instant the squirrel was gone. I thought we were done with our little observation. But my boys saw a different view. "NO MOMMY! Look behind you!" And there he was sitting at the edge of our driveway behind me.
I am awed by their small fry brotherhood. It is a distinct subculture. They hang together, and giggle together, and fight together. Its beautiful. Along came Halloween, and the boy tribe went to church dressed in orange. I want them to remember their childhood gusto for being their own posse, for loyalty and honor to one another. I want that gusto for them, the same gusto my husband has for our family, for their families one day.
I want their lives to reflect a God that loves them more than they love each other or anyone else. I want them to know they can never be as great alone as they can be with Him. So as we hollowed out the pumpkins, I explained how we too are like pumpkins. There are parts of us that are dark and icky on the inside. But a loving God cleans us up, and His light can shine through us.
And at our house, there are the childhood traditions that are just plain ol' fun, like eating Mummy Dogs. I made these for my kids during the month of October. The boys loved these so much they may request these year round. Ah, but I am a traditionalist. Sorry boys, October only.
Hubs casually mentioned a few special activities at Harvard for the kids. Obviously, I wouldn't want to take the kids for just an hour on a Friday, driving in traffic, he reasoned. WHAT?!? Of course I did. When else were my kids going to trick or treat at Harvard? I want our kids to know fun. I want them to know that we cannot always be practical, be schedule oriented, and be so steeped in tradition, in a set way of doing things, that they cannot STRETCH. There is, however, a difference between stretching and bending until we snap from bending too far. They trick or treated again on Sunday night. Son1 saw a neighbor friend and wanted to trick or treat with his family. He invited himself, in a way. But I pulled him aside and told him that we were staying together as a family, that we would not leave anyone behind, and for safety he was staying with us. The streets are dark, and the lights are too dim. Plus it was a bitter 39 degrees, and he should want to stay near me since I had his jacket. He stopped and thought about what I said. He just smiled and agreed.
The day after Halloween we pulled into our driveway and found a very hungry squirrel. The kids shrieked in our van at the sight. I felt hot prickles on the back of my neck. Our pumpkins were a squirrel's feast. The kids wanted me to know. They wanted me to see. I thought they were upset. I was a little bugged myself. I thought how I might cry if I was their age.
It was quiet for a moment or two. Then I heard a curious voice ask, "Hey, Mommy, do you have a camera with you?" And then another voice, "Yeah, yeah, yeah!!! Take a picture!"
"Hurry Mommy, HURRY! You are going to miss it!!" And while I scrounged around for my camera, I smiled. They are boys. They see wonder sometimes when I see a problem. When I saw a pumpkin problem, they saw a pumpkin opportunity. It is amazing how they think differently, see differently.We watched as the squirrel dined on the pumpkin lid, and rolled it with its tiny hands.
Monday, October 25, 2010
The Road To Harvard: Part I
We drove in the dark across the desert of a hot July night to Arizona, just Son3 and me. It was quiet. Too quiet. He was not exactly the chattiest driving buddy. It was so peaceful that I fought to stay awake. I caught up to Hubs and the older boys an hour and a half after I left San Diego. Still, Phoenix felt eons away.
We planned to stop at GG's (great grandma's) house for dinner. We were so late, hours late. Dinner turned into a 1am midnight snack of barbecued meat. GG had it waiting, and my kids scarfed it down. Forget that we had stopped for In-N-Out; they ate like champs. At 80 years old, that is GG for you, opening her doors unbiased by time of day. It is the same hospitality that runs deep in my husband's family across generations. My mother in law is just the same, and so is the Hubs. They are quick to serve others before themselves. Their character comes before their comfort. It is how we are training our boys. It is who we want them to become.
We dragged ourselves through a nearby hotel lobby an hour later to a nice suite. We slept. We woke. We ate. GG and Grandma T came for a swim, and left for G.G.'s house.
I did not feel the weight of the move. I did not feel the weight of the road trip.
I felt peace. I gave what I could. A handful of family members received.
The year after my sister in love's death, the Lord gave our family new life. Our first child was born. I do not believe he granted life to replace anyone, or to give back whom he had taken. He is God and he owes us nothing. No, he granted life in spite of her death.
Joy after death is very hard to explain, but very sweet to taste. For me to return to Arizona, to taste grief, and to hold joy in my arms all at once, is an inexplicable feeling. It reminded me how God extends mercy and grace in spite of grief.
I gave what I could. I gave my children time to freely interact with their grandmothers. I knew our time was short. I knew their love was big. I knew traffic was mounting. I knew my kids were acting naughty. I knew this time was cherished. I knew that my Hubs was mission oriented and anxious to get on the road, and time was of the essence. I gave what I could. I gave time.
I ran a load of laundry at G.G.'s house but did not move it to the dryer. The Arizona heat was sweltering at 113 degrees. G.G. and Son1 collected the wet clothes and pinched them between clothes pins on the clothes line. Giggles, laughter, and directions on just how to dry clothes in the desert streamed through an open sliding glass door. I wish I had taken that picture. She took the picture in her mind, and so did he. He talks about how he hung the laundry in the desert with his great grandmother, and she reminds him when she calls.
G.G. gave what she could. She gave time outside. She gave time inside. Hubs and Son2 took a quiet nap in the cool back bedroom that once was Carina's. It looks different now, but it looks the same. I peeked in, and quietly closed the door, remembering many nights I slept in that same room. Back in the living room I found GG and Son1 playing Go Fish. I heard more giggles, more directions, and watched as GG patiently sat with my beautiful son around a low coffee table she has had for probably fifty years. I joined them at the coffee table, where she played cards with her own children, her grandchildren, and now her great grandchildren. I thought about the last time I played at that coffee table Carina was still here. And then, my mind remembered the story that I have heard many, many times about GG teaching my husband to play Go Fish in the hospital when he was waiting for his first brother to be born.
When I tasted grief that day in Arizona, I knew mercy and compassion. Though our family has walked through the valley of the shadow of death, we have felt the comfort of God. We have not been alone, even in our grief. And still, I felt more in GG's living room.
The taste of grace is to know joy, to choose to giggle, to celebrate life, and to be playful, every day, regardless of the circumstance. It is choosing to count it all joy in spite of death, giggles in spite of a pressing drive across the country with three small children, and granting time, because life is so brief. It is sometimes all we can give, time. To know grace is to extend kindness to others because of the kindness God has shown us through his Son.
It was almost time to leave. The laundry was packed. The cards were put away. Suddenly, Son1 hailed us to the sliding glass door. There on GG's lawn was a bunny rabbit. We watched her play and scamper. That bunny made a connection for us across states, across generations. For me, it was just another peace omen.
For weeks leading up to our trip across country, GG
It was time. We were starving, so we piled into three cars to Cracker Barrel for dinner. I took one last picture of my boys with their grandmother and GG.
Dinner time came and went. We sat for awhile more in the rocking chairs outside the restaurant while I fed the baby one more meal. Time to go. We realized one bag was still back at GG's house. So Hubs and our older two boys jumped in the truck, pulling the trailer, while Son3 and I drove back for the forgotten bag.
I found it quickly, and allowed GG to rearrange the inside of my van. Well, she gave me no choice. There was no stopping her. My mother in law and I just shook our heads. GG is determined.
Once again, it was time. GG grabbed me something fierce and told me she wanted to pray for me. She did. She pulled away and I could see tears in her eyes and in my mother in law's eyes. No, no, no. I made a little joke, and soon enough the glassy eyes were gone.
Life is so brief. Our family knows.
I carefully made my way to I-17. It was desert dark. It was windy. It was rainy. Everyone was speeding. On that highway I thanked God for Carina. The last time I was on this highway was ten years before, when we drove across country together. I prayed for safety for 2 hours for my friends. They were driving through the night after the loss of a family member from Kansas. They would be on the same highway in a couple of hours, in the opposite direction.
Finally, I met up with Hubs and the boys in Flagstaff near midnight. We spent the night in a hotel across from his college apartment.
The next day we toured Meteor Crater.
This is an open window that framed the desert scene perfectly.
We watched a very scientific movie about the meteorite that caused the crater. It brought Son1 nearly to tears. He wanted to know why God would allow this to happen. I had no answers. I offered that it would not happen again. He asked me how I knew that. I realized that I have no guarantees in this life for my kids. I could not guarantee a meteor would not hit the Earth, just as I cannot guarantee that my kids will not experience hurt and grief. It was a sobering thought. Minutes passed. New thoughts. The crater was an amazing sight.
It was time to jump back in the cars. All of our possessions not in our cars were in this teeny tiny trailer.
Time to hit the road again, with no guarantees for the next day, or the day after that.
We planned to stop at GG's (great grandma's) house for dinner. We were so late, hours late. Dinner turned into a 1am midnight snack of barbecued meat. GG had it waiting, and my kids scarfed it down. Forget that we had stopped for In-N-Out; they ate like champs. At 80 years old, that is GG for you, opening her doors unbiased by time of day. It is the same hospitality that runs deep in my husband's family across generations. My mother in law is just the same, and so is the Hubs. They are quick to serve others before themselves. Their character comes before their comfort. It is how we are training our boys. It is who we want them to become.
We dragged ourselves through a nearby hotel lobby an hour later to a nice suite. We slept. We woke. We ate. GG and Grandma T came for a swim, and left for G.G.'s house.
I did not feel the weight of the move. I did not feel the weight of the road trip.
I felt peace. I gave what I could. A handful of family members received.
The year after my sister in love's death, the Lord gave our family new life. Our first child was born. I do not believe he granted life to replace anyone, or to give back whom he had taken. He is God and he owes us nothing. No, he granted life in spite of her death.
Joy after death is very hard to explain, but very sweet to taste. For me to return to Arizona, to taste grief, and to hold joy in my arms all at once, is an inexplicable feeling. It reminded me how God extends mercy and grace in spite of grief.
I gave what I could. I gave my children time to freely interact with their grandmothers. I knew our time was short. I knew their love was big. I knew traffic was mounting. I knew my kids were acting naughty. I knew this time was cherished. I knew that my Hubs was mission oriented and anxious to get on the road, and time was of the essence. I gave what I could. I gave time.
I ran a load of laundry at G.G.'s house but did not move it to the dryer. The Arizona heat was sweltering at 113 degrees. G.G. and Son1 collected the wet clothes and pinched them between clothes pins on the clothes line. Giggles, laughter, and directions on just how to dry clothes in the desert streamed through an open sliding glass door. I wish I had taken that picture. She took the picture in her mind, and so did he. He talks about how he hung the laundry in the desert with his great grandmother, and she reminds him when she calls.
G.G. gave what she could. She gave time outside. She gave time inside. Hubs and Son2 took a quiet nap in the cool back bedroom that once was Carina's. It looks different now, but it looks the same. I peeked in, and quietly closed the door, remembering many nights I slept in that same room. Back in the living room I found GG and Son1 playing Go Fish. I heard more giggles, more directions, and watched as GG patiently sat with my beautiful son around a low coffee table she has had for probably fifty years. I joined them at the coffee table, where she played cards with her own children, her grandchildren, and now her great grandchildren. I thought about the last time I played at that coffee table Carina was still here. And then, my mind remembered the story that I have heard many, many times about GG teaching my husband to play Go Fish in the hospital when he was waiting for his first brother to be born.
When I tasted grief that day in Arizona, I knew mercy and compassion. Though our family has walked through the valley of the shadow of death, we have felt the comfort of God. We have not been alone, even in our grief. And still, I felt more in GG's living room.The taste of grace is to know joy, to choose to giggle, to celebrate life, and to be playful, every day, regardless of the circumstance. It is choosing to count it all joy in spite of death, giggles in spite of a pressing drive across the country with three small children, and granting time, because life is so brief. It is sometimes all we can give, time. To know grace is to extend kindness to others because of the kindness God has shown us through his Son.
It was almost time to leave. The laundry was packed. The cards were put away. Suddenly, Son1 hailed us to the sliding glass door. There on GG's lawn was a bunny rabbit. We watched her play and scamper. That bunny made a connection for us across states, across generations. For me, it was just another peace omen.
For weeks leading up to our trip across country, GGIt was time. We were starving, so we piled into three cars to Cracker Barrel for dinner. I took one last picture of my boys with their grandmother and GG.
Dinner time came and went. We sat for awhile more in the rocking chairs outside the restaurant while I fed the baby one more meal. Time to go. We realized one bag was still back at GG's house. So Hubs and our older two boys jumped in the truck, pulling the trailer, while Son3 and I drove back for the forgotten bag.
I found it quickly, and allowed GG to rearrange the inside of my van. Well, she gave me no choice. There was no stopping her. My mother in law and I just shook our heads. GG is determined.
Once again, it was time. GG grabbed me something fierce and told me she wanted to pray for me. She did. She pulled away and I could see tears in her eyes and in my mother in law's eyes. No, no, no. I made a little joke, and soon enough the glassy eyes were gone.
Life is so brief. Our family knows.
I carefully made my way to I-17. It was desert dark. It was windy. It was rainy. Everyone was speeding. On that highway I thanked God for Carina. The last time I was on this highway was ten years before, when we drove across country together. I prayed for safety for 2 hours for my friends. They were driving through the night after the loss of a family member from Kansas. They would be on the same highway in a couple of hours, in the opposite direction.
Finally, I met up with Hubs and the boys in Flagstaff near midnight. We spent the night in a hotel across from his college apartment.
The next day we toured Meteor Crater.
This is an open window that framed the desert scene perfectly.
The crater is 4,000 feet wide and over 500 feet deep.
We watched a very scientific movie about the meteorite that caused the crater. It brought Son1 nearly to tears. He wanted to know why God would allow this to happen. I had no answers. I offered that it would not happen again. He asked me how I knew that. I realized that I have no guarantees in this life for my kids. I could not guarantee a meteor would not hit the Earth, just as I cannot guarantee that my kids will not experience hurt and grief. It was a sobering thought. Minutes passed. New thoughts. The crater was an amazing sight.
Saturday, September 18, 2010
The Road to Harvard: The Preface
So we are HERE. Next week marks one month in our house in New England. Getting here was more than I could have imagined. It was full of unexpected experience with the four people I love most in the world. It was an adventure that I would take on again and again. I would not trade this summer for a summer anywhere else. I told Son1 that he may never have a summer like this ever again.
The road here was emotional. And by road, I don't mean the freeways or highways. And by emotional, I do not mean I cried. There were some moments of intense happiness, moments of peace, moments of excitement, and moments of reflection. They are treasures to me.
Last night I was making some temporary edits to my blog. My eyes nearly fell out of my head when I saw that I had only made 11 blog posts in 2010. There was a year I made 261 blog posts. That is not this year. We have lived life, really lived life, almost every waking hour.
My only regret is not having shared the good life with anyone else.
In the last few hours I decided that I must write about this summer, and not just blow past the past. It was one of the most life changing events for me. I felt God speak to me in a tangible way. I fell more in love with my husband. My kids grew a more distinct brotherhood. I cannot believe I would admit this, but I actually saw the beauty in a road trip from San Diego to Boston, rather than choosing to jet across the miles in an airplane. Some years ago I vowed early in motherhood to fly rather than drive at all costs. My eldest two boys have logged some serious airplane miles in their young lives. When we lived in Hawaii I flew 2500 miles many times with the older two boys. I made that flight sometimes with the whole family. I also made that long trek alone with an infant and then alone while pregnant with the second and an active toddler, and finally with two small children and pregnant with a third. Traveling with them was manageable, but difficult. I only thought a road trip might be more crazy. I was wrong. Driving was easy, even with our family split between two cars, pulling a trailer.
So this is a new beginning point for me. This is a point of leaving the familiar, experiencing the unplanned, arriving differently than when we had left. But this time, you are coming, too.
The road here was emotional. And by road, I don't mean the freeways or highways. And by emotional, I do not mean I cried. There were some moments of intense happiness, moments of peace, moments of excitement, and moments of reflection. They are treasures to me.
Last night I was making some temporary edits to my blog. My eyes nearly fell out of my head when I saw that I had only made 11 blog posts in 2010. There was a year I made 261 blog posts. That is not this year. We have lived life, really lived life, almost every waking hour.
My only regret is not having shared the good life with anyone else.
In the last few hours I decided that I must write about this summer, and not just blow past the past. It was one of the most life changing events for me. I felt God speak to me in a tangible way. I fell more in love with my husband. My kids grew a more distinct brotherhood. I cannot believe I would admit this, but I actually saw the beauty in a road trip from San Diego to Boston, rather than choosing to jet across the miles in an airplane. Some years ago I vowed early in motherhood to fly rather than drive at all costs. My eldest two boys have logged some serious airplane miles in their young lives. When we lived in Hawaii I flew 2500 miles many times with the older two boys. I made that flight sometimes with the whole family. I also made that long trek alone with an infant and then alone while pregnant with the second and an active toddler, and finally with two small children and pregnant with a third. Traveling with them was manageable, but difficult. I only thought a road trip might be more crazy. I was wrong. Driving was easy, even with our family split between two cars, pulling a trailer.
So this is a new beginning point for me. This is a point of leaving the familiar, experiencing the unplanned, arriving differently than when we had left. But this time, you are coming, too.
Sunday, September 12, 2010
Why I Can't Pick Just One
Sometimes being the new mommy on the block seems more frightening than being the new kid on the block. The new kid just wonders when they will have a friend. The new mommy on the block has actually been around the block. I know what it is to be new. I know what it is to make deep friendships. I know what it means to click with a mommy but not with her kids. I know what it is to click with nice kids, and wish their parents were different. And then sometimes I click with someone and our kids click.
Have you ever just met someone and thought, hmmm, I can tell we click? Have you ever anticipated a "next time" meeting? Have you ever thought of the questions you might ask that person ahed of time, just to be prepared? Well, I met her in the last couple of weeks. Then, we were on the same email distribution list for an upcoming event. And then, I googled her last night.
Last night. Last night I was in a different place before I googled her. I struggled to choose whom to send a Dayspring card for the National Day of Encouragement. A card pack was given to me by the folks at Dayspring and the (in)courage blog. I was asked to write just one card. The cards are absolutely gorgeous.
I juggled a list of names in my mind. Who really needed to be encouraged? Whose "story" could I share? I had no answers. I asked God to tug on my heart and bring one person to mind. And then I got distracted. And my mind wandered. And I googled her.
I already had my questions ready for our next meeting. And then I googled her. Suddenly I had no more questions. She lost her husband, and has three small children. The eldest is my six year old son's age. My heart nearly fell out of my chest. My stomach was somewhere around my ankles. I realized my idea of who she is, is just an idea. My heart filled with compassion for her and for her kids.
God answered. My heart was tugged. There is no time like the present. This life is so brief with no guarantees, no warranties, no return policies. I am sending every single card that I received out to every single woman that has crossed my mind that needs to be encouraged this week.
And as for her, I am keeping what I know to myself. I am making an effort to know her. I will move out of my comfort zone, out of the new mom on the block insecurity, into plain sight. I just may make a friendship.
Have you ever just met someone and thought, hmmm, I can tell we click? Have you ever anticipated a "next time" meeting? Have you ever thought of the questions you might ask that person ahed of time, just to be prepared? Well, I met her in the last couple of weeks. Then, we were on the same email distribution list for an upcoming event. And then, I googled her last night.
Last night. Last night I was in a different place before I googled her. I struggled to choose whom to send a Dayspring card for the National Day of Encouragement. A card pack was given to me by the folks at Dayspring and the (in)courage blog. I was asked to write just one card. The cards are absolutely gorgeous.
I juggled a list of names in my mind. Who really needed to be encouraged? Whose "story" could I share? I had no answers. I asked God to tug on my heart and bring one person to mind. And then I got distracted. And my mind wandered. And I googled her.I already had my questions ready for our next meeting. And then I googled her. Suddenly I had no more questions. She lost her husband, and has three small children. The eldest is my six year old son's age. My heart nearly fell out of my chest. My stomach was somewhere around my ankles. I realized my idea of who she is, is just an idea. My heart filled with compassion for her and for her kids.
God answered. My heart was tugged. There is no time like the present. This life is so brief with no guarantees, no warranties, no return policies. I am sending every single card that I received out to every single woman that has crossed my mind that needs to be encouraged this week.
And as for her, I am keeping what I know to myself. I am making an effort to know her. I will move out of my comfort zone, out of the new mom on the block insecurity, into plain sight. I just may make a friendship.
Thursday, August 26, 2010
I Left My Heart in Arizona
I resisted telling you about driving through Arizona on the way to Boston. Actually, it was lovely. More on the loveliness later. This is about my raw heart. These feelings are fresh. I have not felt this in seven years.
In early June, our family traveled to Arizona to watch the Hubs be hooded for his PhD. I remember staring out the window of my minivan, on the freeway. My thoughts tumbled out of my mouth. Did he feel closer to his sister here, I asked. He replied simply, no. I sat still, and stared out that window some more. I DID. I DO.
This past Friday, I walked up the stairs from the basement of our temporary house into the kitchen. It was move out day, to our current house. The Hubs was cleaning. He stopped and looked at a bewildered me. My eyes welled with tears. Was I emotional about leaving the house, he wondered. That was a lighthearted joke. No way. It was something else. I told him he might think I was dumb. I bargained not to tell him. His eyes were burdened looking at me. He wanted to know. Okay. I took one deep breath. I stalled some more. I made him promise not to respond to what I was about to say, no matter what I said. I asked him if he believed that Carina .......(insert the rest of what I said)........ in heaven. It is a question no one on earth can answer.
"Don't say anything," I said. He looked at me deeply. The tears spilled from my eyes. I turned away and he continued to scrub the kitchen counter in silence. Several days later he has never responded. He honored my wishes and I am grateful.
A lot has stirred in my heart between these two conversations over the last two months. I remember vividly snapshots of 1996 to 2003 with Carina, events that have not been present in my mind until now. She became one of my closest friends. She loved me. I loved her. People looked at her funny every time she said, "This is my sister." We look nothing alike. But that is how she thought of me. Period.
Many, many nights over several, several years we talked until the wee hours of the morning. I met all of her boyfriends. More than anything she wanted to be married one day. But no one was ever good enough. No one could ever measure up to a standard she held. I remembered that on Tuesday while packing lunch for the Hubs. So I threw this note in his lunch.
Ten years ago, the Hubs and I drove across country to Virginia. At the last minute, we needed an extra driver. The moving company failed on a trailer for our car. So Carina met us in Flagstaff and drove all the way with us. I remember being frustrated in Texas that she wanted Chinese food and not barbecue. I remember she teased me for not beating her at the silly Cracker Barrel game with the golf tees in Virginia. I remember more. I remember years and years worth. But I also remember wanting her to come to Las Vegas one weekend to fix the house to sell. She could not, she claimed. Her hip hurt. We were a little irritated. A year later when we moved into the Virginia house, I noticed her wincing. She said it was nothing. It was just that old tendinitis in her hip. Yeah, more than one doctor thought so. She was so athletic. Misdiagnosis. Two years later she called to say it was cancer.
Carina was diagnosed with a rare form of cancer. She was the oldest person to be diagnosed. Only 150 people are diagnosed a year with this in the United States. It is a two stage cancer. Stage 1 requires aggressive treatment. Stage 2 means you are a walking miracle if you live. This cancer has no Stage 3 or Stage 4. She was very Stage 2, with a 10 centimeter primary tumor on her hip, others in her lung, others in her spine. She opted for the most aggressive chemo treatment available, the "red devil" cocktail of chemos. The drugs are red. The side effects, well, you can imagine if it includes a nickname of "devil."
Carina came to Virginia to visit in November 2002. She thought she might be in remission. We took a weekend trip to New York City, and saw Columbia University, where she deferred her admission for her Master's. She applied there because my husband, her older brother had received his Master's there. It was a ridiculously fun trip. My mother in law and brother in law came, too. Our whole family was together for the first time in two years. Then came the call my mom had suffered a stroke. I was broken. Carina comforted me, wearing a bandanna on her head. Her hair was growing back in. She prayed for me and for my mom before I left on the next flight to California.
The next month we were in Arizona for Christmas. Carina was in the hospital again. Stem cell replacement was no longer an option. Now it was just more chemo. We sat at her bedside for days. That is my long hair over her head of stubby hair. She did not like the news of more chemo. She did not want to lose her little hair or eyelashes. It was all just growing in. I laughed and told her I would share. I sat this way in her bed the days we were in Arizona.
We played games, we sang with Christmas carolers, and we made a list. My husband just stared at me when I asked her what her final wishes might be. He did not want to make the list. Carina said, "Let's make the list." But that is how it always went. She and I had ideas that we made the Hubs agree to. So I sat at her bedside, and scribbled her dictation. Hubs had an envelope with him. I tore the sheet off the pad, put it in the envelope, and sealed it. The list went to Virginia. It sat in my nightstand.
January Hubs traveled to Arizona alone. Carina was back in the hospital. She was losing more weight; it was probably the chemo, he thought. At the end of January, she and I had a long conversation on my work break. She wanted me to come to Arizona soon. She said she needed me to come. Two weeks later, my mother in law called. Carina was coming out of a coma and kept asking where I was. Three weeks later, God worked a miracle on a cheap plane ticket on a holiday weekend. I arrived on a Saturday.
What happened in the first twelve hours I was in Arizona is precious, including her death.
I did not expect to arrive and lose my friend the same day. I did not expect to have my last conversation. I do not know what I expected. Not death. The hospice nurses did not expect it. My heart was torn. IT HURT LIKE CRAZY. My friend was gone from this life. Forever.
I arrived in Arizona for a weekend trip. I did not plan to stay a week. I could have bought something to wear to her memorial. I was honored to wear a dress from her closet. My mother in law suggested I could. So I did. I reminded the Hubs to bring the precious envelope with him to Arizona. Somehow I made the necessary calls. Somehow I started to make the arrangements. I was grateful when the Hubs arrived two days later. He and his brother drove south to an airport. Washington DC area airports were all closed due to snow. Hubs handled so much once he arrived.
Arizona is where I said good bye to Carina. It is where our family remembered her on a gorgeous February morning in Arizona. It was in the 70s, clear and bright. It is where I sang with cousins, where the Hubs gave a eulogy sharing our faith and our hope in the Lord. We know her body is now perfect and healed, and that we will see her again one day. It is where my mother in law and brother in law grieved, along with many other family and friends. Arizona is where I feel closest to Carina. It is where a part of my heart that loves her lives.
In early June, our family traveled to Arizona to watch the Hubs be hooded for his PhD. I remember staring out the window of my minivan, on the freeway. My thoughts tumbled out of my mouth. Did he feel closer to his sister here, I asked. He replied simply, no. I sat still, and stared out that window some more. I DID. I DO.
This past Friday, I walked up the stairs from the basement of our temporary house into the kitchen. It was move out day, to our current house. The Hubs was cleaning. He stopped and looked at a bewildered me. My eyes welled with tears. Was I emotional about leaving the house, he wondered. That was a lighthearted joke. No way. It was something else. I told him he might think I was dumb. I bargained not to tell him. His eyes were burdened looking at me. He wanted to know. Okay. I took one deep breath. I stalled some more. I made him promise not to respond to what I was about to say, no matter what I said. I asked him if he believed that Carina .......(insert the rest of what I said)........ in heaven. It is a question no one on earth can answer.
"Don't say anything," I said. He looked at me deeply. The tears spilled from my eyes. I turned away and he continued to scrub the kitchen counter in silence. Several days later he has never responded. He honored my wishes and I am grateful.
A lot has stirred in my heart between these two conversations over the last two months. I remember vividly snapshots of 1996 to 2003 with Carina, events that have not been present in my mind until now. She became one of my closest friends. She loved me. I loved her. People looked at her funny every time she said, "This is my sister." We look nothing alike. But that is how she thought of me. Period.
Many, many nights over several, several years we talked until the wee hours of the morning. I met all of her boyfriends. More than anything she wanted to be married one day. But no one was ever good enough. No one could ever measure up to a standard she held. I remembered that on Tuesday while packing lunch for the Hubs. So I threw this note in his lunch.
Ten years ago, the Hubs and I drove across country to Virginia. At the last minute, we needed an extra driver. The moving company failed on a trailer for our car. So Carina met us in Flagstaff and drove all the way with us. I remember being frustrated in Texas that she wanted Chinese food and not barbecue. I remember she teased me for not beating her at the silly Cracker Barrel game with the golf tees in Virginia. I remember more. I remember years and years worth. But I also remember wanting her to come to Las Vegas one weekend to fix the house to sell. She could not, she claimed. Her hip hurt. We were a little irritated. A year later when we moved into the Virginia house, I noticed her wincing. She said it was nothing. It was just that old tendinitis in her hip. Yeah, more than one doctor thought so. She was so athletic. Misdiagnosis. Two years later she called to say it was cancer.
Carina was diagnosed with a rare form of cancer. She was the oldest person to be diagnosed. Only 150 people are diagnosed a year with this in the United States. It is a two stage cancer. Stage 1 requires aggressive treatment. Stage 2 means you are a walking miracle if you live. This cancer has no Stage 3 or Stage 4. She was very Stage 2, with a 10 centimeter primary tumor on her hip, others in her lung, others in her spine. She opted for the most aggressive chemo treatment available, the "red devil" cocktail of chemos. The drugs are red. The side effects, well, you can imagine if it includes a nickname of "devil."
Carina came to Virginia to visit in November 2002. She thought she might be in remission. We took a weekend trip to New York City, and saw Columbia University, where she deferred her admission for her Master's. She applied there because my husband, her older brother had received his Master's there. It was a ridiculously fun trip. My mother in law and brother in law came, too. Our whole family was together for the first time in two years. Then came the call my mom had suffered a stroke. I was broken. Carina comforted me, wearing a bandanna on her head. Her hair was growing back in. She prayed for me and for my mom before I left on the next flight to California.
The next month we were in Arizona for Christmas. Carina was in the hospital again. Stem cell replacement was no longer an option. Now it was just more chemo. We sat at her bedside for days. That is my long hair over her head of stubby hair. She did not like the news of more chemo. She did not want to lose her little hair or eyelashes. It was all just growing in. I laughed and told her I would share. I sat this way in her bed the days we were in Arizona.
We played games, we sang with Christmas carolers, and we made a list. My husband just stared at me when I asked her what her final wishes might be. He did not want to make the list. Carina said, "Let's make the list." But that is how it always went. She and I had ideas that we made the Hubs agree to. So I sat at her bedside, and scribbled her dictation. Hubs had an envelope with him. I tore the sheet off the pad, put it in the envelope, and sealed it. The list went to Virginia. It sat in my nightstand.January Hubs traveled to Arizona alone. Carina was back in the hospital. She was losing more weight; it was probably the chemo, he thought. At the end of January, she and I had a long conversation on my work break. She wanted me to come to Arizona soon. She said she needed me to come. Two weeks later, my mother in law called. Carina was coming out of a coma and kept asking where I was. Three weeks later, God worked a miracle on a cheap plane ticket on a holiday weekend. I arrived on a Saturday.
What happened in the first twelve hours I was in Arizona is precious, including her death.
I did not expect to arrive and lose my friend the same day. I did not expect to have my last conversation. I do not know what I expected. Not death. The hospice nurses did not expect it. My heart was torn. IT HURT LIKE CRAZY. My friend was gone from this life. Forever.
I arrived in Arizona for a weekend trip. I did not plan to stay a week. I could have bought something to wear to her memorial. I was honored to wear a dress from her closet. My mother in law suggested I could. So I did. I reminded the Hubs to bring the precious envelope with him to Arizona. Somehow I made the necessary calls. Somehow I started to make the arrangements. I was grateful when the Hubs arrived two days later. He and his brother drove south to an airport. Washington DC area airports were all closed due to snow. Hubs handled so much once he arrived.
Arizona is where I said good bye to Carina. It is where our family remembered her on a gorgeous February morning in Arizona. It was in the 70s, clear and bright. It is where I sang with cousins, where the Hubs gave a eulogy sharing our faith and our hope in the Lord. We know her body is now perfect and healed, and that we will see her again one day. It is where my mother in law and brother in law grieved, along with many other family and friends. Arizona is where I feel closest to Carina. It is where a part of my heart that loves her lives.
Wednesday, August 11, 2010
The Day We Left San Diego We Popped a Wheelie and Never Said Goodbye
Leaving San Diego did not feel final. We did not say most any of our goodbyes, except to family. I feel horrible that goodbyes did not happen. Friends were understanding. But Goodbye was not what I pictured. For the last time, I dropped off the boys with my parents, this time, so we could shove our lives into our cars, shove what could not fit in the cars into our storage unit, and take the rest to the dump. And by "we" I mean the Hubs. He shoved the most.
At 9:30am I was encouraged when my kitchen looked like this.
I thought we would finish before the renters arrived. We did not. I wished we were gone. I really detest key turnover. I refused to participate when we left Virginia and when we left Hawaii. I don't want to see the excitement in their eyes about living in a home I have loved. I don't like to hear how they will treat it "like their own," or how "this is your house." How in the world do all these people have the same lines?
Tick, tick, tick. Time slipped through our hands faster than a greased pig. The renters arrived before we were out. Their kids were ready to jump in the pool. Contrast that with wishing we would have swam the day before. My stomach churned.
In the handful of minutes they talked to Hubs, I breathlessly grabbed what was left in the house and threw it all in the garage. We organized there for more hours. I could hear the squeals of excitement, the kids pounding up the hardwood floors, running over head. Silently, Hubs closed the laundry room door to the garage. He looked at me, unmoved by the commotion, unmoved by the armfuls of their belongings. That's him. Not me.
But he closed the laundry door for me. And the way he looked at me, that was for me. After all of these moves it is never the actual house that I miss. It is what was, what is now no longer. Its the emotional, sensitive, ridiculous, and totally rational in the moment, part of me. It is that part that wants time to stand still to finish what I may have left unfinished. It is that part of me that has a pity party in the moment, if even in my head.
Our plan was to be on our way to Phoenix by 10am. But by 2:30pm, our three car garage still looked like this.
The stuff in the rafters stayed in the rafters. We had that planned. I looked around overwhelmed at what was left. The Hubs was taking care of a bazillion and one last details. I was exhausted. I missed my kids. I despised what was left. About then the Hubs pulled in the driveway. I will skip the story of how he pulled our gas dryer out of storage at the eleventh hour at the request of our tenants, and nearly severed his finger. It is too gory. Moving on...
I told him we just needed to be done. We worked fast and furiously, until 4:09pm, when our cars looked like this.
And why yes, that is our nearly new play structure now sitting in the neighbors yard across the street. Not that I had any emotion over that, either.
Time to GO. We zoomed out of the driveway in separate directions. The Hubs scooted to the storage unit, and I hustled to my parents house. I readied the kids for the road because their daddy was swinging by to get them strapped down. He planned to stop and grab a spare tire for the trailer he was towing. The store closed at 5pm, and he was pulling out of my parents neighborhood at 4:35pm. The older boys ran to greet him on the lawn. He scooped them up, tossed them in the truck, and hugged my parents goodbye. I still had to pack up the baby and a few last things.
Then came a call from the Hubs twenty minutes later. He spoke to me in a shaky voice. "God loves us and is looking out for us." He had called the trailer dealership that Friday afternoon at 4:59pm. He asked them to hold the spare tire for a few minutes, though they were closed. He was three minutes away, exiting the freeway ramp. He hung up, and blew out a tire coming off the freeway. By God's grace the blowout was not on the freeway when he was driving at maximum trailer speed. Our kids were shocked, but safe. The Hubs was safe. That is all that mattered. That, and now replacing all trailer tires to avoid more danger. All of the stress in the world at that moment was futile, worthless. Our family mattered. That was all.
I fed Son3 dinner, packed up my mom's cookies, and did a terrible job of shoving more into that minivan. Finally it was time to pull away from the curb, to meet up with my husband and sons several miles east.
It was just me, Son3, my oozing minivan, and the mattress we forgot to pack in the trailer.
My parents knew it was time to say goodbye. They said everything but goodbye. Maybe they thought it would keep me in front of their house longer if they did not speak the word. They were right. No one wanted to be the first to say it. My dad offered to come with me, right then and there. But really, there was no place for any passengers over 20 pounds. All of the other five seats were occupied with Farmer stuff. We joked for some minutes, but I knew it was time. So rather than say goodbye, I grabbed my camera and we took about 20 or so silly shots until we got this one. I love it. And you know what? Goodbye just did not look the way I planned it. This time it was ok.
At 9:30am I was encouraged when my kitchen looked like this.
I thought we would finish before the renters arrived. We did not. I wished we were gone. I really detest key turnover. I refused to participate when we left Virginia and when we left Hawaii. I don't want to see the excitement in their eyes about living in a home I have loved. I don't like to hear how they will treat it "like their own," or how "this is your house." How in the world do all these people have the same lines?
Tick, tick, tick. Time slipped through our hands faster than a greased pig. The renters arrived before we were out. Their kids were ready to jump in the pool. Contrast that with wishing we would have swam the day before. My stomach churned.
In the handful of minutes they talked to Hubs, I breathlessly grabbed what was left in the house and threw it all in the garage. We organized there for more hours. I could hear the squeals of excitement, the kids pounding up the hardwood floors, running over head. Silently, Hubs closed the laundry room door to the garage. He looked at me, unmoved by the commotion, unmoved by the armfuls of their belongings. That's him. Not me.
But he closed the laundry door for me. And the way he looked at me, that was for me. After all of these moves it is never the actual house that I miss. It is what was, what is now no longer. Its the emotional, sensitive, ridiculous, and totally rational in the moment, part of me. It is that part that wants time to stand still to finish what I may have left unfinished. It is that part of me that has a pity party in the moment, if even in my head.
Our plan was to be on our way to Phoenix by 10am. But by 2:30pm, our three car garage still looked like this.
The stuff in the rafters stayed in the rafters. We had that planned. I looked around overwhelmed at what was left. The Hubs was taking care of a bazillion and one last details. I was exhausted. I missed my kids. I despised what was left. About then the Hubs pulled in the driveway. I will skip the story of how he pulled our gas dryer out of storage at the eleventh hour at the request of our tenants, and nearly severed his finger. It is too gory. Moving on...I told him we just needed to be done. We worked fast and furiously, until 4:09pm, when our cars looked like this.
And why yes, that is our nearly new play structure now sitting in the neighbors yard across the street. Not that I had any emotion over that, either.Time to GO. We zoomed out of the driveway in separate directions. The Hubs scooted to the storage unit, and I hustled to my parents house. I readied the kids for the road because their daddy was swinging by to get them strapped down. He planned to stop and grab a spare tire for the trailer he was towing. The store closed at 5pm, and he was pulling out of my parents neighborhood at 4:35pm. The older boys ran to greet him on the lawn. He scooped them up, tossed them in the truck, and hugged my parents goodbye. I still had to pack up the baby and a few last things.
Then came a call from the Hubs twenty minutes later. He spoke to me in a shaky voice. "God loves us and is looking out for us." He had called the trailer dealership that Friday afternoon at 4:59pm. He asked them to hold the spare tire for a few minutes, though they were closed. He was three minutes away, exiting the freeway ramp. He hung up, and blew out a tire coming off the freeway. By God's grace the blowout was not on the freeway when he was driving at maximum trailer speed. Our kids were shocked, but safe. The Hubs was safe. That is all that mattered. That, and now replacing all trailer tires to avoid more danger. All of the stress in the world at that moment was futile, worthless. Our family mattered. That was all.
I fed Son3 dinner, packed up my mom's cookies, and did a terrible job of shoving more into that minivan. Finally it was time to pull away from the curb, to meet up with my husband and sons several miles east.
It was just me, Son3, my oozing minivan, and the mattress we forgot to pack in the trailer.
My parents knew it was time to say goodbye. They said everything but goodbye. Maybe they thought it would keep me in front of their house longer if they did not speak the word. They were right. No one wanted to be the first to say it. My dad offered to come with me, right then and there. But really, there was no place for any passengers over 20 pounds. All of the other five seats were occupied with Farmer stuff. We joked for some minutes, but I knew it was time. So rather than say goodbye, I grabbed my camera and we took about 20 or so silly shots until we got this one. I love it. And you know what? Goodbye just did not look the way I planned it. This time it was ok.
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